Veranilda

By

George Gissing

CONTENTS

 I THE VANQUISHED ROMAN II BASIL'S VISION III THE DEACON LEANDER IV TO CUMAE V BASIL AND VERANILDA VI THE EMPEROR'S COMMAND VII HERESY VIII THE SNARE IX CHORSOMAN X THE ANICIANS XI SEEKING XII HELIODORA XIII THE SOUL OF ROME XIV SILVIA'S DREAM XV YOUNG ROME XVI WHISPERS XVII LEANDER THE POLITIC XVIII PELAGIUS XIX THE PRISONER OF PRAENESTE XX THE ISLAND IN THE LIRIS XXI THE BETRAYER BETRAYED XXII DOOM XXIII THE RED HAND XXIV THE MOUNT OF THE MONK XXV THE ABBOT'S TOWER XXVI VIVAS IN DEO XXVII THE KING OF THE GOTHS XXVIII AT HADRIAN'S VILLA XXIX ROME BELEAGUERED XXX * * * *

CHAPTER I

THE VANQUISHED ROMAN

Seven years long had the armies of Justinian warred against the Gothsin Italy. Victor from Rhegium to Ravenna, the great commanderBelisarius had returned to the East, Carrying captive a Gothic king. The cities of the conquered land were garrisoned by barbarians of manytongues, who bore the name of Roman soldiers; the Italian people, brought low by slaughter, dearth, and plague, crouched under therapacious tyranny of governors from Byzantium. 

Though children born when King Theodoric still reigned had yet scarcegrown to manhood, that golden age seemed already a legend of the past. Athalaric, Amalasuntha, Theodahad, last of the Amal blood, had held thethrone in brief succession and were gone; warriors chosen at will bythe Gothic host, mere kings of the battlefield, had risen and perished;reduced to a wandering tribe, the nation which alone of her invadershad given peace and hope to Italy, which alone had reverenced andupheld the laws, polity, culture of Rome, would soon, it was thought, be utterly destroyed, or vanish in flight beyond the Alps. Yet war didnot come to an end. In the plain of the great river there was once morea chieftain whom the Goths had raised upon their shields, a king, mensaid, glorious in youth and strength, and able, even yet, to worst theEmperor's generals. His fame increased. Ere long he was known to bemoving southward, to have crossed the Apennines, to have won a battlein Etruria. The name of this young hero was Totila. 

In these days the senators of Rome, heirs to a title whose ancientpower and dignity were half-forgotten, abode within the City, underconstraint disguised as honour, the conqueror's hostages. One amongthem, of noblest name, Flavius Anicius Maximus, broken in health by thetroubles of the time and by private sorrow, languishing all but untodeath in the heavy air of the Tiber, was permitted to seek relief in avisit to which he would of his domains in Italy. His birth, his repute, gave warrant of loyalty to the empire, and his coffers furnished theprice put upon such a favour by Byzantine greed. Maximus chose forrefuge his villa by the Campanian shore, vast, beautiful, half in ruin, which had been enjoyed by generations of the Anician family; situatedabove the little town of Surrentum it caught the cooler breeze, and onits mountainous promontory lay apart from the tramp of armies. Here, assummer burned into autumn, the sick man lived in brooding silence, feeling his strength waste, and holding to the world only by one desire. 

The household comprised his unwedded sister Petronilla, a lady inmiddle age, his nephew Basil, and another kinsman, Decius, a studentand an invalid; together with a physician, certain freedmen whorendered services of trust, a eunuch at the Command of Petronilla, andthe usual body of male and female slaves. Some score of glebe-boundpeasants cultivated the large estate for their lord's behoof. Notwithstanding the distress that had fallen upon the Roman nobility, many of whom were sunk into indigence, the chief of the Anicii stillcontrolled large means; and the disposal of these possessions at hisdeath was matter of interest to many persons--not least to the clergyof Rome, who found in the dying man's sister a piously tenaciousadvocate. Children had been born to Maximus, but the only son whoreached mature years fell a victim to pestilence when Vitiges wascamped about the City. There survived one daughter, Aurelia. Her thefather had not seen for years; her he longed to see and to pardon erehe died. For Aurelia, widowed of her first husband in early youth, hadused her liberty to love and wed a flaxen-haired barbarian, a lord ofthe Goths; and, worse still, had renounced the Catholic faith for thereligion of the Gothic people, that heresy of Arianism condemned andabhorred by Rome. In Consequence she became an outcast from her kithand kin. Her husband commanded in the city of Cumae, hard by Neapolis. When this stronghold fell before the advance of Belisarius, the Gothescaped, soon after to die in battle; Aurelia, a captive of theConquerors, remained at Cumae, and still was living there, though nolonger under restraint. Because of its strength, this ancient citybecame the retreat of many ladies who fled from Rome before thehardships and perils of the siege; from them the proud and unhappywoman, ever held apart, yet she refused to quit the town when she wouldhave been permitted to do so. From his terrace above the Surrentineshore, Maximus gazed across the broad gulf to the hills that concealedCumae, yearning for the last of his children. When at length he wroteher a letter, a letter of sad kindness, inviting rather than beseechingher to visit him, Aurelia made no reply. Wounded, he sunk again intosilence, until his heart could no longer bear its secret burden, and hespoke--not to Petronilla, from whose austere orthodoxy little sympathywas to be expected--but to his nephew Basil, whose generous mettlewillingly lent itself to such a service as was proposed. On hisdelicate mission, the young man set forth without delay. To Cumae, whether by sea or land, was but a short journey: starting at daybreak, Basil might have given ample time to his embassy, and have been backagain early on the morrow. But the second day passed, and he did notreturn. Though harassed by the delay, Maximus tried to deem it of goodomen, and nursed his hope through another sleepless night. 

Soon after sunrise, he was carried forth to his place of observation, aportico in semicircle, the marble honey-toned by time, which affordedshelter from the eastern rays and commanded a view of vast extent. Below him lay the little town, built on the cliffs above itslanding-place; the hillsides on either hand were clad with vineyards, splendid in the purple of autumn, and with olives. Sky and sea shone toeach other in perfect calm; the softly breathing air mingled itsmorning freshness with a scent of fallen flower and leaf. A rosy vapourfrom Vesuvius floated gently inland; and this the eye of Maximus markedwith contentment, as it signified a favourable wind for a boat crossinghither from the far side of the bay. For the loveliness of the scenebefore him, its noble lines, its jewelled colouring, he had littlecare; but the infinite sadness of its suggestion, the decay and thedesolation uttered by all he saw, sank deep into his heart. If his lookturned to the gleaming spot which was the city of Neapolis, there cameinto his mind the sack and massacre of a few years ago, when Belisariusso terribly avenged upon the Neapolitans their stubborn resistance tohis siege. Faithful to the traditions of his house, of his order, Maximus had welcomed the invasion which promised to restore Italy tothe Empire; now that the restoration was effected, he saw withbitterness the evils resulting from it, and all but hoped that this newking of the Goths, this fortune-favoured Totila, might sweep the landof its Greek oppressors. He looked back upon his own life, on theplacid dignity of his career under the rule of Theodoric, the officesby which he had risen, until he sat in the chair of the Consul. Yet inthat time, which now seemed so full of peaceful glories, he had neverat heart been loyal to the great king; in his view, as in that of thenobles generally, Theodoric was but a usurper, who had abused themandate intrusted to him by the Emperor Zeno, to deliver Italy from thebarbarians. When his own kinsmen, Boethius and Symmachus, were put todeath on a charge of treachery, Maximus burned with hatred of the Goth. He regarded with disdain the principles of Cassiodorus, who devoted hislife to the Gothic cause, and who held that only as an independentkingdom could there be hope for Italy. Having for a moment the ear ofTheodoric's daughter, Amalasuntha, when she ruled for her son, Maximusurged her to yield her kingdom to the Emperor, and all but saw hiscounsel acted upon. After all, was not Cassiodorus right? Were not thesenators who had ceaselessly intrigued with Byzantium in truth traitorsto Rome? It was a bitter thought for the dying man that all his life hehad not only failed in service to his country, but had obstinatelywrought for her ruin. 

Attendants placed food beside him. He mingled wine with water andsoothed a feverish thirst. His physician, an elderly man of Orientalvisage, moved respectfully to his side, greeted him as Illustrious, inquired how his Magnificence had passed the latter part of the night. Whilst replying, as ever courteously--for in the look and bearing ofMaximus there was that _senatorius decor_ which Pliny noted in a greatRoman of another time--his straining eyes seemed to descry a sail inthe quarter he continually watched. Was it only a fishing boat? Raisedupon the couch, he gazed long and fixedly. Impossible as yet to be surewhether he saw the expected bark; but the sail seemed to draw nearer, and he watched. 

The voice of a servant, who stood at a respectful distance, announced:'The gracious Lady'; and there appeared a little procession. Ushered byher eunuch, and attended by half a dozen maidens, one of whom held overher a silk sunshade with a handle of gold, the sister of Maximusapproached at a stately pace. She was tall, and of features severelyregular; her dark hair--richer in tone and more abundant than her yearscould warrant--rose in elaborate braiding intermingled with goldenthreads; her waistless robe was of white silk adorned with narrowstripes of purple, which descended, two on each side, from theshoulders to the hem, and about her neck lay a shawl of delicatetissue. In her hand, which glistened with many gems, she carried asmall volume, richly bound, the Psalter. Courtesies of the gravestpassed between her and Maximus, who, though he could not rise from hiscouch, assumed an attitude of graceful deference, and Petronilla seatedherself in a chair which a slave had placed for her. After manyinquiries as to her brother's health, the lady allowed her eyes towander for a moment, then spoke with the smile of one who imparts raretidings. 

'Late last night--too late to trouble you with the news--there came apost from the reverend deacon Leander. He disembarked yesterday atSalernum, and, after brief repose, hopes to visit us. Your Amiabilitywill, I am sure, welcome his coming. '

'Assuredly, ' answered Maximus, bending his head, whilst his eyeswatched the distant sail. 'Whence comes he?'

'From Sicily. We shall learn, I dare say, the business which took himthere, ' added Petronilla, with a self-satisfied softening of her lips. 'The deacon is wont to talk freely with me of whatever concerns theinterests of our holy Church, even as I think you remember, has now andthen deigned--though I know not how I have deserved such honour--toask, I dare not say my counsel, but my humble thoughts on this or that. I think we may expect him before morning. The day will not be too warmfor travel. '

Maximus wore an anxious look, and spoke after hesitation. 

'Will his reverend leisure permit him to pass more than one day withus?'

'Earnestly I hope so. You, beyond doubt, dear lord, my brother, willdesire long privacy with the holy man. His coming at this time isplainly of Heaven's direction. '

'Lady sister, ' answered Maximus, with the faintest smile on his sadfeatures, 'I would not willingly rob you of a moment's conference withthe good deacon. My own business with him is soon despatched. I wouldfain be assured of burial in the Temple of Probus where sleep ourancestors. '

'Of that, ' replied Petronilla, solemnly and not unkindly, 'doubt notfor a moment. Your body shall lie there, by the blessed Peter'ssanctuary, and your tomb be honoured among those of the greatest of ourblood. But there is another honour that I covet for you, an honourabove all that the world can bestow. In these sad times, Maximus, theChurch has need of strengthening. You have no children--'

A glance from the listener checked her, and, before she could resume, Maximus interposed in a low voice:

'I have yet a daughter. '

'A daughter?' exclaimed Petronilla, troubled, confused, scarce subduingindignation. 

'It is better I should tell you, ' continued her brother, with somesternness, resulting from the efforts to command himself, 'that Basilis gone to Cumae to see Aurelia, and, if it may be, to lead her to me. Perhaps even now'--he pointed to the sea--'they are on the way hither. Let us not speak of it, Petronilla, ' he added in a firmer tone. 'It ismy will; that must suffice. Of you I ask nothing save silence. '

The lady arose. Her countenance expressed angry and bitter feeling, butthere was no danger of her uttering what she thought. Gravely, somewhatcoldly, she spoke good wishes for her brother's ease during the day, and so retired with her retinue. Alone, Maximus sighed, and lookedagain across the waters. 

In a few minutes the servant who guarded his privacy was again heardannouncing the lord Decius. The Senator turned his eyes with a look ofgood-humoured greeting. 

'Abroad so early, good cousin? Did the oil fail you last night and sendyou too soon to bed?'

'You have not chanced to remember, dear my lord, what day it is?'returned Decius, when he had bestowed a kiss on his kinsman's cheek. 'Had I but vigour enough, this morning would have seen me on apilgrimage to the tomb. ' He put out a hand towards Neapolis. 'I rose atdaybreak to meditate the Fourth Eclogue. '

'The ides of October--true. I take shame to myself for having lost thememory of Virgil in my own distresses. '

Decius, whose years were scarce thirty, had the aspect and the gait ofan elderly man; his thin hair streaked with grey, his cheeks hollow, his eyes heavy, he stooped in walking and breathed with difficulty; thetunic and the light cloak, which were all his attire, manifested aninfinite carelessness in matters of costume, being worn and soiled. Than he, no Roman was poorer; he owned nothing but his clothing and afew books. Akin to the greatest, and bearing a name of which he wasinordinately proud--as a schoolboy he had once burst into tears whenreciting with passion the Lay of the Decii--felt content to owe hissustenance to the delicate and respectful kindness of Maximus, whosympathised with the great wrong he had suffered early in life. Thiswas no less than wilful impoverishment by his father, who, seeking toatone for sins by fanaticism, had sold the little he possessed to founda pilgrims' hospice at Portus, whither, accompanied by thetwelve-year-old boy, he went to live as monk-servitor In a year or twothe penitent died; Decius, in revolt against the tasks to which he wassubjected, managed to escape, made his way to Rome, and appealed toMaximus. Nominally he still held the post of secretary to hisbenefactor, but for many years he had enjoyed entire leisure, all of itdevoted to study. Several times illness had brought him to thethreshold of death, yet it had never conquered his love of letters, hisenthusiasm for his country's past. Few liked him only one or twounderstood him: Decius was content that it should be so. 

'Let us speak of it, ' he continued, unrolling a manuscript of Virgilsome two hundred years old, a gift to him from Maximus. 'Tell me, dearlord, your true thought: is it indeed a prophecy of the Divine Birth?To you'--he smiled his gentle, beautiful smile--'may I not confess thatI have doubted this interpretation? Yet'--he cast his eyes down--'thedoubt is perhaps a prompting of the spirit of evil. '

'I know not, Decius, I know not, ' replied the sick man with thoughtfulmelancholy. 'My father held it a prophecy his father before him. --Butforgive me, I am expecting anxiously the return of Basil; yondersail--is it his? Your eyes see further than mine. '

Decius at once put aside his own reflections, and watched the oncomingbark. Before long there was an end of doubt. Rising in agitation to hisfeet, Maximus gave orders that the litter, which since yesterdaymorning had been in readiness, should at once be borne with all speeddown to the landing-place. Sail and oars soon brought the boat so nearthat Decius was able to descry certain female figures and that of aman, doubtless Basil, who stood up and waved his arms shoreward. 

'She has come, ' broke from Maximus; and, in reply to his kinsman's faceof inquiry, he told of whom it was he spoke. 

The landing-place was not visible from here. As soon as the boatdisappeared beneath the buildings of the town, Maximus requested of hiscompanion a service which asked some courage in the performance: itwas, to wait forthwith upon the Lady Petronilla, to inform her thatAurelia had just disembarked, to require that three female slavesshould be selected to attend upon the visitor. This mission Deciusdischarged, not without trembling; he then walked to the main entranceof the villa, and stood there, the roll of Virgil still in his hand, until the sound of a horse's hoofs on the upward road announced thearrival of the travellers. The horseman, who came some yards in advanceof the slave-borne litter, was Basil. At sight of Decius, hedismounted, and asked in an undertone: 'You know?' The other repliedwith the instructions given by Maximus, that the litter, which wasclosed against curious eyes, should be straightway conveyed to theSenator's presence, Basil himself to hold apart until summoned. 

And so it was done. Having deposited their burden between two columnsof the portico, the bearers withdrew. The father's voice uttered thename of Aurelia, and, putting aside the curtains that had concealedher, she stood before him. A woman still young, and of bearing whichbecame her birth; a woman who would have had much grace, much charm, but for the passion which, turned to vehement self-will, had made herblood acrid. Her great dark eyes burned with quenchless resentment; hersunken and pallid face told of the sufferings of a tortured pride. 

'Lord Maximus, ' were her first words, as she stood holding by thelitter, glancing distrustfully about her, 'you have sworn!'

'Hear me repeat my oath, ' answered the father, strengthened by hisemotion to move forward from the couch. 'By the blessed martyrPancratius, I swear that no harm shall befall you, no constraint shallbe put upon you, that you shall be free to come and to go as you will. '

It was the oath no perjurer durst make. Aurelia gazed into her father'sface, which was wet with tears. She stepped nearer to him, took histhin, hot hand, and, as in her childhood, bent to kiss the back of thewrist. But Maximus folded her to his heart. 

CHAPTER II

BASIL'S VISION

Basil and Decius paced together a garden alley, between a row ofquince-trees and a hedge of Christ's-thorn; at one end was a fountainin a great basin of porphyry, at the other a little temple, very oldand built for the worship of Isis, now an oratory under the invocationof the Blessed Mary. The two young men made a singular contrast, forBasil, who was in his twenty-third year, had all the traits of healthand vigour: a straight back, lithe limbs, a face looking level on theworld, a lustrous eye often touched to ardour, a cheek of the purestcarnation, a mouth that told of fine instincts, delicate sensibilities, love of laughter. No less did his costume differ from the student'shuddled garb; his tunic was finely embroidered in many hues, his silkencloak had a great buckle of gold on the shoulder; he wore ornate shoes, and by his waist hung a silver-handled dagger in a sheath of chasedbronze. He stepped lightly, as one who asks but the occasion to run andleap. In their intimate talk, he threw an arm over his companion'sneck, a movement graceful as it was affectionate; his voice had a notefrank and cordial. 

Yet Basil was not quite his familiar self to-day; he talked with lessthan his natural gaiety, wore a musing look, fell into silences. Nowthat Aurelia had come, there was no motive for reserve on that subjectwith Decius, and indeed they conversed of their kinswoman with perfectopenness, pitying rather than condemning her, and wondering what wouldresult from her presence under one roof with the rigid Petronilla. Noton Aurelia's account did Basil droop his head now and then, look abouthim vacantly, bite his lip, answer a question at hazard, play nervouslywith his dagger's hilt. All at once, with an abruptness which moved hiscompanion's surprise, he made an inquiry, seemingly little relevant totheir topic. 

'Heard you ever of a Gothic princess--a lady of the lineage ofTheodoric--still living in Italy?'

'Never, ' responded Decius, with a puzzled smile. 'Is there such a one?'

'I am told so--I heard it by chance. Yet I know not who she can be. Didnot the direct line of Theodoric end with Athalaric and his sisterMatasuntha, who is now at the Emperor's court?'

'So I believed, ' said Decius, 'though I have thought but little of thematter. '

'I too, trust me, ' let fall Basil, with careful carelessness; no actorhe. 'And the vile Theodahad--what descendants did he leave?'

'He was a scholar, ' said the other musingly, 'deep read in Plato. '

'None the less a glutton and a murderer and a coward, who did well togive his throat to the butcher as he ran away from his enemies. Children he had, I think--but--'

Basil broke off on a wandering thought. He stood still, knitted hisbrows, and sniffed the air. At this moment there appeared in the alleya serving man, a young and active fellow of very honest visage, whostood at some yards' distance until Basil observed him. 

'What is it, Felix?' inquired his master. 

The attendant stepped forward, and made known that the lord Marcian hadeven now ridden up to the villa, with two followers, and desired towait upon Basil. This news brought a joyful light to the eyes of theyoung noble; he hastened to welcome his friend, the dearest he had. Marcian, a year or two his elder, was less favoured by nature in faceand form: tall and vigorous enough of carriage, he showed more bone andsinew than flesh; and his face might have been that of a man worn bymuch fasting, so deep sunk were the eyes, so jutting the cheek-bones, and so sharp the chin; its cast, too, was that of a fixed and nativemelancholy. But when he smiled, these features became much morepleasing, and revealed a kindliness of temper such as might win thelove of one who knew him well. His dress was plain, and the dust ofCampanian roads lay somewhat thick upon him. 

'By Bacchus!' cried his friend, as they embraced each other, 'fortuneis good to me to-day. Could I have had but one wish granted, it wouldhave been to see Marcian. I thought you still in Rome. What makes youtravel? Not in these days solely to visit a friend, I warrant. By Peterand Paul and as many more saints as you can remember, I am glad to holdyour hand! What news do you bring?'

'Little enough, ' answered Marcian, with a shrug of the shoulders. Thenatural tune of his voice harmonised with his visage, and he spoke asone who feels a scornful impatience with the affairs of men. 'At Rome, they wrangle about goats' wool, as is their wont. Anything else? Why, yes; the freedman Chrysanthus glories in an ex-consulate. It cost himthe trifle of thirty pounds of gold. '

Basil laughed contemptuously, half angrily. 

'We must look to our honours, ' he exclaimed. 'If Chrysanthus beex-consul, can you and I be satisfied with less thanex-Praetorian-Prefect? What will be the price, think you? Has Bessashung out a tariff yet in the Forum?'

'He knows better than to fix a maximum, as long as a wealthy foolremains in the city--though that won't be much longer, I take it. '

'Why come you hither, dear my lord?' urged Basil, with more seriousness. 

Regarding him with a grave eye, his friend replied in an undertone:

'To spy upon you. '

'Ha!--In very truth?'

'You could wish me a more honourable office, ' Marcian went on, smilingsadly. 'Yet, if you think of it, in these days, it is some honour to bea traitor to both sides. There has been talk of you in Rome. Nay, whoknows how or why! They have nothing to do but talk, and these victoriesof the Goth have set up such a Greek cackle as was never heard sinceHelen ran away to Troy, --and, talking of Greek, I bear a letter for youfrom Heliodora. '

Basil, who had been listening gravely, started at this name and utteredan idle laugh. From a wallet hanging at his girdle, Marcian drew forththe missive. 

'That may wait, ' said Basil, glancing indifferently at the folded andsealed paper before he hid it away. 'Having said so much, you must tellme more. Put off that sardonic mask--I know very well what hidesbeneath it--and look me in the eye. You have surprised some danger?'

'I heard you spoken of--by one who seldom opens his lips but to illpurpose. It was not difficult for me to wade through the shallows ofthe man's mind, and for my friend's sake to win his base confidence. Needing a spy, and being himself a born traitor, he readily believed meat his beck; in truth he had long marked me, so I found, for a cankeredsoul who waited but the occasion to advance by infamy. I held thecreature in my hand; I turned him over and over, and he, the while, thinking me his greedy slave. And so, usurping the place of some otherwho would have ambushed you in real enmity, I came hither on hiserrand. '

'Marcian, ' said the listener, 'I could make a guess at that man's name. '

'Nay, I doubt if you could, and indeed it matters nothing. Enough thatI may do you some little service. '

'For which, ' replied Basil, 'I cannot pay you, since all my love isalready yours. And she--Heliodora, ' he added, with a careless gesture, 'knows of your mission?'

'Of my mission, no; but of my proposed journey. Though indeed she mayknow more than I suppose. Who shall say what reaches the ear ofHeliodora--?'

'You have not heard perhaps that her husband is dead?'

'The Prefect dead?' exclaimed Basil. 

'Three weeks ago. --Rather suddenly--after supper. An indigestion, nodoubt. '

Marcian spoke with peculiar dryness, averting his eyes from thelistener. Upon Basil's face came a deep flush; he took out the foldedpaper again, and held it at arm's length. 

'You mean--? You think--?' he stammered. 

'About women I think not at all, ' said the other, 'as you well know. There is talk, talk--what care I?'

Basil tore the letter open. It contained a lock of raven-black hair, tied with gold thread, and on the paper was written, in Greek, 'I amfree. ' Again his cheek flushed; he crushed paper and hair together inhis hand. 

'Let us never again speak of her, ' he exclaimed, moving away from thespot. 'Before I left Rome, I told you that I would gladly see her nomore, and you smiled dubiously. Believe me now. I abhor the thought ofher. If she ask you for my reply, repeat those words. '

'Nay, dear my lord, in that I will beg to be excused, ' replied Marcianwith his melancholy smile. 

They were walking silently, side by side, when the servant Felix againpresented himself before them. Maximus, having heard of the arrival ofMarcian from Rome, requested that he and Basil would grant him a momentof their leisure. At once the young men turned to obey this summons. Onthe way, Basil communicated to his friend in a whisper the event of theday. A couple of hours having passed since Aurelia's coming, theSenator had in some degree recovered from his agitation; he lay now ina room which opened upon the central court of the villa, a room adornedwith rich marbles and with wall-paintings which were fading under thehand of time. Deathly pale, scarce able to raise his head from thecushion of the couch, he none the less showed a countenance bright withjoyous emotion. His quivering voice strove to welcome the visitorcheerily. 

'What news from the city, dear lord Marcian? How are all our friends?Do they begin to forget us?'

'Not so, Illustrious, ' answered the young man, with head bent. 'You aremuch desired in the Senate, where grave counsel is just now greatly indemand. '

'The Senate, the Senate, ' murmured Maximus, as if reminded of somethinghe had long forgotten. 'They must needs lack my voice, I fear. What domen say of the Gothic king?'

Marcian threw a glance at Basil, then towards the curtained portals ofthe room; lastly, his eyes turned upon the sick man, whom he regardedsteadily. 

'They say much--or little, ' fell from his lips. 

'I understand you, ' replied the Senator, with a friendly movement ofthe head. 'Here we may speak freely. Does Totila draw near to Rome?'

'He is still in Tuscany, and rumours come from his army that he willpass into Samnium. All the strongholds of Umbria are his; all theconquests of Belisarius from Ariminum to Spoletium. '

'Where are the Roman captains?'

'Each in his city of the far north, holding the plunder he has got, andlooking for the chance of more. In Rome--'

Marcian paused significantly, and the Senator took up his words. 

'In Rome rules Bessas. '

'The Thracian, ' remarked Basil bitterly. 

'And in Ravenna, ' added the sick man, 'Alexandros--the coin-clipper. '

The eyes of Basil and of Marcian encountered. Between them came noshadow of distrust, the smile they exchanged told of loyal affection. 

'This Totila, ' pursued Marcian, 'seems to be not only a brave andcapable commander, but a shrewd politician. Everywhere he spares thepeople; he takes nothing by force; his soldiers buy at market; heprotects the farmer against the taxing Greek. As a result, his armygrows; where he passes, he leaves a good report, and before him goes awelcome. At this rate he will soon make all Italy his own. And unlessthe Patricius returns--'

By this title men were wont to speak of Belisarius. Hearing it, Basilthrew up an arm, his eyes flashing. 

'The Patricius!' he exclaimed fervently. 'There is the man who mighthave saved us!'

'By the holy Laurentius!' murmured Maximus, looking sadly at hisnephew, 'I have all but come to think as you do. '

'Who that knew him, ' cried Basil, 'but must have seen him, inthought--not King, for only the barbarians have kings--butEmperor--Emperor of the West, ruling at Rome as in the days gone by!There lives no man more royal. I have seen him day by day commandingand taking counsel; I have talked with him in his privacy. In the campbefore Ravenna there was but one voice, one hope, as to what shouldfollow when the city opened its gates, and the Goths themselves onlysurrendered because they thought to be ruled by him. But for thescruple of his conscience--and should not that have yielded to thegeneral good?'

'Is breach of faith so light a thing?' fell from Marcian, under hisbreath. 

'Nay, ' answered the other, with drooping head, 'but he did break faithwith _us_. We had his promise; we saw him Emperor--'

'You should have won Antonina, ' said Marcian, with a return to hissarcastic humour. 'She must have mused long and anxiously, weighing thepurple against Theodora's fury. The Patrician's fidelity stood by hiswife's prudence. '

'The one blot upon his noble nature, ' uttered Basil, with a sigh. 'Hisone weakness. How, ' he cried scornfully, 'can the conqueror of half theworld bend before such a woman?'

Fatigued already by the conversation, Maximus had lain back and closedhis eyes. Very soon the two young men received his permission towithdraw, and, as they left the room, the physician entered. Obedientto this counsellor the invalid gave several hours to repose, but midwayin the afternoon he again summoned his daughter, with whom he had along and agitating conversation. He besought Aurelia to cast off herheretical religion, putting before her all the perils to which sheexposed herself, by abandonment of the true faith, in this world andthe next. His life was hurrying to its end; hour by hour he felt thefever wasting what little strength remained to him; and when he wasgone who would protect her against the enmities to which religion andavarice would expose her? Aurelia's resistance was sullen rather thanresolute; her countenance, her words, suggested that she was thinkingmore of what it would cost her pride to become a penitent than of anyobstacle in conscience. At length she declared plainly that never wouldshe humiliate herself before her aunt Petronilla, who had offered herno greeting and held scornfully apart. Here, as Maximus too well knew, lay the great difficulty of the situation; these women hated eachother, and their hate would only be exasperated by Aurelia'sconversion. He spoke of the deacon Leander, now on his wayhither--begged Aurelia to listen to the reverend man, and gave solemnassurance that, the moment she abjured her errors, he would place herin a position of wealth and authority far above that of Petronilla. Soutterly did he exhaust himself in entreaty and argument that he fellinto a fainting fit. The physician was called for, and Aurelia, she tooovercome with violent emotions, again retired to the part of the villawhich had been assigned to her. 

The Anicii of a bygone time, who took their solace here when marblesand mosaics, paintings and tapestries, were yet new, would have lookedwith consternation on halls so crumbling and bare, chambers soill-appointed, as these in which the guests of the Senator Maximus hadtheir dwelling. Space there was in abundance, but of comfort in theguest-rooms little enough; and despite her brother's commands, Petronilla had seen to it that Aurelia was not luxuriously lodged. Better accommodation awaited the deacon Leander, whose arrival wasannounced an hour before sunset by a trotting courier. His journey fromSalernum had so wearied the ecclesiastic that he could but give a handto be kissed by his hostess, and straightway retire into privacy; therepast that was ready for him had to be served beside his couch, andsoon after night had fallen, Leander slumbered peacefully. MeanwhileBasil and Decius and their friend from Rome had supped together, makingwhat cheer they might under the circumstances; the Surrentine wine wasa little acrid, falling short of its due age, but it sufficed toanimate the talk. Presently Decius withdrew, to study or to meditatethrough some hours of the night, for he slept ill; the others, goingapart to a gallery lighted by the full moon, sat wrapped in thick, hooded cloaks, to converse awhile before they slept. With their voicesmingled the soft splash of a fountain. 

Basil was telling of his journey to Cumae, and of the difficulty he hadhad in persuading Aurelia to visit her father. 

'Does she live alone there?' inquired Marcian. 

There was a pause before the reply, and when Basil spoke his voice fellto a note of half-hesitating confidence. 

'Alone? yes, ' he said, 'in the sense that no relative abode with her;but she had a companion--a lady--very young. ' And here he again paused, as if in some embarrassment. 

'A Roman?' was Marcian's next question, carelessly thrown out for hehad little interest in Aurelia, and was half occupied with otherthoughts. 

'No, ' answered Basil, his voice subdued. 'A Goth; and, she says, of theroyal blood, of the line of Theodoric. '

His friend became attentive. 'A Gothic princess? Whose daughter, then?'asked Marcian. And Basil, who desired nothing more than to speak onthis subject, little by little threw off his hesitancy, grew rapid andeager in narration. He told how, on his first introduction to Aurelia'spresence, he had found sitting with her a young girl, whose aspectproclaimed her of the Gothic race. In a second interview with hiscousin, alone, Aurelia had spoken of this companion, bestowing muchpraise upon her, and declaring that they were united by an affectionwhich nothing could diminish. She was of Amal blood; more than thatAurelia seemed unwilling to reveal. 

'Did you not learn her name?' asked the listener. 

'Veranilda. '

Marcian echoed the melodious syllables, but they told him nothing. 

'And did you make no inquiry of those with whom you spoke?'

'I conversed as little as might be with strangers, and purposely heldapart from our acquaintances in the town; this was my uncle's expresscommand. '

'You had no second sight of her?'

'Indeed I had; and talked with her moreover. Marcian, how can Idescribe her to you? The words which suffice for common beauty soundmeaningless when I would use them to depict Veranilda. Shall I tell youthat she has hair of the purest gold, eyes brighter than the sky atnoon, lips like the flower of the pomegranate, a cheek so fair, sosoft--nay, you may well laugh at these idle phrases--'

'Not your phrases, ' said Marcian, 'but your voice as it utters themsets me smiling. Talk on. The chaste goddess who beams above us inspireyou with worthy terms!'

'There you speak to the point, ' pursued Basil ardently. 'For Veranildais chaste as she is beautiful. Blessed saints! how my heart shrank inabhorrence when I saw that letter this morning; and how fain I wouldblot from my memory that baseness of the past! O Marcian, truest offriends, I slighted your counsel, scoffed at your warnings, but now Iknow how wisely and how honestly you spoke. '

'Be that as it may, ' said the other. 'But is it possible that, on amere glimpse, this Gothic maiden should so have vanquished you?'

'It had been more prudent to hold my peace. But you know me of old. When I am moved, I must needs unbosom myself; happy that I have onewhom I can trust. Her voice, Marcian! This whisper of the night breezein the laurels falls rudely upon the ear after Veranilda's speech. Never have I heard a tone so soft, so gentle. The first word she spokethrilled through me, as never did voice before; and I listened, listened, hoping she would speak again. '

'Who may she be? Has not the lady Aurelia adorned her origin? Goldenhair and blue eyes are no rarity among daughters of the Goths. '

'Had you seen her!' exclaimed Basil, and grew rapturous again. Whilsthe exhausted language in the effort to prove how remote was Veranildafrom any shape of loveliness easily presented by memory or imagination, Marcian pondered. 

'I can think of but one likelihood, ' was his quiet remark, when hisfriend had become silent. 'King Theodahad had a daughter, who marriedthe Gothic captain, Ebrimut. '

'The traitor, ' murmured Basil uneasily. 

'Or friend of the Romans, as you will. He delivered Rhegium toBelisarius, and enjoys his reward at Byzantium. What if he left a childbehind him?'

Basil repulsed the suggestion vehemently. 

'Not that! I had half thought of it myself; but no. Aurelia said of thehouse of Theodoric. '

'Why so would be a daughter of Ebrimut, through her mother--who was thedaughter of Theodahad, who was the son of Amalafrida, who was thesister of Theodoric himself. '

'She could not have meant that, ' protested Basil. 'Child of a mercenarytraitor, who opened Italy to his people's foe! Not that! Had you seenher, you would not believe it. '

'Oh, my good Basil, ' laughed the other, 'do you think I should see herwith your eyes? But perhaps we conjecture idly quite missing the mark. What does it matter? You have no intention, I hope, of returning toCumae?'

Basil opened his lips to reply, but thought better of it, and saidnothing. Then his friend turned to speak of the ecclesiastical visitorwho had that evening arrived, and, the subject not proving veryfruitful, each presently betook himself to his night's repose. 

CHAPTER III

THE DEACON LEANDER

The deacon Leander was some forty years of age, stoutish, a trifleasthmatic, with a long visage expressive of much shrewdness, and bushyeyebrows, which lent themselves at will to a look of genialcondescension, of pious austerity, or of stern command. His dark hairand reddish beard were carefully trimmed; so were the nails of hisshapely, delicate hands. His voice, now subject to huskiness, had untila few years ago been remarkably powerful and melodious; no deacon inRome was wont to excite more admiration by his chanting of the Gradual;but that glory had passed away, and at the present time Leander'sspiritual activity was less prominent than his services as a mostcapable steward of the patrimony of St. Peter. He travelled much, hadan extensive correspondence, and was probably rather respected thanreverenced by most lay folk with whom he came in contact. 

But in the eyes of the lady Petronilla, Leander was an ideal churchman. No one treated her judgment with so much respect; no one confided toher curious ear so many confidential matters, ranging from the secretscandals of aristocratic Rome to high debates of ecclesiasticalpolity--or what Petronilla regarded as such. Their closer acquaintancebegan with the lady's presentation of certain columns of tawny Numidianmarble, from a ruined temple she had inherited, to the deacon'sbasilica, St. Laurentius; and many were the donations which Leander hadsince accepted from her on behalf of the Church. In return, he had onceor twice rejoiced her with the gift of a precious relic, such as cameinto the hands of few below royal rank; thus had Petronilla obtainedthe filings of the chain of St. Peter, which, enclosed in a golden key, hung upon her bosom. Some day, as the deacon well knew, this piousvirgin would beg him to relieve her of all her earthly possessions, andenter into some holy retreat; but she awaited the death of her brother, by whose will she would doubtless benefit more or less substantially. 

If in view of the illness of Maximus, Petronilla had regarded thedeacon's visit as providential, the event of yesterday moved her to amore agitated thankfulness for the conference she was about to enjoy. After a night made sleepless by dread and wrath, she rose at daybreakand passed in a fever of impatience the time which elapsed before herreverend guest issued from his chamber. This being the fourth day ofthe week, Petronilla held rigid fast until the hour of nones; and ofcourse no refreshment was offered to the churchman, who, with thatsmiling placidity, that graceful self-possession, which everdistinguished him in such society, at length entered the inner hall, and suavely, almost tenderly, greeted his noble hostess. Brimming overas she was with anxiety and indignation, Petronilla allowed nothing ofthis to appear in her reception of the revered friend. To his inquiriestouching the health of the Senator, she replied with significantgravity that Maximus had suffered during the night, and was thismorning, by the physician's report, much weaker; she added not a wordon the momentous subject presently to be broached. Then Leander, afterviewing with many compliments a piece of rich embroidery which occupiedthe lady's leisure, and or its completion would of course be put at hisdisposal, took a seat, set the tips of his fingers together, and beganto chat pleasantly of his journey. Many were the pious offerings whichhad fallen to him upon his way: that of the Sicilian lady who gave herlittle all to be used to maintain the lamps in the basilica of theChief Apostle; that of the merchant encountered on shipboard, who gaveten pounds of gold to purchase the freedom of slaves; that of thewealthy curial in Lucania, healed of disease by miracle on the feast ofSt. Cyprian, who bestowed upon the church in gratitude many acres ofolive-bearing land, and promised an annual shipload of prime hogs tofeed St. Peter's poor. By smooth transition he passed to higher themes:with absent eyes turned to the laurel-planted court on to which thehall opened, he spoke as if scarcely aware of a listener, of troublesat Rome occasioned by imprudences, indiscretions--what should hesay--of the Holy Father. As Petronilla bent forward, all tremulouscuriosity, he lowered his voice, grew frankly confidential. The Popehad been summoned to Byzantium, to discuss certain points of doctrinewith the Emperor; his departure was delayed, but no doubt in hisweakness he would obey. Verily, the lack of courage--not to use severerterms--so painfully evident in Pope Vigilius, was a grave menace to theChurch--the Catholic Church, which, rightly claiming to ruleChristendom, should hold no terms with the arrogance of Justinian. Could it be wondered that the Holy Father was disliked--not to sayhated--by the people of Rome? By his ill management the papal granarieshad of late been so ill stored that the poor had suffered famine, theGreeks having put an end to that gratuitous distribution of food towhich the Roman populace had from of old been accustomed. On thisaccount, chiefly, had Leander journeyed to Sicily, to look after thesupplies of corn, and seek out those who were to blame for the recentnegligence. His bushy eyebrows gave a hint of their sternerpossibilities as he spoke of the measures he had taken, the reproofsand threats he had distributed. 

'May I live, ' breathed Petronilla, with modest emphasis, 'to see agreat, a noble, a puissant Pontiff in the Apostolic Chair!'

Whereat the deacon smiled, well understanding whither the lady lookedfor her ideal Pope. She went on to speak of the part Vigilius hadplayed in the deposition and miserable death of his predecessorSilverius, and that, as was too well known, at the bidding of haughty, unscrupulous women, the Empress Theodora and her friend Antonina, wifeof Belisarius. Verily, the time had come for a great reform at theLateran; the time had come, and perhaps the divine instrument was notfar to seek. Whereupon Petronilla murmured ardently, and the deaconagain smiled. 

There was a pause. Having permitted Leander to muse a little, hishostess turned the conversation to the troublous topic of her thoughts;and began by saying how her brother would esteem the privilege ofcounsel and solace from one so qualified to impart them. But alas shemust make known a distressful occurrence, whereby the office of aspiritual adviser by the bedside of Maximus must needs be complicatedand made painful; and therewith Petronilla related the events ofyesterday. As he listened, the deacon knitted his brows, but in thoughtrather than in affliction; and when the speaker was silent, he stillmused awhile. 

'Gracious madam, ' he began at length solemnly, 'you of course hold nointercourse with this lady?'

'None! I have shrunk ever from the sight of her. '

'Such abhorrence of error witnesses to the purity and the illuminationof your soul: I could have expected nothing less from Petronilla. Youknow not whether the misguided woman shows any disposition to return tothe true faith?'

'I fear not, ' replied Petronilla, looking rather as if the fear were ahope. 'Her nature is stubborn: she has the pride of the fallen angels. '

'And her father, I am afraid, has no longer the strength to treat hersin with due severity?'

'Earthly affection has subdued him, ' replied the lady, shaking herhead. 'Who knows, ' she added, 'how far his weakness may lead my poorbrother?'

She glanced about the hall, and Leander perfectly understood what wasin her mind. 

'Be not over anxious, ' he replied soothingly. 'Leave this in my hands. Should it be necessary, I can dispose of some days before pursuing myjourney. Take comfort, noble and pious lady! The truth will prevail. '

The deacon's first step was to obtain a private interview with thephysician. He then made known his desire to wait upon Maximus, and withno great delay was admitted. Tactfully, sagaciously, he drew thesufferer to confide in him, to see in him, not so much a spiritualadmonisher as a counsellor and a support in worldly difficulties. Leander was already well aware that the Senator had small religiouszeal, but belonged to the class of men, numerous at this time, who, whilst professing the Christian and the orthodox faith, were in truthphilosophers rather than devotees, and regarded dogmatic questions witha calm not easily distinguished from indifference. Maximus had scarcelyspoken of his daughter, when the deacon understood it was Aurelia'stemporal, much more than her eternal, interests which disturbed thepeace of the dying man. Under Roman law, bequests to a heretic werenull and void; though this enactment had for the most part been setaside in Italy under Gothic rule, it might be that the Imperial codewould henceforth prevail. Maximus desired to bestow upon his daughter agreat part of his possessions. Petronilla, having sufficient means ofher own, might well be content with a moderate bequest; Basil, therelative next of kin, had a worthy claim upon his uncle's generoustreatment, and Decius, who needed but little, must have that littleassured. The father had hoped that his entreaties, together with aprospect of substantial reward, would prevail against Aurelia'spride-rooted heresy, but as yet he pleaded and tempted in vain. Couldthe deacon help him?

Leander seemed to meditate profoundly. The subject of his thought waswhat seemed to him a glaring omission in this testament of Maximus. Hebreathed an intimate inquiry: Was the sick man at peace with his ownsoul? Had he sought strength and solace from the reverend presbyter ofSurrentum, his spiritual father in this district? Maximus replied thathe had neglected no ordinary means of grace. Whilst speaking, he metthe deacon's eye; its significance was not to be mistaken. 

'I should have mentioned, ' he said, averting his look, 'that thepresbyter Andreas and his poor will not be forgotten. Moreover, many ofmy slaves will receive their freedom. '

Leander murmured approvingly. Again he reflected, and again he venturedan inquiry: Maximus would desire, no doubt, to rest with his gloriousancestors in the mortuary chapel known as the Temple of Probus, by St. Peter's? And seeing the emotion this excited in his listener he went onto speak at large of the Anician house--first among the great familiesof Rome to embrace Christianity, and distinguished, generation aftergeneration, by their support of the church, which indeed numbered amongits Supreme Pontiffs one of their line, the third Felix. Did not theillustrious father of Maximus lead the Christian senators in theirattack upon that lingering shame, the heathen Lupercalia, since sohappily supplanted by the Feast of the Purification of the BlessedMary? He, dying--added Leander, with an ecstatic smile--made over tothe Apostolic See an estate in Sicily which yielded every year two richharvests to the widows, the orphans, the sick, and the destitute ofRome. 

'Deacon, ' broke from the hot lips of Maximus, who struggled to raisehimself, 'if I do the like, will you swear to me to use your influence, your power, for the protection of my daughter?'

It was the voice of nature in its struggle with the universal doom;reason had little part in the hope with which those fading eyes fixedthemselves upon the countenance of the self-possessed churchman. 

'Heaven forbid, ' was Leander's reply, 'that I should bind myself insuch terms to perform an office of friendship, which under anycircumstances would be my anxious care. '

'Even, ' asked Maximus, 'if she persist in her heresy?'

'Even so, my dear lord, remembering from whom she springs. But, ' headded, in a soothing voice, 'let me put your mind at rest. Trust me, the lady Aurelia will not long cling to her error. In poverty, inhumiliation, she might be obstinate; but as the possessor ofwealth--restored to her due rank--oh, my gracious lord, be assured thather conversion will soon follow. '

The same thought had occurred to Maximus. He sighed in profound relief, and regarded the deacon gratefully. 

'In that hope I rest. Give me your promise to befriend her, and ask ofme what you will. '

Save for the hours she passed at her father's side, Aurelia kept astrict retirement, guarded by the three female slaves whom Petronillahad reluctantly assigned to her. Of them she required no intimateservice, having her own attendants, an elderly woman, the nurse of herchildhood, who through all changes of fortune had never quitted her, and a younger, half-Goth, half-Italian, who discharged humbler duties. She occupied a small dwelling apart from the main structure of thevilla, but connected with it by a portico: this was called the House ofProba, it having been constructed a hundred years ago for the ladyFaltonia Proba, who wrote verses, and perhaps on that account desired aspecial privacy. Though much neglected, the building had beauty ofform, and was full of fine work in mosaic. Here, in a little peristyle, where shrubs and creepers had come to wild growth, the sore-heartedlady sat brooding or paced backwards and forwards, her eyes ever on theground. When yet a maiden she had several times spent summer atSurrentum; her memory revived that early day which seemed so long ago;she lived again with her brothers and sisters, all dead, with hermother whom griefs had aged so soon. Then came a loveless marriage, which soon involved her in the public troubles of the time; for herhusband, whose estates lay in Tuscany, was robbed of all by Theodahad, and having vainly sought redress from the young King Athalaric, decidedto leave Italy for Byzantium, to which end Aurelia sold a property inCampania, her dower. Before they could set forth upon their journey, her husband caught the plague and died. In second wedlock she wouldhave known contentment but for the alienation of her kin and thescornful hostility of all her class. When widowhood again befell hershe was saved from want by a small treasure of money which remainedhidden in the dwelling at Cumae when the Gothic warrior, her lord, escaped from Belisarius. As this store diminished, Aurelia had lookedforward with dread, for she hoped nothing from her father. And now thatsuch fears seemed to be over, her long tortured pride clamoured forsolace. It was not enough to regain her father's love and enjoy aninheritance; she wished to see her enemies at her feet, and to trampleupon them--her enemies being not only Petronilla and certain otherkinsfolk but all the nobility of Rome, nay, all the orthodox of theChristian church. Pacing, pacing alone, she brooded vast schemes ofvengeance. 

When it was announced to her that the Roman deacon besought aninterview, she at first refused to receive him. Thereupon Leander senther a few lines in writing, most ceremoniously worded, in which hedeclared that his purposes were those of a disinterested friend, thatno word such as could pain or offend her would pass his lips, and thathe had it in his power to communicate something which would greatlybenefit her. Aurelia reflected disdainfully, but at length consented tothe churchman's approach. Leander's bearing as he entered her presencewas as elaborately courteous as the phrasing of his letter. 

'Noble lady, ' he began, standing with bowed head, 'let not your eyestake note of my garb. See in me only a devoted servant of yourillustrious house. His Magnificence, your father, assured of thesincerity wherewith I place at his command such powers andopportunities as I owe to heaven's grace, has deigned to confide in meregarding the disposition of his worldly affairs whereto he is promptedby languishing health. '

He paused a moment, but Aurelia had no word of reply to this exordium. Seeing her keep the same haughty posture in her chair, with eyesscornfully averted as if she scarce listened, Leander proceeded todisclose his mind in less ornate terms By subtle grades of confidentialspeech, beginning with a declaration of the sympathy moved in him bythe parent's love, the daughter's distress, he came with loweringvoice, with insinuating tone, with blandly tolerant countenance, to thekernel of his discourse; it contained a suggestion which might--he onlysaid _might_--aid her amid the manifold perplexities of her position. By this time Aurelia was more attentive; the churchman almostaffectionate in his suavity, grew still more direct; and at length, ina voice which only reached the ear of the listener, he spoke thus:

'I understand why you stepped aside from the way of truth; I perceivethe obstacles hindering your return. I know the tender impulses whichurge you to soothe your father's last hours, and, no less, the motives, natural to a woman of your beauty, of your birth, which are at strifewith that tenderness and threaten to overcome it. Could you discover ameans of yielding to your filial affection, and at the same timesafeguarding your noble pride, would you not gladly use it? Such ameans I can point out to you. '

He became silent, watching Aurelia. She, won by the perspicacity whichread her heart, had put aside all arrogance, and wore a look of graveintentness. 

'Let me know it, ' she murmured. 

'It is this. Return to the true belief, but guard awhile the secret ofyour conversion. That it shall not be disclosed until you wish, I cangive you firm assurance--if need be, on solemn oath. You will privatelymake known to your father that he has prevailed, thereby you put hisflesh and spirit at rest, --he will die blessing you, and enriching youto the full extent of his desire. You will then also set your signatureto a paper, which I shall write, making confession of the orthodoxfaith, and undertaking to be duly reconciled with the church, by theimposition of hands, at some convenient season. That is all that willbe asked of you for the present. The lady Petronilla'--he all butsmiled in uttering the name--'shall not even suspect what has happened. '

'Will this villa be mine?' asked the listener after brief reflection. 

'This villa shall be yours. '

An exultant gleam shone in Aurelia's eyes. 

'Deacon, ' she said sternly, 'your promise is not enough. Swear to methat no one living, save my father and you, shall know. '

From his bosom Leander drew forth a little golden cross. 

'This, ' he said reverently, 'contains dust of iron from the bars onwhich the blessed Laurentius suffered martyrdom. '

'Swear also, ' demanded Aurelia, 'by the Holy Pancratius. ' In the nameof both saints Leander took his oath of secrecy. Petronilla was ofcourse aware that the deacon had been admitted to audience by herniece. When he descended, she awaited him at the end of the portico, and her look questioned him. 

'Stubborn, stubborn!' murmured Leander, shaking his head, and passed onas though in troubled thought. 

Later in the day, when she had seen her father, Aurelia made known toher cousin Basil, who had requested an interview, that he might come. His cousin received him smilingly, almost affectionately. 

Marcian having this morning taken his leave, called away by someunexplained business to Neapolis, Basil had been on the point of takingDecius into his amorous confidence, when this summons rejoiced him. 

'Is the letter written?' were Basil's first words. 

'It is here. Can you despatch it at once?'

'I will take it myself, ' he answered promptly. 

Aurelia shook her head. 

'You must not. My father's life is fast failing. No one can say whichhour may be his last. If he asked for you, and you were absent--'

'Felix shall go, ' said Basil. 'The wind is favourable. He may have toride back to-morrow, but we can trust him to make all speed. '

'He took the letter, which was superscribed, 'To the most noble ladyVeranilda. '

'Dear cousin, you have spoken of me?' he asked with a wistful look. 

'I have said, good cousin, ' Aurelia answered pleasantly, 'that youwished to be spoken of. '

'Only that?'

'What more should I say? Your Amiability is too hasty. Remember thatyou have scarce seen her. '

'Scarce seen Veranilda!' exclaimed Basil. 'Why, it seems to me asthough I had known her for years! Have we not talked together?'

'Once. The first time does not count; you exchanged hardly a dozenwords. When, ' added Aurelia, smiling, 'were you so dashed in a maid'spresence?'

'Nay, never! I am not accused of too much modesty; but when I enteredand looked on Veranilda--oh, it was the strangest moment of my life!Noble cousin, ' he added pleadingly, 'honoured Aurelia, do but tell mewhat is her parentage?'

'How does that concern your Excellence? I have told you all that itimports you to know--at all events for the present. Cousin Basil, youdelay the letter; I should wish her to have it before nightfall, forshe thinks anxiously of me. '

'I go. When may I again speak with you?'

'You shall hear when I am at leisure. '

Basil despatched his servant to Cumae not with one letter only, butwith two. Greatly daring, he had himself written to Veranilda; in briefterms, but every word tremulous with his passion. And for half an hourhe stood watching the sail which wafted his messenger over the gulf, ruffled to-day by a south-west wind, driver of clouds. Little thoughthad he to give to the dying Maximus, but at the ninth hour he turnedhis steps to the oratory, once a temple of Isis, and heard the office, and breathed a prayer for his kindly relative. Which duty discharged, he prayed more fervently, to whatever saint or deity has ear for suchpetitions, that he might be loved by the Gothic maid. 

This evening Maximus seemed to suffer less. He lay with closed eyes, alook of calm on his worn countenance. Beside him sat Decius, reading inlow tones from that treatise on the Consolation of Philosophy, whichBoethius wrote in prison, a hook wherein Maximus sought comfort, thislast year or two more often than in the Evangel, or the Lives ofSaints. Decius himself would have chosen a philosopher of older time, but in the words of his own kinsman, Maximus found an appeal moreintimate, a closer sympathy, than in ancient teaching. He lovedespecially the passages of verse; and when the reader came to thoselines--

 'O felix hominum genus, Si vestros animos amor Quo coelum regitur, regat, '

he raised his hand, smiling with peculiar sweetness. 

'Pause there, O Decius, ' he said, in a weak but clear voice; 'let memuse awhile. ' And he murmured the verses to himself. 

CHAPTER IV

TO CUMAE

The Bishop of Surrentum, an elderly man and infirm, had for the pastfortnight been unable to leave his house, but day by day he receivednews of what passed at the villa of Maximus, and held with thepresbyter, Andreas, many colloquies on that weighty topic, thesenator's testament. As it happened, neither bishop nor presbyter hadmuch aptitude for worldly affairs; they were honest, simple-mindedclerics, occupied with visions and marvels and the saving details ofdogma; exultant whenever a piece of good fortune befell their church, but modest in urging a claim at the bedside of the sick. Being the sonof a freedman who had served in the Anician house, the bishop could notapproach Maximus without excessive reverence; before Petronilla he waseven more unduly awed. 

On Sunday morning the good prelate lay wakeful at the hour of matins, and with quavering voice chanted to himself the psalm of the officefrom which his weakness held him apart. Presently the door opened, andin the dim lamp-light appeared the presbyter Andreas, stepping softly. He made known that an urgent message had just summoned him to thevilla; Maximus was near his end. 

'I, too, will come, ' exclaimed the bishop, rising in his bed andringing loudly a little hand-bell. 

'Venerable father! your health--'

'Hasten, hasten, Andreas! I follow. '

In less than an hour he descended from his litter, and, resting on thearms of two servants, was conducted to the chamber of the dying man. Andreas had just administered the last rites; whether the fixed eyesstill saw was doubtful. At a murmur of 'the bishop' those by thedoorway reverently drew aside. On one side of the bed were Aurelia andthe deacon; on the other, Petronilla and Basil and Decius. Thoughkneeling, the senator's daughter held herself proudly. Though tearswere on her face, she hardly disguised an air of triumph. Nor was thehead of Petronilla bent; her countenance looked hard and cold asmarble. Leander, a model of decorum, stepped with grave greetingtowards the prelate, and whispered a word or two. In the stillness thatfollowed there quivered a deep breath. Flavius Anicius Maximus hadlived his life. 

When the bishop, supported by Leander and Andreas, rose from prayer, hewas led by the obsequious clerics to a hall illumined by several lamps, where two brasiers gave forth a grateful glow in the chill of theautumn morning. Round about the walls, in niches, stood busts carved orcast of the ancestors of him who lay dead. Here, whilst voices oflamentation sounded from without, Leander made known to the prelate andthe presbyter the terms of the will. Basil was instituted 'heir'; thatis to say, he became the legal representative of the dead man, and wascharged with the distribution of those parts of the estate bequeathedto others. First of the legatees stood Aurelia. The listeners learntwith astonishment that the obstinate heretic was treated as though herfather had had no cause of complaint against her; she was now mistressof the Surrentine estate, as well as of the great house in Rome, and ofother property. A lamentable thing, the deacon admitted suavely; but, for his part, he was not without hope, and he fixed his eyes with apeculiar intensity on the troubled bishop. 

Petronilla drew near. The will was already known to her in everydetail, and she harboured a keen suspicion of the secret which laybehind it. Leander, she could not doubt, was behaving to her withduplicity, and this grieved her to the heart. It was to the bishop thatshe now addressed herself. 

'Holy father, I am your suppliant. Not even for a day will I remainunder this roof, even if--which is doubtful--I should be suffered to doso. I put myself under the protection of your Holiness, until such timeas I can set forth on my sad journey to Rome. At Surrentum I must abideuntil the corpse of my brother can be conveyed to its final restingplace--as I promised him. '

Much agitated, the prelate made answer that a fitting residence shouldbe prepared for her before noon, and the presbyter Andreas added thathe would instantly betake himself to the city on that business. Petronilla thanked him with the loftiest humility. For any lack ofrespect, or for common courtesy, to which they might be exposed erethey quitted the villa, she besought their Sanctities not to hold herresponsible, she herself being now an unwilling intruder at thishearth, and liable at any moment to insult. Uttering which words in aresonant voice, she turned her eyes to where, a few yards away, stoodAurelia, with Basil and Decius behind her. 

'Reverend bishop, ' spoke a voice not less steady and sonorous than thatof the elder lady, 'should you suffer any discourtesy in my house, itwill come not from me, but from her who suggests its possibility, andwhose mind is bent upon such things. Indeed, she has already scantedthe respect she owes you in uttering these words. As for herself, remain she here for an hour or for a month, she is in no danger ofinsult--unless she deem it an insult to have her base falsehood flungback at her, and the enmity in her fierce eyes answered with the scornit merits. '

Petronilla trembled with wrath. 

'Falsehood!' she echoed, on a high, mocking note. 'A charge offalsehood upon _her_ lips! Your Holiness will ere long, I do not doubt, be enlightened as to that woman's principles in the matter of truth andfalsehood. Meanwhile, we shall consult our souls' welfare, as well asour dignity, in holding as little intercourse as may be with one whohas renounced the faith in Christ. '

Aurelia bent her eyes upon the deacon, who met the look with austerefixedness. There was dead silence for a moment, then she turned to theyoung men behind her. 

'My noble cousins, I desired your company because I foresaw thiswoman's violence, and knew not to what length it might carry her. Shepretends to fear my tongue; for my part, I would not lightly trustmyself within reach of her hands, of which I learnt the weight when Iwas a little child. Lord Decius, attend, I beg you, these reverend menwhilst they honour my house and on their way homeward. My cousin Basil, I must needs ask you to be my guard, until I can command service here. Follow me, I pray. '

With another piercing glance at Leander she withdrew from the assembly. 

It was a morning of wind and cloud; the day broke sadly. When the firstgleam of yellow sunlight flitted over Surrentum towards the cliffs ofCapreae, silence had fallen upon the villa. Wearied by their night ofwatching, the inhabitants slept, or at least reposed in privacy. Butthis quiet was of short duration. When the customary bell had givennotice of the third hour, Aurelia called together the servants of thehouse--only those who belonged to Petronilla failing to answer hersummons--and announced to them her new authority. At the same time thesteward of the estate read out a list of those slaves who, under thewill of Maximus, could claim their emancipation. The gathering havingdispersed, there appeared an attendant of the deacon Leander; hisreverend master would wait upon the lady Aurelia, as soon as herleisure permitted, for the purpose of taking leave. Forthwith thedeacon was admitted. Alone in the great hall, Aurelia sat beside abrasier, at which she warmed her hands; she scarcely deigned to glanceat the ecclesiastic. 

'You pursue your journey, reverend?' were her first words. 

'As far as Neapolis, gracious lady, ' came the suave reply. 'There or inthe neighbourhood I shall remain at least ten days. Should you desireto communicate with me--'

'I think I can save that trouble, ' interrupted Aurelia, with quiveringlips. 'All I have to say to your Sanctity, I will say at once. It is, that you have enlightened me as to the value of solemn oaths on thelips of the Roman clergy. '

'Your meaning, dear madam?' asked Leander, with a look of bland disdain. 

'You have the face to ask it, deacon, after Petronilla's words thismorning?'

'I feared they might mislead you. The lady Petronilla knows nothing ofwhat has passed between us. She spoke in anger, and hazarded anaccusation--as angry ladies are wont. '

'Of course you say so, ' returned Aurelia. 'I will believe you if yougive me back the paper I signed, and trust to my word for thefulfilment of what I promised. '

Leander smiled, almost as if he had heard some happy intelligence. 

'You ask, ' he said, 'for a trust you yourself refuse. '

'Then go your way, perjurer!' exclaimed Aurelia, her cheeks aflame withpassion. 'I know henceforth on whom to rely. '

For a moment Leander stood as if reflecting on these last words; thenhe bowed, and with placid dignity retired. 

Meanwhile Basil and Decius were conversing with Petronilla. Neither ofthem had ever stood on terms of more than courteous forbearance withthis authoritative lady; at present they maintained their usualdemeanour, and did not think it needful to apologise for friendlyrelations with Aurelia. The only subject on which Petronilla deigned tohold colloquy with them was that of her brother's burial at Rome. Should the transport be by land or by sea? This evening the corpsewould be conveyed to the cathedral of Surrentum, where due rites wouldbe performed early on the morrow; there it would remain in temporaryinterment until a coffin of lead could be prepared, and arrangementscompleted for the removal. Was the year too advanced, questionedPetronilla, to allow of the sea voyage? On the other hand, would theland journey be safe, having regard to the advance of the Gothic army?Basil pronounced for the sea, and undertook to seek for a vessel. Washe willing, asked Petronilla, to accompany the body to Rome? Thisquestion gave Basil pause; he reflected uneasily; he hesitated. Yet whocould discharge this duty, if he did not? Suddenly ashamed of hishesitation, the true reason of which could not be avowed, he declaredthat he would make the voyage. 

Hereupon entered the deacon, who, the matter being put before him, approved these arrangements. He himself would doubtless be in Romebefore the arrival of the remains of Maximus, and all the details ofthe burial there might be left to him. So Petronilla thanked anddismissed the young men, on whose retirement she turned eagerly toLeander. 

'Forgive me!' broke from her lips. 'I know how deeply I have offendedyour Sanctity. It was my fear that you would go away without a word. Myhaste, my vehemence, merited even that punishment. '

'Calm yourself, noble lady, ' returned the deacon. 'I was indeedgrieved, but I know your provocation. We may speak on this subjectagain; but not here. For the present, I take my leave of you, all beingready for my departure. As you are quitting this house at once, youneed no counsel as to immediate difficulties; I will only say, in allthings be prudent, be self-controlled; before long, you may see reasonfor the discreet silence which I urge upon you. '

'When do you set forth to Rome?' asked Petronilla. 'If it might be myprivilege to journey in your company--?'

'The day is uncertain, ' replied Leander; 'but if it be possible for usto travel together, trust me to beg for the honour. You shall hear ofmy projects in a week's time from Neapolis. '

Petronilla fell to her knees, and again besought his forgiveness withhis benediction. The deacon magnanimously granted both, and whilstbending over the devout lady, whispered one word:

'Patience!'

An hour after mid-day, Petronilla quitted the villa. Her greattravelling chariot, drawn by four mules, wherein she and her mostprecious possessions were conveyed, descended at a stately pace thewinding road to Surrentum. Before it rode Basil; behind came a ladenwagon, two light vehicles carrying female slaves, and mountedmen-servants, armed as though for a long and perilous journey. Sincethe encounter before sunrise, there had been no meeting between thehostile ladies. Aurelia signified her scorn by paying no heed to heraunt's departure. 

Alone in her dominion, the inheritress entered the death-chamber, andthere passed an hour upon her knees. Whilst she was thus secluded, apealing storm traversed the sky. When Aurelia came forth again, herface was wan, tearstained. She summoned her nurse, and held much talkwith her as to the significance of thunder whilst a corpse lay in thehouse. The good woman, though she durst not utter all her thoughts, babbled concern, and used the occasion to beseech Aurelia--as she hadoften done since the death of her Gothic lord--to be reconciled withthe true church. 

'True church!' exclaimed Aurelia, with sudden passion. 'How do you knowwhich is the true church? Have not emperors, have not bishops andnumberless holy men lived and died in the faith I confess--?'

She checked herself; grew silent, brooded. Meanwhile, the old nursetalked on, and presently began to relate how a handmaid of Petronilla, in going with her this morning, professed to know on the surestevidence that Aurelia, by her father's deathbed, had renouncedArianism. The sullen countenance of her mistress flashed again intowrath. 

'Did I not forbid you, ' cried Aurelia, 'to converse with those women?And you dare repeat to me their loose-lipped chatter. I am too familiarwith you; go and talk with your kind; go!'

Mutteringly the woman went apart. The mistress, alone, fell into a longweeping. When she had sobbed herself into quiet once more, she sought avolume of the Gospels, inserted her forefinger between the pages atrandom, and anxiously regarded the passage thus chosen. 

'While ye have the light, believe in the light, that ye may be thechildren of light. '

She brooded, but in the end seemed to find solace. 

Basil was absent all day. On his return, just before sunset, Aureliamet him in the atrium, heard the report of what he had done, and atlength asked whether, on the day after to-morrow, he could go to Cumae. 

'To Cumae?' exclaimed Basil. 'Ay, that I can! You are returningthither?'

'For a day only. I go to seek that which no one but myself can find. '

The listener had no difficulty in understanding this; it meant, ofcourse, treasure concealed in the house Aurelia had long inhabited. 

'We must both go and return by sea, ' said Aurelia, 'even though itcause us delay. I have no mind to pass through Neapolis. '

'Be it so. The sky will be calm when this storm has passed Shall youreturn, ' said Basil, 'alone?'

'Alone? Do you purpose to forsake me?'

'Think better of my manners, cousin--and more shrewdly of my meaning. '

'You mean fairly, I trust?' she returned, looking him steadily in theface. 

'Nay, ' cried the young man vehemently, 'if I have any thought otherthan honest, may I perish before I ever again behold her!'

Aurelia's gaze softened. 

'It is well, ' she said; 'we will speak again to-morrow. '

That night Petronilla kept vigil in the church of Surrentum, Basil andDecius relieving her an hour before dawn. At the funeral service, whichbegan soon after sunrise, the greater part of the townsfolk attended. All were eager to see whether the daughter of Maximus would be present, for many rumours were rife touching Aurelia, some declaring that shehad returned to the true faith, some that she remained obstinate inheresy. Her failure to appear did not set the debate at rest. A servantof Petronilla whispered it about that only by a false pretence ofconversion had Aurelia made sure her inheritance; and at the merethought of such wickedness the hearers shuddered, foretelling a dreadretribution. The clergy were mute on the subject, even with the mostfavoured of their flock. Meanwhile the piety and austerity ofPetronilla made a safe topic of talk, and a long procession reverentlyescorted her to her temporary abode near the bishop's house. 

To-day the clouds spent themselves in rain; before nightfall theheavens began to clear. The island peak of Inarime stood purple againsta crimson sunset. After supper, Aurelia and Basil held conference. Thewind would not be favourable for their voyage; none the less, theydecided to start at the earliest possible hour. Dawn was but juststreaking the sky, when they rode down the dark gorge which led to theshore, Basil attended by Felix, the lady by one maid. The bark awaitedthem, swaying gently against the harbour-side. Aurelia descended to thelittle cabin curtained off below a half-deck, and--sails as yet beinguseless--four great oars urged the craft on its way. 

What little wind there was breathed from the north For an hour theymade but slow progress, but when the first rays of sun gleamed abovethe mountains, the breeze shifted westward; sails were presentlyhoisted, and the rippling water hissed before the prow. Soon a goldenday shone upon sea and land. Aurelia came forth on to the deck, and satgazing towards Neapolis. 

'You know that the deacon is yonder, ' she said in a low voice to Basil, this the first mention of Leander that had fallen from her lips inspeaking with him. 

'Is he?' returned the other carelessly. 'Yes, I remember. '

But Basil's eyes were turned to the long promontory of Misenum. He waswondering anxiously how his letter had affected Veranilda, and whether, when she heard of it, Aurelia would be angered. 

'Where is your friend Marcian?' were her next words. 

Basil replied that he, too, was sojourning at Neapolis; and, whenAurelia inquired what business held him there, her cousin answeredtruly that he did not know. 

'Do you trust him?' asked the lady, after a thoughtful pause. 

'Marcian? As I trust myself!'

One of the boatmen coming within earshot, their conversation ceased. 

The hour before noon saw them drawing near to land. They left on theright the little island of Nesis, and drew towards Puteoli. On the leftlay Baiae, all but forsaken, its ancient temples and villas stretchingalong the shore from the Lucrine lake to the harbour shadowed by CapeMisenum; desolate magnificence, marble overgrown with ivy, gardenswhere the rose grew wild, and terraces crumbling into the sea. Basiland Aurelia looked upon these things with an eye made careless byfamiliarity; all their lives ruin had lain about them, desertedsanctuaries of a bygone creed, unpeopled homes of a vanished greatness. 

As the boat advanced into the bay, it lost the wind, and rowing againbecame needful. Thus they entered the harbour of Puteoli, where thetravellers disembarked. 

Hard by the port was a tavern, which, owing to its position midwaybetween Neapolis and Cumae, still retained something of its characteras a _mansio_ of the posting service; but the vehicles and quadrupedsof which it boasted were no longer held in strict reserve for stateofficials and persons privileged. Gladly the innkeeper put at Basil'sdisposal his one covered carriage, a trifle cleaner inside than it waswithout, and a couple of saddle horses, declared to be Sicilian, butadvanced in age. Thus, with slight delay, the party pursued theirjourney, Basil and his man riding before the carriage. The road rancoastwise as far as the Julian haven, once thronged with the shippingof the Roman world, now all but abandoned to a few fishermen; there itturned inland, skirted the Lucrine water, and presently reached theshore of Lake Avernus, where was the entrance to the long tunnelpiercing the hill between the lake and Cumae. On an ill-kept way, undera low vault of rock dripping moisture, the carriage with difficultytossed and rumbled through the gloom. Basil impatiently trotted on, and, as he issued into sunlight, there before him stood the walls ofthe ancient city, round about that little hill by the sea which, in anage remote, had been chosen for their abode by the first Hellenestempted to the land of Italy. High above rose the acropolis, a frowningstronghold. Through Basil's mind passed the thought that ere long Cumaemight again belong to the Goths, and this caused him no uneasiness;half, perchance, he hoped it. 

A guard at the city gate inspected the carriage, and let it pass on. Ina few minutes, guided by Basil, it drew up before a house in a narrow, climbing street, a small house, brick fronted, with stucco pilasterspainted red at the door, and two windows, closed with wooden shutters, in the upper storey. On one side of the entrance stood a shop for thesale of earthenware; on the other, a vintner's with a projecting marbletable, the jars of wine thereon exhibited being attached by chains torings in the wall. Odours of cookery, and of worse things, oppressedthe air, and down the street ran a noisome gutter. When Basil's servanthad knocked, a little wicket slipped aside for observation; then, aftera grinding of heavy locks and bars, the double doors were opened, and agrey-headed slave stepped forward to receive his mistress. Basil hadjumped down from his horse, and would fain have entered, but, by anarrangement already made, this was forbidden. Saying that she wouldexpect him at the second hour on the morrow, Aurelia disappeared. Hercousin after a longing look at the blind and mute house, rode away toanother quarter of the city, near the harbour, where was an inn atwhich he had lodged during his previous visit. In a poor and dirtyroom, he made shift to dine on such food as could be offered him; thenlay down on the truckle bed, and slept for an hour or two. 

A knock at the door awoke him. It was Felix, who brought the news thatMarcian was at Cumae. 

'You have seen him?' cried Basil, astonished and eager. 

'His servant Sagaris, ' Felix replied. 'I met him but now in the forum, and learnt that his lord lodges at the house of the curial Venustus;hard by the Temple of Diana. '

'Go thither at once, and beg him, if his leisure serve, to come to me. I would go myself; but, if he have seen Sagaris, he may be already onthe way here. '

And so it proved, for in a very few minutes Marcian himself entered theroom. 

'Your uncle is dead, ' were his first words. 'I heard it in Neapolisyesterday. What brings you here?'

'Nay, best Marcian, ' returned the other, with hands on his friend'sshoulders, and peering him in the face, 'let me once again put thatquestion to _you_. '

'I cannot answer it, yet, ' said Marcian gravely. 'Your business is moreeasily guessed. '

'But must not be talked of here, ' interrupted Basil, glancing at thedoor. 'Let us find some more suitable place. '

They descended the dark, foul stairs, and went out together. Before thehouse stood the two serving-men, who, as their masters walked away, followed at a respectful distance. When safe from being overheard, Basil recounted to his friend the course of events at the Surrentinevilla since Marcian's departure, made known his suspicion that Aureliahad secretly returned to the Catholic faith. He then told of to day'sjourney and its purpose, his hearer wearing a look of grave attention. 

'Can it be, ' asked Marcian, 'that you think of wedding this Gothicbeauty?'

'Assuredly, ' answered Basil, with a laugh, 'I have thought of it. '

'And it looks as though Aurelia favoured your desire. '

'It has indeed something of that appearance. '

'Pray you now, dear lord, ' said Marcian, 'be sober awhile. Have youreflected that, with such a wife, you would not dare return to Rome?'

Basil had not regarded that aspect of the matter, but his friend'sreasoning soon brought him to perceive the danger he would lightly haveincurred. Dangers, not merely those that resulted from the war; couldhe suppose, asked Marcian, that Heliodora would meekly endure hisdisdain, and that the life of Veranilda would be safe in such a rival'sproximity? Hereat, Basil gnashed his teeth and handled his dagger. Whyreturn to Rome at all? he cried impatiently. He had no mind to gothrough the torments of a long siege such as again threatened. Whyshould he not live on in Campania--

'And tend your sheep or your goats?' interrupted Marcian, with hisfamiliar note of sad irony. 'And pipe _sub tegmine fagi_ to yourblue-eyed Amaryllis? Why not, indeed? But what if; on learning thedeath of Maximus, the Thracian who rules yonder see fit to command yourinstant return, and to exact from you an account of what you haveinherited? Bessas loses no time--suspecting--perhaps--that his tenureof a fruitful office may not be long. '

'And if the suspicion be just?' said Basil, gazing hard at his friend. 

'Well, if it be?' said the other, returning the look. 

'Should we not do well to hold far from Rome, looking to King Totila, whom men praise, as a deliverer of our land from hateful tyranny?'

Marcian laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. 

'O, brave Basil!' he murmured, with a smile. 'O, nobly confident inthose you love! Never did man so merit love in return. --Do as you will. In a few days I shall again visit you at Surrentum, and perchance bringnews that may give us matter for talk. '

From a portico hard by there approached a beggar, a filthy and hideouscripple, who, with whining prayer, besought alms. Marcian from hiswallet took a copper coin, and, having glanced at it, drew Basil'sattention. 

'Look, ' said he, smiling oddly, 'at the image and the superscription. '

It was a coin of Vitiges, showing a helmeted bust of the goddess of thecity, with legend '_Invicta Roma_. '

'_Invicta Roma_, ' muttered Basil sadly, with head bent. 

Meanwhile, out of earshot of their masters, the two servants conversedwith not less intimacy. At a glance these men were seen to be ofdifferent races. Felix, aged some five and thirty, could boast of freebirth; he was the son of a curial--that is to say, municipalcouncillor--of Arpinum, who had been brought to ruin, like so many ofhis class in this age, by fiscal burdens, the curiales beingresponsible for the taxes payable by their colleagues, as well as forthe dues on any estate in their district which might be abandoned, and, in brief, for whatsoever deficiencies of local revenue. Gravity andsincerity appeared in his countenance; he seldom smiled, spoke in asubdued voice, and often kept his eyes on the ground; but his servicewas performed with rare conscientiousness, and he had often given proofof affection for his master. Sagaris, a Syrian slave, less than thirtyyears old, had a comely visage which ever seemed to shine withcontentment, and often twinkled with a sort of roguish mirth. Tall andof graceful bearing, the man's every movement betrayed personal vanity;his speech had the note of facile obsequiousness; he talked wheneveroccasion offered, and was fond of airing his views on political andother high matters. Therewithal, he was the most superstitious ofmortals; wore amulets, phylacteries, charms of all sorts, and secretlyprayed to many strange gods. When he had nothing else to do, and couldfind a genial companion, his delight was to play by the hour at _micaredigitis_; but, in spite of his master's good opinion, not to Sagariswould have applied the proverb that you might play that game with himin the dark. 

'Take my word for it, ' he whispered to Felix, with his most importantair, 'we shall see strange things ere long. Last night I counted sevenshooting stars. '

'What does that argue?' asked the other soberly. 

'More than I care to put into Latin. At Capua, three days ago, a womangave birth to a serpent, a winged dragon, which flew away towards Rome. I talked at Neapolis with a man who saw it. '

'Strange, indeed, ' murmured Felix, with raised eyebrows. 'I have oftenheard of such portents, but never had the luck to behold one of them. Yet, ' he added gravely, 'I have received a sign. When my father died, Iwas far away from him, and at that very hour, as I prayed in the churchof Holy Clement at Rome, I heard a voice that said in my ear, _Vale_!three times. '

'Oh, I have had signs far more wonderful than that, ' exclaimed theSyrian. 'I was at sea, between Alexandria and Berytus--for you mustknow that in my boyhood I passed three years at Berytus, and thereobtained that knowledge of law which you may have remarked in talkingwith me--well, I was at sea--'

'Peace!' interposed Felix. 'We are summoned. '

Sagaris sighed, and became the obsequious attendant. 

CHAPTER V

BASIL AND VERANILDA

At the appointed hour next morning, when yet no ray of sunshine hadtouched the gloomy little street, though a limpid sky shone over it, Basil stood at Aurelia's door. The grey-headed porter silently admittedhim, and he passed by a narrow corridor into a hall lighted as usualfrom above, paved with red tiles, here and there trodden away, thewalls coloured a dusky yellow, and showing an imaginary line of pillarspainted in blue. A tripod table, a couch, and a few chairs were theonly furniture. When the visitor had waited for a few moments a curtainconcealing the entrance to the inner part of the house moved aside, andAurelia's voice bade her cousin come forward. He entered a smaller roomopening upon a diminutive court where a few shrubs grew; around thewalls hung old and faded tapestry; the floor was of crude mosaic; thefurniture resembled that of the atrium, with the addition of a brasier. 

'I have been anxious for your coming, ' were Aurelia's first words. 'Doyou think they will let us depart without hindrance? Yesterday I sawthe owner of this house to transact my business with him. It isVenustus, a curial, a man who has always been well disposed to me. Hesaid that he must perforce make known to the governor my intention ofleaving the city, and hoped no obstacle would be put in our way. Thismorning, before sunrise, a messenger from the citadel came and putquestions to the porter. '

Basil knitted his brows. 

'Venustus? It is with Venustus that Marcian lodges. Yes, Marcian ishere; I know not on what business. It would have been wiser, ' he added, 'to have said nothing, to have gone away as before. When shall you beready?'

'I am ready now. Why delay? What matter though we reach Surrentum bynight? The moon rises early. '

'What reply was given to the messenger from the citadel?'

'He learned, perforce, that we were preparing for a journey. '

A moment's reflection and Basil decided to risk immediate departure;delay and uncertainty were at all times hateful to him, and at thepresent juncture intolerable. At once he quitted the house (not havingventured to speak the name of Veranilda), and in an hour's time thecovered carriage from Puteoli, and another vehicle, were in waiting. The baggage was brought out; then, as Basil stood in the hall, he sawAurelia come forward, accompanied by a slight female figure, whosegrace could not be disguised by the long hooded cloak which wrapped itfrom head to foot, allowing not a glimpse of face. The young mantrembled, and followed. He saw the ladies step into the carriage, andwas himself about to mount his horse, when a military officer, attendedby three soldiers, stepped towards him, and, without phrase ofcourtesy, demanded his name. Pallid, shaken with all manner ofemotions, Basil replied to this and several other inquiries, the resultbeing that the two vehicles were ordered to be driven to the citadel, and he to go thither under guard. 

At the entrance to the citadel the carriage drew up and remained thereunder guard. Basil was led in, and presently stood before the militarygovernor of Cumae; this was a Hun named Chorsoman, formerly one ofBelisarius's bodyguard. He spoke Latin barbarously; none the less washis language direct and perspicuous. The Roman lady wished to quitCumae, where she had lived for some years; she purposed, moreover, totake away with her a maiden of Gothic race, who, though not treated asa captive, had been under observation since she was sent to dwell hereby Belisarius. This could not pass as a matter of small moment. Plainly, permission to depart must be sought of the authorities, andsuch permission, under the circumstances, could only be granted inreturn for substantial payment--a payment in proportion to the lady'srank. It was known that the senator Maximus had died, and report saidthat his daughter inherited great wealth. The price of her passportwould be one thousand gold pieces. 

Basil knew that Aurelia had not, in the coffer she was taking away, aquarter of this sum of money. He foresaw endless delay, infinite perilto his hopes. Schooling a hot tongue to submissive utterance, he askedthat Aurelia might be consulted. 

'Speak with her yourself, ' said the Hun, 'and bring her answer. '

So Basil went forth, and, under the eyes of the guard, held conversewith his cousin. Aurelia was willing to give all the treasure shecarried with her--money, a few ornaments of gold and silver, two orthree vessels of precious metal--everything for immediate liberty; alltogether she thought it might be the equivalent of half the sumdemanded. The rest she would swear to pay. This being reported toChorsoman, his hideous, ashen-grey countenance assumed a fierceexpression; he commanded that all the baggage on the vehicles should bebrought and opened before him; this was done. Whilst Basil, boilingwith secret rage, saw his cousin's possessions turned out on to thefloor a thought flashed into his mind. 

'I ought to inform your Sublimity, ' he said, with all the indifferencehe could assume, 'that the lady Aurelia despatched two days ago acourier to Rome apprising the noble commandant Bessas of her father'sdeath, and of her intention to arrive in the city as soon as possible, and to put her means at his disposal for the defence of Rome againstKing Totila. '

Chorsoman stared. 

'Is not this lady the widow of a Goth and a heretic?'

'The widow of a Goth, yes, but no longer a heretic, ' answered Basilboldly, half believing what he said. 

He saw that he had spoken to some purpose. The Hun blinked his littleeyes, gazed greedily at the money, and was about to speak when asoldier announced that a Roman named Marcian desired immediateaudience, therewith handing to the governor a piece of metal whichlooked like a large coin. Chorsoman had no sooner glanced at this thanhe bade admit the Roman; but immediately changing his mind, he went outinto another room. On his return, after a quarter of an hour, hegruffly announced that the travellers were free to depart. 

'We humbly thank your Clemency, ' said Basil, his heart leaping in joy. 'Does your Greatness permit me to order these trifles to be removed?'

'Except the money, ' replied Chorsoman, growling next moment, 'and thevessels'; then snarling with a savage glance about him, 'and thejewels. '

Not till the gates of Cumae were behind them, and they had entered thecavern in the hill, did Basil venture to recount what had happened. Healighted from his horse, and walking through the gloom beside thecarriage he briefly narrated all in a whisper to Aurelia--all excepthis own ingenious device for balking the Hun's cupidity. What meansMarcian had employed for their release he could but vaguely conjecture;that would be learned a few days hence when his friend came again toSurrentum. Aurelia's companion in the carriage, still hooded andcloaked, neither moved nor uttered a word. 

At a distance of some twenty yards from the end of the tunnel, Felix, riding in advance, checked his horse and shouted. There on the groundlay a dead man, a countryman, who it was easy to see had been stabbedto death, and perhaps not more than an hour ago. Quarrel or robbery, who could say? An incident not so uncommon as greatly to perturb thetravellers; they passed on and came to Puteoli. Here the waitingboatmen were soon found; the party embarked; the vessel oared away in adead calm. 

The long voyage was tedious to Basil only because Veranilda remainedunseen in the cabin; the thought of bearing her off; as though she werealready his own, was an exultation, a rapture. When he reflected on theindignities he had suffered in the citadel rage burned his throat, andAurelia, all bitterness at the loss of her treasure, found words toincrease this wrath. A Hun! A Scythian savage! A descendant perchanceof the fearful Attila! He to represent the Roman Empire! Fitinstrument, forsooth, of such an Emperor as Justinian, whose boundlessavarice, whose shameful subjection to the base-born Theodora, wereknown to every one. To this had Rome fallen; and not one of her sonswho dared to rise against so foul a servitude!

'Have patience, cousin, ' Basil whispered, bidding her with a glancebeware of the nearest boatman. 'There are some who will not grieve ifTotila--'

'No more than that? To stand, and look on, and play the courtier towhichever may triumph!'

Basil muttered with himself. He wished he had been bred a soldierinstead of growing to manhood in an age when the nobles of Rome wereheld to inglorious peace, their sole career that of the jurist AndAurelia, brooding, saw him involved beyond recall in her schemes ofvengeance. 

The purple evening fell about them, an afterglow of sunset tremblingupon the violet sea. Above the heights of Capreae a star began toglimmer; and lo, yonder from behind the mountains rose the great orb ofthe moon. They were in the harbour at last, but had to wait on boarduntil a messenger could go to the village and a conveyance arrive. Thelitter came, with a horse for Basil; Felix, together with Aurelia'sgrey-headed porter and a female slave--these two the only servants thathad remained in the house at Cumae--followed on foot, and the baggagewas carried up on men's shoulders. 

'Decius!' cried Basil, in a passionate undertone, when he encounteredhis kinsman in the vestibule. 'Decius! we are here--and one with uswhom you know not. Hush! Stifle your curiosity till to-morrow. Let thempass. '

So had the day gone by, and not once had he looked upon the face ofVeranilda. 

He saw her early on the morrow. Aurelia, though the whole villa was nowat her command, chose still to inhabit the house of Proba; and thither, when the day was yet young, she summoned Basil. The room in which shesat was hung with pictured tapestry, representing Christ and theApostles; crude work, but such as had pleased Faltonia Proba, whosepious muse inspired her to utter the Gospel in a Virgilian canto. Andat Aurelia's side, bending over a piece of delicate needlework, sat theGothic maiden, clad in white, her flaxen hair, loosely held with silk, falling behind her shoulders, shadowing her forehead, and half hidingthe little ears. At Basil's entrance she did not look up; at the firstsound of his voice she bent her head yet lower, and only when hedirectly addressed her, asking, with all the gentleness his lips couldcommand, whether the journey had left much fatigue, did she show for amoment her watchet eyes, answering few words with rare sweetness. 

'Be seated, dear my lord, ' said his cousin, in the soft, womanly voiceonce her habitual utterance. 'There has been so little opportunity offree conversation, that we have almost, one might say, to make eachother's acquaintance yet. But I hope we may now enjoy a little leisure, and live as becomes good kinsfolk. '

Basil made such suitable answer as his agitation allowed. 

'And the noble Decius, ' pursued Aurelia, 'will, I trust, bestow attimes a little of his leisure upon us. Perhaps this afternoon you couldpersuade him to forget his books for half an hour? But let us speak, tobegin with, of sad things which must needs occupy us. Is it possible, yet, to know when the ship will sail for Rome?'

Aurelia meant, of course, the vessel which would convey her father'scorpse, and the words cast gloom upon Basil, who had all but forgottenthe duty that lay before him. He answered that a week at least mustpass before the sailing, and, as he spoke, kept his eyes uponVeranilda, whose countenance--or so it seemed to him--had becomegraver, perhaps a little sad. 

'Is it your purpose to stay long in Rome?' was Aurelia's next question, toned with rather excessive simplicity. 

'To stay long?' exclaimed Basil. 'How can you think it? Perchance Ishall not even enter the city. At Portus, I may resign my duty intoother hands, and so straightway return. '

There was a conflict in Aurelia's mind. Reverence for her fatherapproved the thought of his remains being transported under theguardianship of Basil; none the less did she dread this journey, andfeel tempted to hinder it. She rose from her chair. 

'Let us walk into the sunshine, ' she said. 'The morning is chilly. 'And, as she passed out into the court, hand in hand with Veranilda, 'O, the pleasure of these large spaces, this free air, after the straighthouse at Cumae! Do you not breathe more lightly, sweetest? Come intoProba's garden, and I will show you where I sat with my broidery when Iwas no older than you. '

The garden was approached by a vaulted passage. A garden longreconquered by nature; for the paths were lost in herbage, the seatswere overgrown with creeping plants, and the fountain had crumbled intoruin. A high wall formerly enclosed it, but, in a shock of earthquakesome years ago, part of this had fallen, leaving a gap which framed alovely picture of the inland hills. Basil pulled away the trailingleafage from a marble hemicycle, and, having spread his cloak upon it, begged tremorously that Veranilda would rest. 

'That wall shall be rebuilt, ' said Aurelia, and, as if to inspect theruin, wandered away. When she was distant not many paces, Basil bent tohis seated companion, and breathed in a passionate undertone:

'My letter reached your hands, O fairest?'

'I received it--I read it. '

As she spoke, Veranilda's cheeks flushed as if in shame. 

'Will you reply, were it but one word?'

Her head drooped lower. Basil seated himself at her side. 

'One word, O Veranilda! I worship you--my soul longs for you--say onlythat you will be mine, my beloved lady, my wife!'

Her blue eyes glistened with moisture as for an instant they met thedark glow in his. 

'Do you know who I am?' she whispered. 

'You are Veranilda! You are beauty and sweetness and divine purity--'

He sought her hand, but at this moment Aurelia turned towards them, andthe maiden, quivering, stood up. 

'Perhaps the sun is too powerful, ' said Aurelia, with her tenderestsmile. 'My lily has lived so long in the shade. '

They lingered a little on the shadowed side, Aurelia reviving memoriesof her early life, then passed again under the vaulted arch. Basil, whose eyes scarcely moved from Veranilda's face, could not bringhimself to address her in common words, and dreaded that she would soonvanish. So indeed it befell. With a murmur of apology to her friend, and a timid movement of indescribable grace in Basil's direction, sheescaped, like a fugitive wild thing, into solitude. 

'Why has she gone?' exclaimed the lover, all impatience. 'I must followher--I cannot live away from her! Let me find her again. '

His cousin checked him. 

'I have to speak to you, Basil. Come where we can be private. '

They entered the room where they had sat before, and Aurelia, taking upthe needlework left by Veranilda, showed it to her companion withadmiration. 

'She is wondrous at this art. In a contest with Minerva, would she nothave fared better than Arachne? This mourning garment which I wear isof her making, and look at the delicate work; it was wrought four yearsago, when I heard of my brother's death--wrought in a few days. She wasthen but thirteen. In all that it beseems a woman to know, she is noless skilled. Yonder lies her cithern; she learnt to touch it, I scarceknow how, out of mere desire to soothe my melancholy, and Isuspect--though she will not avow it--that the music she plays is oftenher own. In sickness she has tended me with skill as rare as hergentleness; her touch on the hot forehead is like that of a flowerplucked before sunrise. Hearing me speak thus of her, what think you, OBasil, must be my trust in the man to whom I would give her for wife?'

'Can you doubt my love, O Aurelia?' cried the listener, clasping hishands before him. 

'Your love? No. But your prudence, is that as little beyond doubt?'

'I have thought long and well, ' said Basil. 

Aurelia regarded him steadily. 

'You spoke with her in the garden just now. Did she reply?'

'But few words. She asked me if I knew her origin, and blushed as shespoke. '

'It is her wish that I should tell you; and I will. '

Scarce had Aurelia begun her narrative, when Basil perceived that hisown conjecture, and that of Marcian, had hit the truth. Veranilda was agreat-grandchild of Amalafrida, the sister of King Theodoric, beingborn of the daughter of King Theodahad; and her father was thatEbrimut, whose treachery at the beginning of the great war deliveredRhegium into the hands of the Greeks. Her mother, Theodenantha, a womanof noble spirit, scorned the unworthy Goth, and besought the conquerorto let her remain in Italy, even as a slave, rather than share withsuch a husband the honours of the Byzantine court. She won this gracefrom Belisarius, and was permitted to keep with her the little maiden, just growing out of childhood. But shame and grief had broken herheart; after a few months of imprisonment at Cumae she died. AndVeranilda passed into the care of the daughter of Maximus. 

'For I too was a captive, ' said Aurelia, 'and of the same religion asthe orphan child. By happy hazard I had become a friend of her mother, in those days of sorrow; and with careless scorn our conquerorspermitted me to take Veranilda into my house. As the years went by, shewas all but forgotten; there came a new governor--this thievishHun--who paid no heed to us. I looked forward to a day when we mightquit Cumae and live in freedom where we would. Then somethingunforeseen befell. Half a year ago, just when the air of spring beganto breathe into that dark, chill house, a distant kinsman of ours, whohas long dwelt in Byzantium--do you know Olybrius, the son of Probinus?'

'I have heard his name. '

'He came to me, as if from my father; but I soon discovered that he hadanother mission, his main purpose being to seek for Veranilda. By whomsent, I could not learn; but he told me that Ebrimut was dead, and thathis son, Veranilda's only brother, was winning glory in the war withthe Persians. For many days I lived in fear lest my pearl should betorn from me. Olybrius it was, no doubt, who bade the Hun keep watchupon us, and it can only have been by chance that I was allowed to goforth unmolested when you led me hither the first time. He returned toByzantium, and I have heard no more. But a suspicion haunts my mind. What if Marcian were also watching Veranilda?'

'Marcian!' cried the listener incredulously. 'You do not know him. Heis the staunchest and frankest of friends. He knows of my love; we havetalked from heart to heart. '

'Yet it was at his intercession that the Hun allowed us to go; why, youcannot guess. What if he have power and motives which threatenVeranilda's peace?'

Basil exclaimed against this as the baseless fear of a woman. Had therebeen a previous command from some high source touching the Gothicmaiden, Chorsoman would never have dared to sell her freedom. As toMarcian's power, that was derived from the authorities at Rome, andgranted him for other ends; if he used it to release Veranilda, heacted merely out of love to his friend, as would soon be seen. 

'I will hope so, ' murmured Aurelia. 'Now you have heard what sheherself desired that I should tell you, for she could not meet yourlook until you knew it. Her father's treachery is Veranilda's shame;she saw her noble mother die for it, and it has made her mourningkeener than a common sorrow. I think she would never have dared to weda Goth; all true Goths, she believes in her heart, must despise her. Itis her dread lest you, learning who she is, should find your lovechilled. '

'Call her, ' cried Basil, starting to his feet. 'Or let me go to her. She shall not suffer that fear for another moment. Veranilda!Veranilda!'

His companion retained and quieted him. He should see Veranilda erelong. But there was yet something to be spoken of. 

'Have you forgotten that she is not of your faith?'

'Do I love her, adore her, the less?' exclaimed Basil. 'Does she shrinkfrom me on that account?'

'I know, ' pursued his cousin, 'what the Apostle of the Gentiles hassaid: "For the husband who believes not is sanctified by the wife, andthe wife who believes not is sanctified by the husband. " None the less, Veranilda is under the menace of the Roman law; and you, if it be knownthat you have wedded her, will be in peril from all who serve theEmperor--at least in dark suspicion; and will be slightly esteemed byall of our house. '

The lover paced about, and all at once, with a wild gesture, utteredhis inmost thought. 

'What if I care naught for those of our house? And what if the Emperorof the East is of as little account to me? My country is not Byzantium, but Rome. '

Aurelia hushed his voice, but her eyes shone with stern gladness as shestood before him, and took him by the hand, and spoke what he alonecould hear. 

'Then unite yourself in faith with those who would make Rome free. Beone in religion with the brave Goths--with Veranilda. '

He cast down his eyes and drew a deep breath. 

'I scarce know what that religion is, O Aurelia, ' came from himstammeringly. 'I am no theologian; I never cared to puzzle my headabout the mysteries which men much wiser than I declare to pass allhuman understanding. Ask Decius if he can defend the faith ofAthanasius against that of the Arians; he will smile, and shake hishead in that droll way he has. I believe, ' he added after a briefhesitancy, 'in Christ and in the Saints. Does not Veranilda also?'

The temptress drew back a little, seated herself; yielded to troublousthought. It was long since she had joined in the worship of acongregation, for at Cumae there was no Arian church. Once only sinceher captivity had she received spiritual comfort from an Arian priest, who came to that city in disguise. What her religion truly was shecould not have declared, for the memories of early life were sometimesas strong in her as rancour against the faith of her enemies. Basil'ssimple and honest utterance touched her conscience. She put an end tothe conversation, promising to renew it before long; whilst Basil, forhis part, went away to brood, then to hold converse with Decius. 

Through all but the whole of Theodoric's reign, Italy had enjoyed alarge toleration in religion: Catholics, Arians, and even Jews observedtheir worship under the protection of the wise king. Only in the lastfew years of his life did he commit certain acts of harshness againsthis Catholic subjects, due to the wrath that was moved in him by ageneral persecution of the Arians proclaimed at Byzantium. His Gothicsuccessors adhered to Theodoric's better principle, and only after thesubjugation of the land by Belisarius had Arianism in Italy beenformally condemned. Of course it was protected by the warring Goths:Totila's victories had now once more extended religious tolerance overa great part of the country; the Arian priesthood re-entered theirchurches; and even in Rome the Greek garrison grew careless of thereviving heresy. Of these things did Decius speak, when the distressedlover sought his counsel. No one more liberal than Decius; but he borea name which he could not forget, and in his eyes the Goth was abarbarian, the Gothic woman hardly above the level of a slave. ThatBasil should take a Gothic wife, even one born of a royal line, seemedto him an indignity. Withheld by the gentleness of his temper fromsaying all he thought, he spoke only of the difficulties which wouldresult from such a marriage, and when, in reply, Basil disclosed hismind, though less vehemently than to Aurelia, Decius fell intomeditation. He, too, had often reflected with bitterness on the resultsof that restoration of Rome to the Empire which throughout the Gothicdominion most of the Roman nobles had never ceased to desire; all butwas he persuaded to approve the statesmanship of Cassiodorus. Nevertheless, he could not, without shrinking, see a kinsman pass overto the side of Totila. 

'I must think, ' he murmured. 'I must think. '

He had not yet seen Veranilda. When, in the afternoon, Basil led himinto the ladies' presence, and his eyes fell upon that white-robedloveliness, censure grew faint in him. Though a Decius, he was a man ofthe sixth century after Christ; his mind conceived an ideal of humanexcellence which would have been unintelligible to the Decii of old; inhis heart meekness and chastity had more reverence than perhaps heimagined. He glanced at Basil; he understood. Though the future stilltroubled him, opposition to the lover's will must, he knew, be idle. 

Several hours before, Basil had scratched on a waxed tablet a fewemphatic lines, which his cousin allowed to be transmitted toVeranilda. They assured her that what he had learned could only--ifthat were possible--increase his love, and entreated her to grant himwere it but a moment's speech after the formal visit, later in the day. The smile with which she now met him seemed at once gratitude andpromise; she was calmer, and less timid. Though she took little part inthe conversation, her words fell very sweetly after the men's speechand the self-confident tones of Aurelia; her language was that of anItalian lady, but in the accent could be marked a slight foreignness, which to Basil's ear had the charm of rarest music, and even to Deciussounded not unpleasing. Under the circumstances, talk, confined toindifferent subjects, could not last very long; as soon as it began toflag, Decius found an excuse for begging permission to retire. Asthough wishing for a word with him in confidence, Aurelia at the sametime passed out of the room into the colonnade. Basil and Veranildawere left alone. 

CHAPTER VI

THE EMPEROR'S COMMAND

His voice made tremulous music, inaudible a few paces away; his breathwas on her cheek; his eyes, as she gazed into them, seemed to envelopher in their glow. 

'My fairest! Let me but touch your hand. Lay it for a moment in mine--apledge for ever!'

'You do not fear to love me, O lord of my life?'

The whisper made him faint with joy. 

'What has fear to do with love, O thou with heaven in thine eyes! whatroom is there for fear in the heart where thy beauty dwells? Speakagain, speak again, my beloved, and bless me above all men that live!'

'Basil! Basil! Utter my name once more. I never knew how sweet it couldsound. '

'Nor I, how soft could be the sound of mine. Forgive me, O Veranilda, that out of my love pain has come to you. You will not ever be sadagain? You will not think ever again of those bygone sorrows?'

She bent her head low. 

'Can you believe in my truth, O Basil? Can _you_ forget?'

'All save the nobleness of her who bore you, sweet and fair one. '

'Let _that_ be ever in your thought, ' said Veranilda, with a radiantlook. 'She sees me now; and my hope, your strength and goodness, bringnew joy to her in the life eternal. '

'Say the word I wait for--whisper low--the word of all words. '

'Out of my soul, O Basil, I love you!'

As the sound trembled into silence, his lips touched hers. In thegolden shadow of her hair, the lily face flushed warm; yet she did notveil her eyes, vouchers of a life's loyalty. 

When Aurelia entered the room again, she walked as though absorbed inthought. 

'Decius tells me he must soon go to Rome, ' were her words, in drawingnear to the lovers. 

Basil had heard of no such purpose. His kinsman, under the will ofMaximus, enjoyed a share in the annual revenue of this Surrentineestate; moreover, he became the possessor of many books, which lay inthe Anician mansion of Rome, and it was his impatience, thoughtAurelia, to lay hands upon so precious a legacy, which might at anytime be put in danger by the events of the war, that prompted him toset forth. 

'Might he not perform the duty you have undertaken?' she added in alower voice, as she met Basil's look. 

Veranilda did not speak, but an anxious hope dawned in her face. AndBasil saw it. 

'Have you spoken of it, cousin?' he asked. 

'The thought has but just come to me. '

'Decius is not in good health. Thus late in the year, to travel bysea--Yet the weather may be fair, the sea still; and then it would beeasier for him than the journey by land. '

Basil spoke in a halting tone. He could not without a certain shamethink of revoking his promise to Petronilla, a very distinct promise, in which natural obligation had part. Yet the thought of the journey, of an absence from Veranilda, not without peril of many kinds, grewterrible to him. He looked at Veranilda again, and smiled encouragement. 

The lady Petronilla had been wont to dine and sup in dignifiedpublicity, seated on the _sigma_, in the room which had seen so manyfestivals, together with her male relatives and any guest who might beat the villa; in her presence, no man permitted himself the recumbentattitude, which indeed had been unusual save among the effeminate. ButAurelia and her companion took their meals apart. This evening, Basiland Decius supped almost in silence, each busy with his reflections. They lingered over the wine, their attendants having left them, untilDecius, as if rousing himself from a dream, asked how long it waslikely to be before the ship could sail. Basil answered that the leadencoffin would be ready within a few days (it was being made at Neapolis, out of water-pipes which had served a villa in ruins), and after thatthere would only be delay through wind and weather. 

'Are you greatly bent on going to Rome just now?' was the student'snext inquiry, a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. 

'By Bacchus!' answered the other, handling his goblet. 'If I saw my wayto avoid it!'

'I guessed as much. The suspicion came to me at a certain moment thismorning--a mere grain, which ever since has been growing _tanquamfavus_. I am not wont to consider myself as of much use, but is it notjust possible that, in this case, your humble kinsman might serve you?'

'My good, my excellent, my very dear Decius!' broke from the listener. 'But would it not be with risk to your health?'

'I would beg permission not to weigh anchor in a tempest, that's all. The sea in its gentler moods I have never feared, and _alcyoneummedicamen_, you know, in other words the sea-foam, has always beenrecommended for freckles. '

He touched his face, which was in deed much freckle-spotted, and Basil, whose spirits rose each moment, gave a good-natured laugh. 

'One thing only, ' added Decius seriously. 'Inasmuch as this charge is agrave one, I would not undertake it without the consent of the ladiesAurelia and Petronilla. Perchance, in respect for the honoured Maximus, they would feel reluctant to see me take your place. '

'O modest Decius!' exclaimed the other. 'Which, pray, carries the moredignity, your name or mine?--not to speak of your learning and myignorance. As to Aurelia, I can ease your mind at once. She would notdream of objecting. '

'Then let us, to-morrow, beg audience of the pious lady at Surrentum, and request her permission. '

The proposal made Basil uncomfortable; but a visit of respect toPetronilla was certainly due, and perhaps it would pass withouttroublesome incident. He nodded assent. 

Early on the morrow they carried out their purpose. To the surprise ofboth, Petronilla received them in her modest abode not ungraciously, though with marked condescension; she gave them to understand that herdays, and much of her nights, passed in religious exercises, the namesof her kinsfolk not being omitted from her prayers; of the good bishopshe spoke almost tenderly, and with a humble pride related that she hadbeen able to ease a persistent headache from which his Sanctitysuffered. When Basil found an opportunity of reporting what had passedbetween him and Decius, the lady's austere smile was for a momentclouded; it looked as though storm might follow. But the smilereturned, with perhaps a slightly changed significance. Did Basil thinkof remaining long at the villa? Ah, he could not say; to be sure, thetimes were so uncertain. For her own part, she would start on herjourney as soon as the coffin was on board the ship. Indeed, she saw noobjection to the arrangement her dear nephew proposed; she only trustedthat the learned and amiable Decius, so justly esteemed by all, wouldhave a care of his health. Did he still take the infusion of marjoramwhich she had prescribed for him? A holy man, newly returned from theEast, had deigned to visit her only yesterday, and had given her asmall phial of water from Rebekah's well; it was of priceless virtue, and one drop of it had last evening restored to health and strength achild that lay at the point of death. 

In the afternoon Basil was again permitted to see Veranilda, though notalone. To her and to Aurelia he made known that Decius would willinglyundertake the voyage. After lingering for an hour in the vain hope thatAurelia would withdraw, were it but for a moment, he went away andscratched ardent words on his tablet. 'I will be in your garden, ' heconcluded, 'just at sunrise to-morrow. Try, try to meet me there. '

Scarcely had he despatched a servant with this when Felix announced tohim the arrival of Marcian. On fire with eagerness, Basil sped to greethis friend. 

'Give me to drink, ' were the traveller's first words. 'I have riddensince before dawn, and have a tongue like leather. '

Wine and grapes, with other refreshments, were set forth for him. Marcian took up an earthenware jug full of spring water, and drankdeeply. His host then urged the wine, but it was refused; and as Basilknew that one of his friend's peculiarities was a rigorous abstinenceat times from all liquor save the pure element, he said no more. 

'I have been at Nuceria, ' Marcian continued, throwing himself on aseat, 'with Venantius. What a man! He was in the saddle yesterday fromsunrise to sunset; drank from sunset to the third hour of the night;rose before light this morning, gay and brisk, and made me ride withhim, so that I was all but tired out before I started on the roadhither. Venantius declares that he can only talk of serious things onhorseback. '

'My uncle regarded him as a Roman turned barbarian, ' said Basil. 

'Something of that, but such men have their worth and their place. '

'We will talk about him at another time, ' Basil interrupted. 'Rememberhow we parted at Cumae and what happened afterwards. We are privatehere; you can speak freely. How did you release us from the grip of theHun?'

'I told you before, good Basil, that I was here to spy upon you; and besure that I did not undertake that office without exacting a proof ofthe confidence of our lords at Rome. Something I carry with me whichhas power over such dogs as Chorsoman. '

'I saw that, best Marcian. But it did not avail to save my cousinAurelia from robbery. '

'Nothing would, where Chorsoman was sure of a week's--nay, of anhour's--impunity. But did he steal aught belonging to the Gothicmaiden?'

'To Veranilda? She has but a bracelet and a ring, and those she waswearing. They came from her mother, a woman of noblest heart, who, whenher husband Ebrimut played the traitor, and she was left behind inItaly, would keep nothing but these two trinkets, which once were wornby Amalafrida. '

'You know all that now, ' observed Marcian quietly. 

'The story of the trinkets only since an hour or two ago. That ofVeranilda's parentage I learned from Aurelia, Veranilda refusing toconverse with me until I knew. '

'Since when you have conversed, I take it, freely enough. '

'Good my lord, ' replied Basil, with a look of some earnestness, 'let usnot jest on this matter. '

'I am little disposed to do so, O fiery lover!' said Marcian, with areturn of his wonted melancholy. 'For I have that to tell you whichmakes the matter grave enough. We were right, you see, in our guess ofVeranilda's origin; I could wish she had been any one else. Patience, patience! You know that I left you here to go to Neapolis. There Ireceived letters from Rome, one of them from Bessas himself, and, bystrange hazard, the subject of it was the daughter of Ebrimut. '

Basil made a gesture of repugnance. 'Nay, call her the daughter ofTheodenantha. '

'As you will. In any case the granddaughter of a king, and not likelyto be quite forgotten by the royal family of her own race. Anotherking's grandchild, Matasuntha, lives, as you know, at Byzantium, andenjoys no little esteem at the Emperor's court; it is rumoured, indeed, that her husband Vitiges, having died somewhere in battle, Matasunthais to wed a nephew of Justinian. This lady, I am told, desires to knowthe daughter of Ebri--nay, then, of Theodenantha; of whom, it seems, areport has reached her. A command of the Emperor has come to Bessasthat the maiden Veranilda, resident at Cumae, be sent to Constantinoplewith all convenient speed. And upon me, O Basil, lies the charge ofseeking her in her dwelling, and of conveying her safely to Rome, whereshe will be guarded until--'

'Will be guarded!' echoed Basil fiercely. 'Nay, by the holy Peter andPaul, that will she not! You are my friend, Marcian, and I hold youdear, but if you attempt to obey this order--'

Hand on dagger, and eyes glaring, the young noble had sprung to hisfeet. Marcian did not stir; his head was slightly bent, and a sad smilehovered about his lips. 

'O descendant of all the Anicii, ' he replied, 'O son of many consuls, remember the ancestral dignity. Time enough to threaten when you detectme in an unfriendly act. Did I play the traitor to you at Cumae? Withthe Hun this command of Justinian served you in good stead; Veranildawould not otherwise have escaped so easily. Chorsoman, fat-witted as heis, willingly believed that Veranilda and Aurelia, and you yourself, were all in my net--which means the net of Bessas, whom he fears. Doyou also believe it, my good Basil?'

For answer Basil embraced his friend, and kissed him on either cheek. 

'I know how this has come about, ' he said; and thereupon related thestory of the visit of Olybrius to Aurelia six months ago. It seemedprobable that a report of Veranilda's beauty had reached Matasuntha, who wished to adorn her retinue with so fair a remnant of the Amalrace. How, he went on to ask, would Marcian excuse himself at Rome forhis failure to perform this office?

'Leave that to my ingenuity, ' was the reply. 'Enough for you to daredefiance of the Emperor's will. '

Basil made a scornful gesture, which his friend noted with the samemelancholy smile. 

'You have no misgiving?' said Marcian. 'Think who it is you brave. Imperator Caesar Flavius Justinianus--Africanus, Gothicus, Germanicus, Vandalicus, and I know not what else--Pius, Felix, Inclytus, Victor acTriumphator, Semper Augustus--'

The other laid a hand upon his shoulder. 

'Marcian, no word of this to Aurelia, I charge you!'

'I have no desire to talk about it, be assured. But it is time that weunderstood each other. Be plain with me. If you wed Veranilda how doyou purpose to secure your safety? Not, I imagine, by prostratingyourself before Bessas. Where will you be safe from pursuit?'

Basil reflected, then asked boldly:

'Has not the King Totila welcomed and honourably entertained Romans whohave embraced his cause?'

'Come now, ' exclaimed the other, his sad visage lighting up, 'that isto speak like a man! So, we _do_ understand each other. Be it knownunto you then, O Basil, that at this moment the Gothic king is aware ofyour love for Veranilda, and of your purpose to espouse her. You indeedare a stranger to him, even in name; but not so the Anician house; andan Anician, be assured, will meet with no cold reception in the camp ofthe Goths. '

'You enjoy the confidence of Totila?' asked Basil, wondering, and alittle confused. 

'Did I not tell you that I claimed the merit of playing traitor to bothsides?'

Marcian spoke with a note of bitterness, looking his friend fixedly inthe face. 

'It is a noble treachery, ' said Basil, seizing both his hands. 'I amwith you, heart and soul! Tell me more. Where is the king? Will hemarch upon Rome?'

'Neapolis will see him before Rome does. He comes slowly throughSamnium, making sure his conquest on the way. Let me now speak again ofVenantius. He would fain know you. '

'He is one of ours?'

'One of those true Romans who abhor the Eastern tyranny and see in theGoth a worthy ally. Will you ride with me to-morrow to Nuceria?'

'I cannot, ' replied Basil, 'for I dare not leave Veranilda withoutprotection, after what you have told me. '

'Why, then, Venantius must come hither. '

Whilst the friends were thus conversing a courier rode forth fromSurrentum towards Neapolis. He bore a letter whereof the contents werethese:--

'To the holy and reverend deacon Leander, Petronilla's humblesalutation. 

'I am most punctually informed of all that passes at the villa. Mynephew goes not to Rome; his place will be taken by Decius. The reasonis that which I have already suggested to your Sanctity. Marcian hasarrived this afternoon, coming I know not whence, but I shall learn. Isuspect things of the darkest moment. Let your Sanctity pursue theproject with which heaven has inspired you. You shall receive, ifnecessary, two missives every day. Humbly I entreat your prayers. '

CHAPTER VII

HERESY

The Roman Empire, by confining privileges and honours to the senatorialorder, created a noble caste, and this caste, as Imperial authoritydeclined, became a power independent of the state, and a menace to itsexistence. In Italy, by the end of the fifth century, the great systemof citizenship, with its principle of infinite devotion to the good ofthe commonwealth, was all but forgotten. In matters of justice and offinance the nobles were beginning to live by their own law, which wasthat of the right of the strongest. Having ceased to hold office andperform public services in the municipia, they became, in fact, rulersof the towns situated on or near their great estates. Theodoric, striving to uphold the ancient civility, made strenuous efforts tocombat this aristocratic predominance; yet on some points he wasobliged to yield to the tendency of the times, as when he forbade thefreedmen, serfs, and slaves on any estate to plead against their lord, and so delivered the mass of the rural inhabitants of Italy to privatejurisdiction. The Gothic war of course hastened the downfall ofpolitical and social order. The manners of the nobles grew violent inlawlessness; men calling themselves senators, but having in factrenounced that rank by permanent absence from Rome, and others whomerely belonged to senatorial houses, turned to fortifying theirvillas, and to building castles on heights, whilst they gathered aboutthem a body of retainers, armed for defence or for aggression. 

Such a personage was Venantius, son of a senator of the same name, who, under Theodoric, had attained the dignity of Patrician and what othertitular glories the time afforded. Venantius, the younger, coming intopossession of an estate between Neapolis and Salernum, here took up hisabode after the siege of Rome, and lived as seemed good to him, lordover the little town of Nuceria, and of a considerable tract ofcountry, with a villa converted into a stronghold up on the mountainside. Having suffered wrongs at the hands of the Imperialconquerors--property of his in Rome had been seized--he heard withsatisfaction of the rise of Totila, and, as soon as the king's progresssouthward justified such a step, entered into friendly communicationwith the Goth, whom he invited to come with all speed into Campania, where Salernum, Neapolis, Cumae, would readily fall into his hands. Marcian, on his double mission of spy in the Greek service and friendof the Goths, had naturally sought out Venantius; and the descriptionhe gave to Basil of the fortress above Nuceria filled the listener withenthusiasm. 

'I would I could live in the same way, ' Basil exclaimed. 'And why not?My own villa in Picenum might be strengthened with walls and towers. Wehave stone enough, and no lack of men to build. '

Yet as he spoke a misgiving betrayed itself on his countenance. Consciously or not, he had always had before him a life at Rome, thelife which became a Roman, as distinguished from a barbarian. But theneed to seek security for Veranilda again became vivid to his mind. AtRome, clearly, he could not live with his wife until the Goths hadreconquered the city, which was not likely to happen soon. His meanswere represented chiefly by the Arpinum estate, which he had inheritedfrom his father; in Rome he had nothing but his mansion on the Caelian. The treasure at his command, a considerable sum, he had brought away ina strong box, and it was now more than doubled in value by what fell tohim under the will of Maximus--money to be paid out of the great cofferwhich the senator had conveyed hither. As they talked, Marcian urgedupon him a close friendship with Venantius, in whose castle he would bewelcomed. Here at Surrentum he could not long rest in safety, forChorsoman might at any time have his suspicions awakened by learningthe delay of Veranilda's journey to Rome, and the news of her marriagecould not be prevented from spreading. 

So Basil lay through an anxious hour or two before sleep fell upon himto-night. He resolved to change the habits of his life, to shake offindolence and the love of ease, to fortify himself with vigorousexercises, and become ready for warfare. It was all very well for aninvalid, like Decius, to nurse a tranquil existence, unheeding thetemper of the times. A strong and healthy man had no right to lurk awayfrom the streaming flood of things; it behoved him to take his part instrife and tumult, to aid in re-establishing a civic state. Thisdetermination firmly grasped, he turned to think of the hoped-formeeting with Veranilda in the morning, and gentler emotions lulled himinto dreams. 

At dawn he bestirred himself. The gallery outside his chamber waslighted with a hanging lamp, and at a little distance sounded thefootstep of the watchman, who told him that the morning was fair, and, at his bidding, opened a door which admitted to the open terraceoverlooking the sea. Having stepped forth, Basil stood for a momentsniffing the cool air with its scent from the vineyards, and looking atthe yellow rift in the eastern sky; then he followed a path whichskirted the villa's outward wall and led towards the dwelling ofAurelia. Presently he reached the ruined wall of the little garden, andhere a voice challenged him, that of a servant on watch until sunrise. 

'It is well, ' he replied. 'I will relieve you for this last half hour;go to your rest. '

But the slave hesitated. He had strictest orders, and feared to disobeythem even at this bidding. 

'You are an honest fellow, ' said Basil, 'and the lady Aurelia shallknow of your steadfastness. But get you gone; there is no danger whilstI am here. '

Impatiently he watched the man retire, then stood just within the gapof the wall, and waited with as much fear as hope. It might be thatVeranilda would not venture forth without speaking to Aurelia, whomight forbid the meeting; or, if she tried to steal out, she might bedetected and hindered; perhaps she would fear to pass under the eyes ofa watchman or other servant who might be in her way. He stampednervously, and turned to look for a moment in the outward direction. This little villa stood on the edge of a declivity falling towards thesea; a thicket of myrtles grew below. At the distance of half a milealong the coast, beyond a hollow wooded with ilex, rose a temple, whichtime and the hand of man had yet spared; its whiteness glimmeredagainst a sky whose cloudless dusk was warming with a reflection of thedaybreak. An influence in the scene before him, something he neitherunderstood nor tried to understand, held him gazing longer than hesupposed, and with a start he heard his name spoken by the belovedvoice. Close to him stood Veranilda. She was cloaked and hooded, sothat he could hardly see her face; but her white hands were held outfor his. 

Heart to heart, mouth to mouth, they whispered. To be more private, Basil drew her without the garden. Veranilda's eyes fixed themselvesupon the spreading glory of the east; and it moved her to utterance. 

'When I was a child, ' she said, 'at Ravenna, I gazed once at thesunrise, and behold, in the rays which shot upwards stood an angel, agreat, beautiful angel, with wings of blue, and a garment which shonelike gold, and on his head was a wreath of I know not what flowers. Iran to tell my mother, but when she came, alas! the angel had vanished. No one could tell me certainly what the vision meant. Often I havelooked and hoped to see the angel again, but he has never come. '

Basil listened without a doubt, and murmured soft words. Then he askedwhether Aurelia knew of this meeting; but Veranilda shook her head. 

'I durst not speak. I so feared to disappoint you. This night I havehardly slept, lest I should miss the moment. Should I not return verysoon, O Basil?'

'You shall; though your going will make the sky black as when Austerblows. But it is not for long. A few days--'

He broke off with the little laugh of a triumphing lover. 

'A few days?' responded Veranilda, timidly questioning. 

'We wait only until that dark ship has sailed for Rome. ' 'Does Aureliaknow that you purpose it so soon?' asked Veranilda. 

'Why? Has she seemed to you to wish otherwise?'

'She has never spoken of it. --And afterwards? Shall we remain here, Basil?'

'For no long time. Here I am but a guest. We must dwell where I am lordand you lady of all about us. '

He told her of his possessions, of the great house in Rome with thevilla at Arpinum. Then he asked her, playfully, but with a seriouspurpose in his mind, which of the two she would prefer for an abode. 

'I have no choice but yours, ' she replied. 'Where it seems good to mydear lord to dwell, there shall I be at rest. '

'We must be safe against our enemies, ' said Basil, with gravercountenance. 

'Our enemies?'

'Has not Aurelia talked to you of the war? You know that the Gothicking is conquering all before him, coming from the north?'

Veranilda looked into her lover's face with a tender anxiety. 

'And you fear him, O Basil? It is he that is our enemy?'

'Not so, sweetest. No foe of mine is he who wears the crown ofTheodoric. They whom I fear and abhor are the slaves of Justinian, therobber captains who rule at Ravenna and in Rome. '

As she heard him, Veranilda trembled with joy. She caught his hand, andbent over it, and kissed it. 

'Had I been the enemy of Totila, ' said Basil, 'could you still haveloved me as a wife should love?'

'I had not asked myself, ' she answered, 'for it was needless. When Ilook on you, I think neither of Roman nor of Goth. '

Basil spoke of his hope that Rome might be restored to the same freedomit had enjoyed under the great king. Then they would dwell together inthe sacred city. That, too, was Veranilda's desire; for on her ear thename of Rome fell with a magic sound; all her life she had heard itspoken reverentially, with awe, yet the city itself she had never seen. Rome, she knew, was vast; there, it seemed to her, she would liveunobserved, unthought of save by him she loved. Seclusion from allstrangers, from all who, learning her origin, would regard herslightingly, was what her soul desired. 

Day had broken; behind the mountains there was light of the sun. Oncemore they held each other heart to heart, and Veranilda hastenedthrough the garden to regain her chamber. Basil stood for some minuteslost in a delicious dream; the rising day made his face beautiful, hiseyes gleamed with an unutterable rapture. At length he sighed and awokeand looked about him. At no great distance, as though just issued fromthe ilex wood, moved a man's figure. It approached very slowly, andBasil watched until he saw that the man was bent as if with age, andhad black garments such as were worn by wandering mendicant monks. Carelessly he turned, and went his way back to the villa. 

An hour later, Aurelia learnt that a 'holy man, ' a pilgrim much travelworn, was begging to be admitted to her. She refused to see him. Stillhe urged his entreaty, declaring that he had a precious gift for heracceptance, and an important message for her ear. At length he wasallowed to enter the atrium, and Aurelia saw before her a man in blackmonkish habit, his body bent and tremulous, but evidently not with age, for his aspect otherwise was that of middle life. What, she askedbriefly and coldly, was his business with her? Thereupon the monk drewfrom his bosom a small wrappage of tissues, which when unfoldeddisclosed a scrap of something hairy. 

'This, noble lady, ' said the monk, in a voice reverently subdued, 'isfrom the camel-hair garment of Holy John the Baptist. I had it of ahermit in the Egyptian desert, who not many days after I quitted himwas for his sanctity borne up to heaven by angels, and knew not death. '

Aurelia viewed the relic with emotion. 

'Why, ' she asked, 'do you offer it to me?'

The monk drew a step nearer and whispered:

'Because I know that you, like him from whom I received it, are of thetrue faith. '

Aurelia observed him closely. His robe was ragged and filthy; his barefeet were thick with the dust of the road; his visage, much begrimed, wore an expression of habitual suffering, and sighs as of painfrequently broke from him. The hand by which he supported himself on astaff trembled as with weakness. 

'You are not a presbyter?' she said in an undertone, after a glance athis untonsured head. 

'I am unworthy of the meanest order in the Church. In pilgrimings andfastings I do penance for a sin of youth. You see how wasted is myflesh. '

'What, then, ' asked Aurelia, 'was the message you said you bore for me?'

'This. Though I myself have no power to perform the sacraments of ourfaith, I tend upon one who has. He lies not far from here, like myselfsick and weary, and, because of a vow, may not come within theprecincts of any dwelling. In Macedonia, oppressed by our persecutors, he was long imprisoned, and so sorely tormented that, in a moment whenthe Evil One prevailed over his flesh, he denied the truth. This singave him liberty, but scarce had he come forth when a torment of thesoul, far worse than that of his body, fell upon him. He was deliveredover to the Demon, and, being yet alive, saw about him the fires ofGehenna. Thus, for a season, did he suffer things unspeakable, wandering in desert places, ahungered, athirst, faint unto death, yetnot permitted to die. One night of storm, he crept for shelter into theruins of a heathen temple. Of a sudden, a dreadful light shone abouthim, and he beheld the Demon in the guise of that false god, who fellupon him and seemed like to slay him. But Sisinnius--so is the holy mannamed--strove in prayer and in conjuration, yea, strove hours until thecrowing of the cock, and thus sank into slumber. And while he slept, anangel of the Most High appeared before him, and spoke words which Iknow not. Since then, Sisinnius wanders from land to land, seeking outthe temples of the heathen which have not been purified, and passingthe night in strife with the Powers of Darkness, wherein he is evervictorious. '

With intent look did Aurelia listen to this narrative. At its close, she asked eagerly:

'This man of God has sent you to me?'

'Moved by a vision--for in the sleep which follows upon his struggle itis often granted him to see beyond this world. He bids you resisttemptation, and be of good courage. '

'Know you what this bidding means?' inquired the awed woman, gazinginto the monk's eyes till they fell. 

'I know nothing. I am but a follower of the holy Sisinnius--an unworthyfollower. '

'May I not speak with him?'

The monk had a troubled look. 

'I have told you, lady, that he must not, by reason of his vow, enter ahuman dwelling. '

'But may I not go to him?' she urged. 'May I not seek him in hissolitude, guided by you?'

To this, said the monk, he could give no reply until he had spoken withSisinnius. He promised to do so, and to return, though he knew not atwhat hour, nor even whether it would be this day. And, after demandingmany assurances that he would come again as speedily as might be, Aurelia allowed the messenger to depart. 

Meanwhile Basil and Marcian have spent an hour in talk, the result ofwhich was a decision that Marcian should again repair to the strongholdof Venantius, and persuade him to come over to Surrentum. When hisfriend had ridden forth Basil sought conversation with Aurelia, whom hefound in a mood unlike any she had yet shown to him, a mood of dreamytrouble, some suppressed emotion appearing in her look and in herspeech. He began by telling her of Venantius, but this seemed tointerest her less than he had expected. 

'Cousin, ' he resumed, 'I have a double thought in desiring thatVenantius should come hither. It is not only that I may talk with himof the war, and learn his hopes, but that I may secure a safe retreatfor Veranilda when she is my wife, and for you, dear cousin, if youdesire it. '

He spoke as strongly as he could without revealing the secret danger, of the risks to which they would all be exposed when rumours of hismarriage reached the governor of Cumae, or the Greeks in Neapolis. Until the Goths reached Campania, a Roman here who fell under suspicionof favouring them must be prepared either to flee or to defend himself. Defence of this villa was impossible even against the smallest body ofsoldiers, but within the walls, raised and fortified by Venantius, along siege might be safely sustained. 

'It is true, ' said Aurelia at length, as if rousing herself from herabstraction, 'that we must think of safety. But you are not yet wedded. '

'A few days hence I shall be. '

'Have you forgotten, ' she resumed, meeting his resolute smile, 'whatstill divides you from Veranilda?'

'You mean the difference of religion. Tell me, did that stand in theway of your marriage with a Goth?'

She cast down her eyes and was silent. 

'Was your marriage, ' Basil went on, 'blessed by a Catholic or by anArian presbyter?'

'By neither, ' replied Aurelia gently. 

'Then why may it not be so with me and Veranilda? And so it shall be, lady cousin, ' he added cheerily. 'Our good Decius will be gone; weawait the sailing of the ship; but you and Marcian, and perhapsVenantius, will be our witnesses. '

For the validity of Christian wedlock no religious rite was necessary:the sufficient, the one indispensable, condition was mutual consent. The Church favoured a union which had been sanctified by the oblationand the blessing, but no ecclesiastical law imposed this ceremony. Asin the days of the old religion, a man wedded his bride by putting thering upon her finger and delivering her dowry in a written document, before chosen witnesses. Aurelia knew that even as this marriage hadsatisfied her, so would it suffice to Veranilda, whom a rapturous lovemade careless of doctrinal differences: She perceived, moreover, thatBasil was in no mood for religious discussion; there was little hopethat he would consent to postpone his marriage on such an account; yetto convert Basil to 'heresy' was a fine revenge she would not willinglyforego, her own bias to Arianism being stronger than ever since thewrong she believed herself to have suffered at the hands of the deacon, and the insult cast at her by her long-hated aunt. After years ofbitterness, her triumph seemed assured. It was much to have inheritedfrom her father, to have expelled Petronilla; but the marriage of Basilwith a Goth, his renunciation of Catholicism, and with it the Imperialcause, were greater things, and together with their attainment sheforedreamt the greatest of all, Totila's complete conquest of Italy. She saw herself mistress in the Anician palace at Rome, commanding vastwealth, her enemies mute, powerless, submissive before her. Then, if itseemed good to her, she would again wed, and her excited imaginationdeigned to think of no spouse save him whose alliance would make herroyal. 

Providential was the coming of the holy Sisinnius. Beyond doubt he hadthe gift of prophecy. From him she would not only receive theconsolations of religion, but might learn what awaited her. Very slowlypassed the hours until the reappearance of the black monk. He came whenday was declining, and joyfully she learnt that Sisinnius permitted herto visit him; it must be on the morrow at the second hour, the place aspot in the ilex wood, not far away, whither the monk would guide her. But she must come alone; were she accompanied, even at a distance, byany attendant, Sisinnius would refuse to see her. To all the conditionsAurelia readily consented, and bade the monk meet her at the appointedhour by the breach in her garden wall. 

On the morrow there was no glory of sunrise; clouds hung heavy, and asobbing wind shook the dry leaves of the vine. But at the second hour, after pretence of idling about the garden, Aurelia saw approach theblack, bowed figure, with a gesture bade him go before, and followed. She was absent not long enough to excite the remark of her household. In going forth she had been pale with agitation; at her return she hada fire in her cheeks, a lustre in her eyes, which told of hopesabundantly fulfilled. At once she sought Veranilda, to whom she had notyet spoken of the monk's visit. At this juncture the coming even of anordinary priest of the Arian faith would have been more than welcome tothem, living as they perforce did without office or sacrament; butSisinnius, declared Aurelia, was a veritable man of God, one who hadvisions and saw into the future, one whom merely to behold was a sacredprivilege. She had begged his permission to visit him again, withVeranilda, and he had consented; but a few days must pass before that, as the holy man was called away she knew not whither. When he summonedthem they must go forth in early morning, to a certain cave near athand, where Sisinnius would say mass and administer to them thecommunion. Hearing such news, Veranilda gladdened. 

'Will the holy man reveal our fate to us?' she asked, with a child'ssimplicity. 

'To me he has already uttered a prophetic word, ' answered Aurelia, 'butI may not repeat it, no, not even to you. Enough that it has filled mysoul with wonder and joy. '

'May that joy also be mine!' said Veranilda, pressing her handstogether. 

This afternoon, when Basil sat with her and Aurelia, she took hercithern, and in a low voice sang songs she had heard her mother sing, in the days before shame and sorrow fell upon Theodenantha. There wereold ballads of the Goths, oftener stern than tender, but to thelisteners, ignorant of her tongue, Veranilda's singing made them sweetas lover's praise. One little song was Greek; it was all she knew ofthat language, and the sole inheritance that had come to her from herGreek-loving grandparent, the King Theodahad. 

Auster was blowing; great lurid clouds rolled above the dark greenwaters, and at evening rain began to fall. Through the next day, andthe day after that, the sky still lowered; there was thunder of wavesupon the shore; at times a mist swept down from the mountains, whichenveloped all in gloom. To Basil and Veranilda it mattered nothing. Where they sat together there was sunshine, and before them gleamed aneternity of cloudless azure. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE SNARE

Meanwhile all was made ready for the sailing of the ship. Coffined inlead, the body of Maximus awaited only a return of fine weather for itsconveyance to the vessel. When at length calm fell upon the sea, andafter a still night of gentle rain the day broke radiantly, allSurrentum was in movement between church and harbour. Mass having beensaid, the bishop himself led the procession down the hollow way andthrough the chasm in the cliffs seaward, whilst psalms were chanted andincense burnt. Carried in her litter, Petronilla followed the bier;beside her walked Basil and Decius. Only by conscious effort couldthese two subdue their visages to a becoming sadness; for Basil thoughtof his marriage, Decius of Rome and his library. Nor did Petronillawear an aspect of very profound gloom; at moments she forgot herself, and a singular animation appeared on her proud features; it was asthough some exultancy took hold of her mind. 

That Aurelia held apart, that the daughter gave no testimony ofreverence for a father's remains, caused such murmuring in the crowd ofSurrentines: her heresy seemed to be made more notorious, moreabominable, by this neglect. At Surrentum, Arianism had never beenknown; no Goth had ever dwelt here; and since Aurelia's arrival publicopinion had had time to gather force against her. It was believed thatshe had driven forth with insults the most noble Petronilla, thatexemplar of charity and of a saintly life. Worse still was the rumour, now generally believed, that the Senator's daughter had obtained herinheritance by wicked hypocrisy, by a false show of return to the truefaith. Being herself so evil, it was not to be wondered that shecorrupted those who fell under her influence; the young lord Basil, forinstance, who, incredible as it sounded, was said to be on the point ofespousing a Gothic damsel, a mysterious attendant upon Aurelia, of whomstrange stories were rife. Talk of these things made no littleagitation in the town when ceremonies were over and the coffin had beenembarked. The generality threw up their hands, and cried shame, andasked why the bishop did not take some action in so grave a scandal. But here and there folk whispered together in a different tone, withwinkings and lips compressed, and nods significant of menace. Patience!Wait a day or two, and they would see what they would see. Heaven wasnot regardless of iniquity. 

Scarce had the ship weighed anchor, to be wafted across the bay by agentle wind, when Petronilla started on her land journey for Rome. Thegreat chariot, the baggage, the servants riding, made fresh commotionin Surrentum; many accompanied the great lady along the winding roaduntil they were weary and their curiosity satisfied. To this obsequiousescort Petronilla uttered certain words which before evening wererepeated throughout the town. 'Let us forgive our enemies, ' she said, with that air of hers, at once so grand and so devout--'let us forgiveour enemies, but let us omit no means, however rigorous, of savingtheir souls'; and of those who reported the saying, some winked andnodded more significantly than ever. 

Just before sunset on this same day there was trampling of hoofs alongthe road ascending to the villa, as two horsemen, with a dozenfollowers, some on horses, some on mules, rode up. Summoned to theatrium, Basil greeted the return of Marcian, and looked with curiosityat the man standing beside him, who could be no other than Venantius. Atall and comely man, wearing a casque and a light breastplate, hisyears not more than thirty, rather slim, yet evidently muscular andvigorous, he had a look of good-humoured determination, and the tonesin which he replied to Basil's welcome were those of a born commander. In contrast with his host's elaborate courtesy, the manners ofVenantius might have been judged a trifle barbarous, but this bluntnesswas no result of defective breeding; had he chosen, he could haveexchanged lofty titles and superlatives of compliment with any expertin such fashionable extravagances, but he chose a plainer speech, inkeeping with his martial aspect. First of all he excused himself forhaving arrived with so many followers. 

'But our good Marcian, ' he added, clapping a hand on his companion'sshoulder, 'had a story to tell me of a fair lady and fairermaiden--though not long to bear the name, she--who may belike needprotection as well as honourable attendance; whereas you, noble Basil, have thought little of the use of arms, and probably keep no verywarlike retinue at command. So I mounted half a dozen bowmen, who willride and shoot with any Hun, and as many stout fellows who can wieldlance or throw javelin, and here they are at your gates. Have no fearfor the girls within doors; my men are both sober and chaste byprudence, if not by nature. There was a time when I had to make anexample here and there'--he scowled a smile--'but now they know me. '

Basil replied as became him, not without some slight imitation of hisguest's bluff manliness. Admiring, as he did, above all things, thatwhich savoured of heroism, he was strongly impressed by Venantius, whose like, among natives of Rome, he had not yet beheld, who shonebefore him, indeed, in a nobler light than any man he had seen sincethe days when he worshipped Belisarius. Arrangements were speedily madefor the entertainment of the little armed troop, and as dusk gatheredthe host and his two guests sat down to supper. Whilst the meal wasbeing made ready, Basil had found opportunity of speech with Aurelia, who heard with great satisfaction of the coming of Venantius, andpromised to receive him early on the morrow. 

'The lady Aurelia's name is not unknown to me, ' said Venantius, whenBasil spoke of her at table. He would have added a remark, but pausedwith a look at the attendant slaves. 'Her illustrious father, ' he wenton, 'I spoke with when I was young. But for the illness of Maximus Ishould have ventured hither during this year gone by, notwithstandingsome difference in our view of things; or rather, to make sure whetherthere really was as much difference as I supposed. '

'Perchance you would have found that there was not, ' said Basil. 'Certainly not towards the end. '

'May his soul repose! He had the bearing which suited with his noblename--a true Anicius to look upon. If Rome have need in these times ofanother breed of citizens--and who can gainsay that?--she will notforget such men as he, who lived with dignity when they could do nomore. You, my dear lord'--he turned towards Basil--'Anicius though youare, see another way before you, what?'

They talked far into the night. When he spoke of the Imperialconquerors--'Greeklings' he called them--Venantius gave vent to hiswrath and scorn. The Goths were right when they asked what had evercome out of Greece save mimes and pirates; land-thieves they might haveadded, for what else were the generals of Justinian with theirpillaging hordes? They dared to speak of the Goths as barbarians--theseHerules, Isaurians, Huns, Armenians, and Teutons!--of the Goths, whosepride it had so long been to defend Roman civilisation, and even torestore the Roman edifices. What commander among them could comparewith Totila, brave, just, generous?

'By the Holy Mother!' he cried, with a great gesture, 'if I were notwedded to a wife I love, who has borne me already three boys as healthyas wolf cubs, I would follow your example, O Basil, and take to myselfa blue-eyed daughter of that noble race. They are heretics, why yes, but as far as I can make out they pray much as I do, and by heaven'sgrace may yet be brought to hold the truth as to the Three-in-One. Whenthey had the power, did they meddle with our worship? Let every manbelieve as he list, say I, so that he believe sincerely, and trust Godagainst the devil. '

In the stillness of their secluded abode, Aurelia and Veranilda went torest earlier than usual this evening, for they were to arise before thedawn. This afternoon they had been visited by the black monk, whoannounced the return of Sisinnius, and invited them to the promisedmass on the morrow; and such was their agitation in the foretaste ofthis religious ecstasy, as well as in the hope of having their futurerevealed to them, that neither slept much during the night. Not longafter the crowing of the first cock, when all was silent and dark, Aurelia stepped, with a lamp in her hand, into the maiden's chamber. 

'Is it the hour?' whispered Veranilda, raising herself. 

'Not yet. I have had a troubled dream. I dreamt that this night theholy Sisinnius had fought with the demon, and had been worsted. OVeranilda!'--the speaker's voice trembled--'what may this mean?'

'Dearest lady, ' answered the other reassuringly, 'may it not be atemptation of the demon himself; who at times is permitted to tempteven the holiest?'

'And you, sweet? You have not dreamt?'

'Only of Basil, ' answered Veranilda, with a smile that asked pardon forher happiness. 

They talked over the disquieting vision, whilst the little lamp-flame, wavering in breaths of air, cast strange shadows about the room. On thewalls were faded frescoes, one of which represented the poetess Probaon her knees before St. Agnes. Impelled by her fears, Aurelia of asudden knelt before this picture, and prayed silently to the virginmartyr. Then Veranilda rose from the couch, and knelt beside her. Having solaced their souls, they kissed each other tenderly. 

'You are not afraid, ' whispered Veranilda, 'that Basil may be in thegarden when we go forth?'

'Basil? Ah, little rogue, have you betrayed yourself?'

'Of a truth, dearest lady, he has been there more than once, but not, oh not so early!'

'Nay, I hope not, ' said Aurelia. 'It were scarce maidenly--'

'Never, never before the east had broken for the dayspring! Never, Iswear to you, O my heart's friend!'

'Then there is small fear of his interrupting us this morning; all themore that he must have sat late with his friends, talking of manythings. I am glad of the coming of this brave Venantius; it puts an endto every peril. '

They conversed on this encouraging theme until Aurelia's ear caught thesound of a footfall in the gallery. She stepped forth and encountered afemale slave, who told her that there wanted two hours to dawn; it wastime, then, to set forth and a few minutes saw them ready. In thegarden they were met by the watchman, who carried a lantern. He, havingmerely been ordered to stand in readiness at this hour and beingignorant of his mistress's intention, showed astonishment when he sawAurelia and her companion bent on going out. He took it for grantedthat he was to accompany them. But at this moment there appeared in therays of the lantern a black figure, which had entered by the breach inthe wall. Aurelia whispered a few words to her watchman, whose religionwas the same as hers, and at once he dropped to his knees. 

'Peace be with you, good brother, ' said the monk, in his feeble voice, as he drew a lantern from beneath his cloak. You may not accompany us;but have no fear. The way is short. '

Forthwith he turned, and Aurelia, holding Veranilda's hand, followedwhere he lighted the way. For a few minutes they pursued a level path, then, passing between myrtles, began to descend the seaward slope. Theground was rough, but the monk, going before, marked the places fortheir footing. A few minutes thus, and they reached trees, blackagainst a sky sown with stars and overshimmered by a wasted moon. Veranilda, who was trembling, clung to her companion's arm. 

'How much further?' asked Aurelia, striving to make her voice firm. 'This is not the way by which I came before. '

'Scarce fifty steps. See you not the light yonder?'

Among the trees was perceptible a faint shining. Hand tight clasped inhand, the two moved forward over thick herbage, and still descended. They drew near to the light, and saw that it issued from a little cave. Within stood a man, bent as if with age and infirmities, his facehalf-hidden under a cowl. When the visitors were near, he stretchedforth his arms, murmuring words of welcome, and the two knelt devoutlybefore him. 

There was a moment of silence, then the cowled man again spoke, in avoice firmer and less senile. 

'My daughters, you have come hither through the gloom of night and overrough places, led by a faithful guide, whom you followed without doubtor fear. You will have your reward. The darkness, the stones that madeyour feet to stumble, what are these but symbols of your spiritualstate? In your blindness, you sought one blind as yourselves, to followwhom was to walk in darkness eternal. But a beneficent Power haswatched over you, guiding your steps in the better way, whereof yourecked not. '

Aurelia and Veranilda had raised their heads, and were gazing at him, in fearful astonishment. 

'Be not troubled, ' he went on, taking a step forward and speaking in avoice strong and clear. 'Though unworthy, I am a priest of the faith inwhich you, Aurelia, were baptized. In my hands you will suffer no harm, no indignity. Be still, be silent. Behind you stand those who will notpermit you to flee, but who will conduct you hence as if they were yourown attendants if you do but follow me, as you needs must, without cryor resistance. '

Aurelia turned and saw a number of figures whom the dim light showed tobe men with weapons. A moan of anguish escaped her lips. Clinging toher in terrified silence, Veranilda seemed about to sink to the ground. 

'Our way, ' pursued the priest, who was now revealed as neither old norinfirm, 'is down to the harbour. Not far from here a litter awaits you;summon your strength for the short effort over rugged ground. Speakwords of comfort to this maiden; she also will ere long walk in thelight, and will be grateful to those who rescued her from the path ofdestruction. Think not to escape us when we pass through the city; itwere vain to cry aloud; not a man in Surrentum would raise his hand torelease you, knowing, as all do, that we confine your body only to freeyour soul from the bonds of the Enemy. '

'Whither are you taking us?' asked Aurelia, suddenly commandingherself, and speaking with cold scorn. 

'That you will know before the evening. Enough for the present that youwill travel without fatigue and without danger. Follow now whither Ilead. '

He moved forward, and the armed men, half a dozen in number, among whomstood the black monk, closed about the prisoners. Seeing the futilityof any resistance, Aurelia whispered to her companion such words ofencouragement as she could find, and supported her with her arms. ButVeranilda had overcome the first terror which made her droop. 

'Basil will find and release us, ' she whispered back. 'While he haslife, Basil will not forsake us. '

And with unfaltering steps she moved onward, holding Aurelia's hand. 

Their path, illumined by lanterns, the guards presently issued from thewood, and came to the place where the litter was waiting. Hence thecaptives were borne rapidly towards the haven. As they entered the citygates, Aurelia raised the curtain which concealed her, and looked outat the men on watch; words exchanged between them and her conductorsonly confirmed what the priest had said, and made her understand thatshe was powerless amid enemies. 

'Are we not to have a look at the Gothic beauty?' cried one fellow, when the litter was passing. 

'Peace!' answered the priest sternly; and nothing more was said. 

Through the streets they were followed by a few persons. These, callingto each other, collected at length a small crowd, which hung about thelitter when it reached the place of embarkation. Here torches wereburning; their red glare fell upon angry or mocking faces, and everymoment the crowd increased. With utmost speed the prisoners were passedinto a little boat, then rowed to a vessel lying at the harbour mouth. As the ship hoisted sail, dawn began to glimmer over the flank ofVesuvius. 

CHAPTER IX

CHORSOMAN

Fearful of sleeping till after sunrise, Basil had bidden Felix arousehim this morning; and, as he had much to talk of with Veranilda, hebetook himself to the garden very early. 

Aurelia's watchman was standing without, gazing anxiously now this way, now that, surprised by his mistress's failure to return; on theappearance of Basil he withdrew, but only to a spot whence he couldsurvey the garden. All impatience, the lover waited, as minute afterminute slowly passed. Dawn was broadening to day, but Veranilda camenot. An agony of disappointment seized upon him, and he stood at lengthin the attitude of one sickening with despair. Then a footstepapproached, and he saw the slave whose watch he had relieved comeforward with so strange a look that Basil could only stare at him. 

'My lord, ' said the man, 'there is one at the gate of the villa whobrings I know not what news for you. '

'One at the gate? News?' echoed Basil, his heart sinking with dreadanticipation. 'What mean you, fellow?'

'Most noble, I know nothing, ' stammered the frightened slave 'I beseechyour greatness to inquire. They say--I know not what--'

Basil sped across the garden and into Aurelia's dwelling. Here he founda group of servants talking excitedly together; at view of him, theyfell back as if fear-stricken. From one, Aurelia's old nurse, rose awail of distress; upon her Basil rushed, grasped her by the arm, andsternly demanded what had happened. Dropping to her knees with a shrillcry, the woman declared that Aurelia had vanished, that some one fromthe city had seen her carried away before dawn. 

'Alone?' asked Basil in a terrible voice. 

'Lord, I know not, ' wailed the woman, grovelling at his feet. 

'Is Veranilda in her chamber?' he asked violently. 

'Gone!' replied a faint voice from amid the group of servants. 

'Where is this messenger?'

Without waiting for a reply, he sprang forward. In the portico whichled to the villa he heard his name shouted, and he knew the voice forMarcian's; another moment and Marcian himself appeared, pale, agitated. 

'Why do you seek me?' cried Basil. 

'You come from yonder? Have you seen Aurelia? Then it is true. '

Marcian told the news brought up from Surrentum by some person unknown, who, having uttered it in the porter's ear, had at once fled. 

'Go call Venantius, ' said Basil, when he had heard the brief story, 'and bring him straight to Aurelia's house. They are gone; thatslinking slave shall tell me how, or I will tear it out of him with hissoul. '

Back he rushed, and found the nurse still crouching on the floor, wailing. He made her lead him to her lady's chamber, and to that ofVeranilda, where nothing unusual met their eyes. The watchman was thensummoned; he came like one half dead, and smote the ground with hisforehead before the young noble, who stood hand on dagger. A fierceinterrogatory elicited clear and truthful answers; when Basil learnedwhat Aurelia had whispered to her servant as she went forth, he uttereda groan. 

'Marcian! Venantius!' he cried, for at that moment the two entered theatrium. 'I understand it all. Why had I no fear of this?'

That Aurelia had been deceived and inveigled by one professing to be anArian priest, seemed clear from the watchman's story. For theoriginator of the plot, Basil had not far to look. This was thevengeance of Petronilla. But whither the two captives would beconveyed, was less easy to conjecture. Perhaps to Cumae. The thoughtstung Basil to frenzy, for, if Veranilda once fell into the hands ofthe Greeks, what hope had he of ever seeing her again?

'Did Petronilla know?' he asked of Marcian. 

'Who can say?' answered his friend, easily understanding the curtailedquestion. 'Like enough that she had sent to Cumae to learn all shecould; and in that case, she found, you may be sure, ready instrumentsof her malice. Were it not better, ' Marcian added in an aside, 'to tellVenantius what danger threatened Veranilda?'

The warlike Roman, who, aroused on an alarm, had instantly equippedhimself with casque and sword, stood listening to what passed, sniffingthe air and rolling his eyes about as if he desired nothing better thana conflict. The others now drew him aside into a more private place, and made known to him their reason for fearing that the Gothic maidenhad been seized by emissaries from Cumae. 

'Had I heard that story before, ' said Venantius, all but laughing withangry surprise, 'Veranilda would now be safe in my castle; for, insteadof lingering, I should have come straightway, to rescue her and you. Holy Peter and Paul! You sported here, day after day, knowing that thehounds of Justinian had scent of the maid you carried away? You, Basil, might commit such folly, for you were blinded to everything by yourlove. But, Marcian, how came you to let him loll in his dream ofsecurity? Why did you conceal this from me? By Castor! it wasunfriendly as it was imprudent. You robbed me of a sweet morsel whenyou denied me the chance of balking the Greeks in such a matter asthis. Nay, the bird is caged at Cumae, be sure. '

Marcian's brows were knit, and his eyes cast down as he listened tothis reproof. 

'I had not thought of Petronilla, ' he murmured. 'But for her, thedanger was not pressing. That thick-skulled Hun at Cumae easily lethimself be blinded, as I told you. '

'How could I forget, ' cried Basil, 'that Petronilla would riskdamnation rather than lose her vengeance upon Aurelia But, ' he added, with sudden change from gloom to vehemence, 'that woman is not beyondour reach. Only yesterday did she set forth for Rome, and she may havepassed the night at Neapolis. A horseman will easily overtake her. Felix!' he shouted. 'Our horses!--she shall pay for this if my handscan get at her throat!'

Felix appeared, but not in answer to his master's summons; he cameprecipitately, followed by a swarm of frightened slaves, to announceanother surprise. Before the villa stood a hostile multitude, folk ofSurrentum, who demanded admittance, and, if denied, would enter byforce. At this news Venantius hastened to muster his troop of archersand spearmen. Basil and Marcian, having made sure that all entranceswere locked and barred, went to the front gate, and through a wicketsurveyed the assailants. These seemed to be mainly of the baser class;they had armed themselves with all sorts of rude weapons, which theybrandished menacingly, shouting confused maledictions. From the porterBasil learned that those who had first presented themselves at the doorhad demanded that 'the heretics' should be given up to them; and bylistening to the cries, he understood that the wrath of these peoplewas directed against the Arian servants brought hither by Aurelia. Through the wicket he held colloquy with certain leaders of the throng. 

'The heretics! Yield to us the accursed heretics!' shouted a burlyfellow armed with an ox-goad. 

'For what usage?' asked Basil. 

'That's as they choose. If they like to come before the bishop and turnChristian--why, a little correction shall suffice. If not, they haveonly themselves and the devil to blame. '

By this time Venantius and his retainers stood in the forecourt. Tohim, the routing of such a rabble seemed a task not worth speaking of, but some few would no doubt be slain, and Basil shrank from suchextremities. 

'Would you give up these trembling wretches?' asked Venantiusscornfully, pointing to the four slaves, male and female, Arians eitherby origin or by conversion to please Aurelia, whom she had brought fromCumae. On their knees they were imploring protection. 

'Nay, I will fight for their safety, ' Basil answered. 'But if we canfrighten off this tag-rag without bloodshed so much the better. '

Venantius consented to make the attempt. On the upper villa was an opengallery looking over the entrance, and fully visible from where theinvaders stood. Hither the armed men ascended and stood in line, thebowmen with arrows on string. Their lord, advancing to the parapet, made a signal demanding silence, and spoke in a audible to every ear inthe throng. 

'Dogs! You came on this errand thinking that the villa was defenceless. See your mistake! Each one of these behind me has more arrows in storethan all your number, and never shot bolt from bow without piercing themark. Off! Away with your foul odours and your yelping throats! And if, when you have turned tail, any cur among you dares to bark back that I, Venantius of Nuceria, am no true Catholic, he shall pay for the liewith an arrow through chine and gizzard!' This threat he confirmed witha terrific oath of indisputable orthodoxy. 

The effect was immediate. Back fell the first rank of rioters, pressingagainst those in the rear; and without another cry, with only a low, terrified growling and snarling, the crowd scattered in flight. 

'There again I see Petronilla, ' declared Basil, watching the rout withfierce eyes. 'I'll swear that, before starting, she set this gameafoot. I must after her, Venantius. '

'Alone?'

'Mother of God! if I had your men! But I will make soldiers of my own. Some of the likeliest from our folk here shall follow me; enough tostay that she-wolf's journey till I can choke the truth out of her. '

Venantius, his eyes fixed on the descending road by which the rabblehad disappeared, caught sight of something which held him mute for amoment. Then he gave a snort of surprise. 

'What's this? There are no Greek soldiers in Surrentum. '

Yet unmistakable soldiers of the Imperial army were approaching. Firstcame into sight a commanding officer; he rode a little in advance ofthe troop, which soon showed itself to consist of some two scoremounted men, armed with bows and swords. And in the rear came therabble of Surrentines, encouraged to return by this arrival of armedauthority. 

'That is Chorsoman, ' said Marcian, as soon as he could distinguish thecaptain's feature, 'the commander at Cumae. '

'Then it is not to Cumae that they have carried her!' exclaimed Basil, surmising at once that the Hun was come in pursuit of Veranilda. 

'Time enough to think of that, ' growled Venantius, as he glared fromunder black brows at the advancing horsemen. 'What are we to do? Toresist is war, and this villa cannot be held for an hour. Yet to yieldis most likely to be made prisoners. Marcian!'

Marcian was watching and listening with a look of anxious thought. Appealed to for his counsel, he spoke decidedly. 

'Withdraw your men and go down. Resistance is impossible. Chorsomanmust enter, but trust me to manage him. I answer for your liberty. '

Venantius led his men down to the inner court. Basil, careless ofeverything but the thought that Veranilda was being borne far from him, he knew not whither, went to get horses ready, that he might pursuePetronilla as soon as the road was free. Marcian, having spoken withthe porter, waited till a thundering at the gate announced Chorsoman'sarrival, then had the doors thrown open, and stood with a calm smile tomeet the commander. 

'Fair greeting to your Magnificence!' he began with courtesy. 'Bewelcome to this villa, where, in absence of its mistress, I take uponmyself to offer you hospitality. '

Chorsoman had dismounted, and stood with half a dozen of his followersbehind him in the portico. At sight of Marcian his face becamesuspicious. 

'By mistress, ' he replied gruffly, stepping forward, 'I suppose youmean the daughter of Maximus. Where is she?'

Marcian would have continued the conversation within, but the Hun choseto remain standing in the for-court, the gate wide open. From theSurrentines he had already heard the story of Aurelia's disappearance, which puzzled and angered him, for no one professed to be able toexplain what had happened, yet his informants declared that the Romanlady and the Gothic maiden had been carried away without the knowledgeof the men who were their protectors. This was now repeated by Marcian, who professed himself overwhelmed by the event. 

'You have here one Basilius, ' said Chorsoman. 

'The same whom your greatness saw on a certain occasion at Cumae. '

'They tell me he was about to wed with Veranilda. What does that mean?'

'An idle rumour, ' replied Marcian, 'springing from vulgar gossip, andfrom the spiteful anger of the lady sister of Maximus, who hoped toinherit what has fallen to her niece. Let your valorous magnificence beassured that there is no truth in it. Can you imagine that I, whosemission is known to you, should have looked on at such an audacity? Ithink your perspicuity will not require better proof of the powers withwhich I am intrusted than that I gave you at Cumae?'

Of the profound contempt proclaimed, rather than disguised, byMarcian's extravagant courtesy, Chorsoman had no inkling; but hisbarbaric mind resented the complexity of things with which it wasconfronted, and he felt a strong inclination to take thissmooth-tongued Latin by the throat, so as to choke the plain truth outof him. Why, he demanded fiercely, had not Aurelia and her companiontravelled straight on to Rome, as he had been assured they were to do?

'For a simple reason, ' answered Marcian. 'I judged an escort necessary, and only yesterday did I obtain it. This very day should we have setforth. '

'You speak of one Venantius and his followers--he who just now, I amtold, threatened to massacre the harmless citizens of Surrentum. '

'I would rather say the most noble Venantius, a senator, but for whosepresence this villa would have been sacked by a thievish rabble frombelow. '

'Let me see him, ' said the Hun, his eyes like those of a boar at bay. 

'Will it please your Illustrious Magnanimity to eat with us?'

'I will eat when I choose. Fetch here Venantius. '

Marcian despatched the porter, and in a few moments Venantius appeared, behind him his armed men. A hand lightly on his sword, as though heplayed with the hilt, his head proudly erect, the Roman noble paused ata few paces from the Hun, and regarded him with bold steadfastness. 

'You serve the Emperor?' said Chorsoman, somewhat less overbearinglythan he had spoken hitherto. 

'When occasion offers, ' was the dry response. 

On the Hun's countenance grew legible the calculation busying histhought. At a glance he had taken the measure of Venantius, and gaugedthe worth of the men behind him. A smile, which could not mask itscunning, came on to his lips, and all of a sudden he exchanged histruculence for amiability. 

'Lord Venantius, ' he said, laying an open palm on his own breast, andthen motioning with it towards the Roman, 'you and I, two men ofvalour, can understand each other in few words. I am no talker'--hisnarrow eyes glanced at Marcian--'nor are you. Tell me, if you can, whathas become of the lady Aurelia and of the Gothic maiden who attendedupon her. '

'Lord Chorsoman, ' replied Venantius, 'I thought it was you who couldhave answered that question. The ladies Aurelia and Veranilda have thismorning disappeared, and we judged it likely that they had been enticedfrom the villa to be captured and borne to Cumae. '

'Who should have done that?'

'Emissaries of your own, we supposed. '

The Hun reflected. 

'This man of words'--he nodded sideways at Marcian--'spoke of a woman'smalice. Explain to me. '

Venantius told what he knew of Petronilla's enmity, and the listenerhad no difficulty in coming to the conclusion which to Basil had beenevident from the first. It was possible moreover, that Cumae might bethe place to which the captives had been conveyed, for Chorsoman hadleft the fortress yesterday to come hither by way of Neapolis, hisreason for the expedition being news of Veranilda's approachingmarriage, brought to him by a fisherman who said he had been paid by aperson unknown. Did Petronilla, he next inquired, know that Veranildawas to be sent to the East? To this Marcian replied with a negative, adding:

'Unless your Illustrious Discretion have seen fit to spread abroad whatI imparted to your private ear. '

'My tongue is not so loose as yours, ' was the Hun's rejoinder. 

Again he reflected, with the result that he decided to send a messengerat once to Cumae. Until news could be brought back he should remainhere in the villa. This intention he announced in a tone abundantlysignificant, his hearers understanding that Aurelia's property was nowin hands not accustomed to relax their grasp. 

'Lord Venantius, ' he added, 'as your escort is no longer needed, youwill wish, no doubt, to return forthwith to your own abode. It will notbe long before you have the occasion you desire of proving your loyaltyto the Emperor. Brave men both, we may presently fight side by side. Let us sit at table together, and then good-speed!'

With a haughty glare Venantius heard this dismissal. A reply surgedinto his throat, but he swallowed it again, remembering that more thanhis personal safety was at stake. 

'You will pardon me, lord, ' he replied, 'if I do not stay to break myfast. I am of impatient humour, and never willingly linger when ajourney is before me. '

'As you will, ' said Chorsoman, with a slight knitting of his brows. 'You ride alone, I suppose?'

'The lord Basil, who starts for Rome, will give me his company as faras our ways are one. '

Chorsoman gave a glance at the soldiers in his rear, then at Marcian, and smiled grimly. 

'I fear you must go without lord Basil. I shall have need of him. '

There was a very short silence; then Marcian spoke, with bland decision. 

'Commander, this cannot be. Basil carries letters of urgency to Romeand Ravenna; letters which I would not intrust to any one else. YourSublimity will see that it is impossible to delay him. '

Teeth hard set, and eyes aflame, the Hun took a step forward. In thesame instant, Venantius laid a hand upon his sword, and, at thegesture, his armed men looked to their weapons. 

'Where is this Basil?' demanded Chorsoman. 

'I will let him know if you wish to speak with him, ' replied Marcian. 

'You shall be spared the trouble. Lord Venantius, bid your followersretire and get their horses ready, whilst you and I go in search oflord Basil. You will not refuse me your company for a few minutes?'

Cunning had again subdued the Hun's violence, and discretion prevailedwith the Roman. Together they passed through the atrium, Chorsomancasting eager glances about him, and to the inner court; but thefollowers of Venantius, obedient to a silent order, still kept theirposition in face of the Greek soldiers, and this Chorsoman knew. 

'You understand, ' said the Hun, when they were alone together, you, abrave and honourable man, how my duty to the Emperor obliges me to act. I, of course, take possession of this villa until Aurelia isdiscovered. And, however important his mission, I cannot allow Basil todepart without some security--you will understand that. '

The barbarous accent with which these sentences were uttered causedVenantius almost as much disgust as the plundering purpose they avowed. 

'What security?' he asked. 

Chorsoman named a large sum of money. As he spoke, Basil himselfappeared; and with brief preface, the matter under debate was reportedto him. He glanced at Venantius but could find no counsel in the dark, stern face. Foreseeing the result of the Hun's visit, Basil hadhastened to conceal on his own person a considerable weight of coin, and had intrusted something like the same amount to Felix. In thetreasure chamber lay a mass of wealth now belonging to Aurelia, and themere fact of this being under lock and key by no means secured itagainst the commander's greed. Marcian came forward, and hearing thetalk of ransom, endeavoured to awe the Hun into moderation, but withless success than he had had at Cumae. So he led Basil aside, told himof the messenger sent to Cumae, as well as of the inventions by whichChorsoman had been beguiled, and counselled mere inaction until newscame. Marcian then inquired of the commander whether, in case Veranildawere found at Cumae, he would permit her to be sent on to Rome underthe escort already provided; but to this Chorsoman vouchsafed no directreply: he would consider the matter. 

Negotiations had reached this point when new visitors arrived, theBishop of Surrentum and presbyter Joannes. Though suffering much, thegood bishop had risen from bed as soon as the exciting events of thismorning had reached his ear His innocence of complicity in the plotagainst Aurelia and Veranilda, no one who saw him could doubt; withastonishment he had heard of the priests and their armed attendants, and with indignation of the citizens' tumultuous behaviour. What rightor reason had folk to proclaim that Aurelia was still a heretic, andthat she should not have been allowed to inherit property? Who, heasked severely, could read her heart? And when inquiry made it toocertain that all this angry feeling had originated with Petronilla, theprelate shook his head sadly, thinking more than he cared to say. Arrived at the villa, he first of all learnt all he could as to theposition of things (declaring total ignorance when the Hun sought toexamine him as to the relations of Basil and Veranilda), then madeearnest inquiry whether there really were slaves here who professedArianism. The four were summoned; overcome with dread, they prostratedthem selves, and entreated the bishop to make them Catholics Havingheard from them that they all had been baptized (the Roman Church heldthe baptism of Arians valid), he sent them apart for summaryinstruction by Joannes, and afterwards laid his reconciling hands uponthem. Thus had the Church gained four members, and the good folk ofSurrentum lost a heretic-baiting. 

With the proceedings of the Imperial commander the worthy cleric couldnot interfere. He spoke privately with Basil, and betrayed, in a gentleseverity of mien, his suspicion of the young noble's state of mind, butof this not a word fell from him; his concern seemed to be solely withthe lady Aurelia, regarding whom he would set every possible inquiry onfoot. He advised Basil not to leave the neighbourhood for a day or two, and to communicate with him before he went far. Gratefully Basil kissedthe old man's hand. They never met again. A week later the bishop wasdead. 

After all, Venantius sat at table with Chorsoman. Fuming, he waitedtill the next morning, when, if the news could be believed, it becamecertain that Aurelia and her companion were not at Cumae. Basil, havingno choice, then paid for ransom nearly all the money he had secreted, and rode away with Venantius, purposing to remain at Nuceria untiljoined by Marcian. Three days later Marcian appeared at the castle Hebrought no intelligence of the lost ladies. As for their abode, it hadbeen thoroughly pillaged; the treasure chamber was discovered andbroken open; not a coin, not a vessel or ornament which had its price, not a piece of silk, had escaped the clutches of the Hun. 

Chorsoman's departure was followed by an invasion of the Surrentines, who robbed more grossly. A fire broke out in the house of Proba, andmuch of that building was destroyed. In the once magnificent villathere lurked but a few slaves, who knew not whether their owner lived. 

CHAPTER X

THE ANICIANS

Not many days after, in a still noontide of mellow autumn, Basil andMarcian drew towards Rome. They rode along the Via Appia, between thetombs of ancient men; all about them, undulant to the far horizon, abrown wilderness dotted with ruins. Ruins of villas, of farms, oftemples, with here and there a church or a monastery that told of thenewer time. Olives in scant patches, a lost vineyard, a speck of tilledsoil, proved that men still laboured amid this vast and awful silence, but rarely was a human figure visible. As they approached the city, marshy ground and stagnant pools lay on either hand, causing them toglance sadly at those great aqueducts, which for ages had brought waterinto Rome from the hills and now stood idle, cleft by the Goths duringthe siege four years ago. 

They rode in silence, tired with their journey, occupied with heavy oranxious thoughts. Basil, impatient to arrive, was generally a littleahead. Their attendants numbered half a dozen men, among them Felix andSagaris, and two mules laden with packs came in the rear. Earthworksand rough buildings of military purpose, again recalling the twelvemonths' blockade, presently appeared; churches and oratories told themthey were passing the sacred ground of the catacombs; then they crossedthe little Almo, rode at a trot along a hollow way, and saw before themthe Appian Gate. Only a couple of soldiers were on guard; these took acareless view of the travellers, and let them pass without speaking. 

Marcian rode up to his friend's side, and spoke softly. 

'You have promised to be advised by me. '

Basil answered only with a dull nod. 

'I will see her to-day, ' continued the other, 'and will bring you thenews before I sleep. '

'Do so. '

No more words passed between them. On their left hand they saw theThermae of Caracalla, their external magnificence scarce touched bydecay, but waterless, desolate; in front rose the Caelian, covered withedifices, many in ruin, and with neglected or altogether wild gardens;the road along which they went was almost as silent as that without thewalls. Arrived at a certain point, the two looked at each other andwaved a hand; then Marcian, with Sagaris and one other servant, pushedforward, whilst Basil, followed by the rest of the train, took anascending road to the right. 

The house in which he was born, and where he alone now ruled, stood onthe summit of the Caelian. Before it stood the ruined temple ofClaudius, overlooking the Flavian Amphitheatre; behind it ranged thegreat arches of the Neronian aqueduct; hard by were the round church ofSt. Stephen and a monastery dedicated to St. Erasmus. By a narrow, grass-grown road, between walls overhung with ivy, Basil ascended thehill; but for the occasional bark of a dog, nothing showed that thesebuildings of old time were inhabited; and when he drew rein before hisown portico, the cessation of the sound of hoofs made a stillness likethat among the Appian sepulchres. Eyeless, hoary, with vegetationrooted here and there, the front of the house gave no welcome. Havingknocked, Basil had to wait for some moments before there came a sign ofopening. With drooped head, he seemed to watch the lizards playing inthe sunshine upon a marble column. 

A wicket opened, and at once there sounded from within an exclamationof joyful surprise. After much clanking, the door yielded, and anelderly servant, the freedman Eugenius, offered greeting to his lord. Basil's first question was whether Decius had been there; he learntthat his kinsman was now in the house, having come yesterday to residehere from the Anician palace beyond the Tiber. 

'Tell him at once that I am here. Stay; I dare say he is in thelibrary. I will go to him. '

He passed through the atrium, adorned with ancestral busts and with theconsular fasces which for centuries had signified nothing, through aroom hung with tapestry and floored with fine mosaic, through thecentral court, where the fountain was dry, and by a colonnade reachedthe secluded room which was called library, though few books remainedout of the large collection once guarded here. In a sunny embrasure, acodex open on his knees, sat the pale student; seeing Basil, he startedup in great surprise, and, when they had embraced, regarded himanxiously. 

'How is this? What has happened? Some calamity, I see. '

'Seek some word, O Decius, to utter more than that. I have sufferedworse than many deaths. '

'My best, my dearest Basil!' murmured the other tenderly. 'You havelost her?'

'Lost her? yes; but not as you mean it. Is Petronilla in Rome?'

'She arrived the day before yesterday, two hours after sunset. '

'And you have seen her, talked with her?'

'I was at the house yonder when she came. '

'And she behaved ill to you?' asked Basil. 

'Far from that, Petronilla overwhelmed me with affection and courtesy. I knew not, ' proceeded Decius smiling, 'how I had all at once meritedsuch attention. I came away merely because this situation better suitsmy health. Down by the river I have never been at ease. But let me hearwhat has befallen you. '

Basil told his story, beginning with the explanation of Veranilda'simportance in the eyes of the Greek commander. After learning from theHun that nothing was known of the lost ladies at Cumae, he hadimpatiently lingered for three days in the castle of Venantius, on thechance that Marcian might be able to test the truth of Chorsoman'sreport; but his friend made no discovery, and in despair he set out forRome. To all this Decius listened with wonder and with sympathy. He hadno difficulty in crediting Petronilla with such a plot, but thought shecould scarce have executed it without the help of some one inauthority. Such a person, he added cautiously, as a deacon of the RomanChurch. Hereupon Basil exclaimed that he and Marcian had had the samesuspicion. 

'I will find her, ' he cried, 'if it cost me my life! And I will berevenged upon those who have robbed me of her. She may at this momentbe in Rome. The ship that carried her off was large enough, they say, to make the voyage, and winds have been favourable. My good Decius, Iam so overcome with misery that I forget even to ask how you sped onthe sea. '

'A smooth and rapid voyage. I had only time to reperuse with care the_Silvae_ of Statius--his Epicedion being appropriate to my mood. Arrived at Portus, I sent a post to those who awaited the ship'scoming, and the remains of Maximus were brought with all due honour totheir resting place. '

'Was the deacon Leander here to receive you?' asked Basil. 

'I learnt that he had not yet been heard of. '

They exchanged a significant look, and Basil remarked that he wouldsoon discover the deacon's movements since his leaving Surrentum. Marcian was even now on his way to visit Petronilla, and would comewith news this evening. 

'If I could know, ' he cried, 'whether she has been delivered to theGreeks, or is kept imprisoned by that Megaera! It may be thatPetronilla is ignorant of what I have told you; yet, if so, I fear shewill soon learn it, for Chorsoman will write--if the barbarian canwrite--to Bessas, and cannot but mention her. There are prisons in Romefor those who offend the tyrant of Byzantium. '

'It troubles me to hear you say that, ' said Decius, with an anxiousglance. 

'I, too, may be in peril, you think, ' replied his kinsman gloomily. 'True, all the more that I am known to have just inherited. Bessastakes a peculiar interest in such people. Be that as it will. Let usturn for a moment to other things. '

They spoke of the duties that had to be discharged by Basil as hisuncle's heir. On the morrow he must assemble such of his kinsfolk aswere in Rome, and exhibit to them the testament. Aurelia's part in itwould of course excite discussion, perhaps serious objection; whereasher disappearance would probably be regarded as a matter of smallmoment, and Petronilla, even if suspected, could count on sympathy. When he left the library, Basil found all the members of his household, from the old nurse Aguella, whose privilege it was to treat him withmotherly affection, to the men who groomed his horse, assembled outsideto give him welcome. His character and bearing were such as earn thegood-will of dependents; though proud and impatient, he never behavedharshly, and a service well rendered often had its recognition. Amongthe young men of his rank, he was notable for temperance in pleasures;his slaves regarded him as above common temptations of the flesh, and, though this might be a loss to them in one way, they boasted of it whentalking to the slaves of masters less exceptional. Having learnt fromFelix that their lord was heir of Maximus, the servants received himwith even more than wonted respect. One of them was the steward of hisestate in Picenum, who had arrived at Rome a few days ago; with himBasil had private talk, received money which the man had brought, heardof the multitudinous swine in his oak forest, and of the yield of hisfruit trees. That strip of the Adriatic coast south of Ancona hadalways been famous for its pears and apples, and choice examples of thefruit lay on Basil's table to-day. When he had supped, he anxiouslyawaited the coming of Marcian. It was two hours after nightfall beforehis friend appeared, having come in a litter, with torch-bearingattendants, from the Palatine, where he had supped with Bessas, theGreek commander. 

The news he brought was disquieting. Bessas had just receiveddespatches from Cumae, which acquainted him with the story ofVeranilda's disappearance, so far as it was known to Chorsoman; he worea heavy brow about the business, swore that the Gothic damsel should befound, if it cost the skins of all who had had anything to do with her. 

'I partly soothed the brute, ' concluded Marcian, 'by telling him thatPetronilla was within such easy reach. Her he will summon to-morrow. '

'You promised to see her, ' said Basil impatiently. 

'Do I often break my promises? I saw her before going even to my ownhouse, with the dust of the journey still upon me. '

'Ever kind Marcian?'

'Why so hasty to think me less than kind?' returned the other, with hissmile of sad irony. 'I saw her, though with difficulty. She kept mewaiting like an importunate poor kinsman, and when I was received, shesat like the Empress giving audience. I did not touch the earth with myforehead; nay, I stood looking at her with a look she did not easilybear. That she is guilty, I am sure; I read triumph in her eyes as soonas I spoke of Aurelia. That she would deny all knowledge of the affairwas only to be expected. Moreover, she has taken possession of thegreat house yonder, and declares that Aurelia, as a heretic, can claimnothing under her father's will. You, of course, the heir, can expelher, if you think it worth the trouble. But let us see the result ofher conversation with Bessas. She smiled disdainfully when I mentionedhis name, and tried to continue smiling when I carelessly explained theinterest he had in finding Veranilda; but she was frightened, I heardit in her hoarse voice when she began to speak evil of Veranilda. '

'What!' cried Basil. 'Evil of Veranilda!'

'Such as naturally comes to the tongue of an angry woman. '

The lover raged, Marcian listening with a sad, half-absent look. Theirtalk continued for a long time, arid, because of the lateness of thehour, Marcian stayed to sleep in his friend's house. Before sunrise onthe morrow, Basil sent forth his invitations to all of the Anicianblood in Rome. The first to respond was Gordianus, whose dwelling onthe Clivus Scauri stood but a few minutes' walk away. Though but alittle older than Basil, Gordian had been for several years a husbandand a father; he was in much esteem for his worldly qualities, and morehighly regarded for the fervour of his religious faith. A tall, handsome, dignified man, he looked straight before him with frank eyes, and his lips told of spirit tempered by kindliness. Between him and hisrelative no great intimacy existed, for their modes of life and ofthought were too dissimilar, but each saw the good in the other, andwas attracted by it. Not long ago Gordian had conceived the project ofgiving his young sister Aemiliana as wife to Basil. Maximus favouredthis design, but his nephew showed no eagerness to carry it out, andRoman gossip presently found a reason for that. Among the leaders offashion and of pleasure--for fashion and pleasure did not fail torevive in Rome soon after the horrors of the siege--shone a lady namedHeliodora, the Greek wife of a little-respected senator, who, favouredby Bessas, rose to the position of City Prefect. With Heliodora'scharacter rumour made very free; the captives of her beauty were saidto be numerous, and one of the names mentioned by those who loved suchscandal was that of the young Basil. Gordian, finding that there wassome ground for this suspicion, spoke no more of the suggestedmarriage, and it was at his instance that Maximus, ill in Campania, summoned Basil away from the city. Reports from Surrentum gave reasonto hope that this measure had succeeded. But to-day, as he enteredBasil's house, Gordian's face wore a troubled look, and there was nowarmth in his response to the greeting which met him. 

'You have sent for me, my dear lord, ' he began with grave and distantcourtesy, 'to speak of the matter of your inheritance. Forgive me if Ifirst of all ask you a question--of more intimate concern. Is it truethat you have taken a wife?'

Basil, in whom fatigue and misery had left little patience, beganquivering in every nerve, and made blunt answer:

'It is not true, arid she who told you contrived the lie. '

'You speak of the lady Petronilla, ' pursued Gordian gently. 'Can Ithink that she has wilfully deceived me?'

'Think it not, my lord Gordian, ' returned the other; 'if Petronillatold you I was married, she lied. '

'That is strange indeed. Listen, I pray you, to the story heard in Romesince Petronilla returned. It is right that you should hear it just asit comes from her own lips. '

Thereupon Gordian repeated a narrative which would have beensubstantially true had it not crowned Basil's love with marriage. Thelistener, shaken with violent passion, could scarce wait till the end. 

'And now hear _me_, ' he cried. 'If I were prudent, I also should lie, for the truth may be dangerous. But you shall know it, O Gordian, andif you choose to harm me--'

The other raised a hand, and so full of dignity was this gesture, sosolemn the look which accompanied it, that Basil's vehemence feltitself rebuked; he grew silent and listened. 

'Basil, check your tongue, which I see will be your greatest peril. Donot confide in me, for I know not whether I can respect yourconfidence. Let us speak of other things. '

The younger man stood for a moment in hesitancy, his cheeks aflame, hiseyes fiercely gleaming. 

'As you will, ' he exclaimed, mastering himself. 'When the others arehere, you will learn all that it concerns you to know. Remember, Gordian, that I would have opened my heart to you, for, whatever Isaid, I know well that you are no betrayer. As for that woman--'

He was interrupted by the arrival of several persons, old and young, who appeared in answer to his summons. Having received them with coldercourtesy than was natural to him, Basil produced the testament ofMaximus, and submitted it to his kinsmen's inspection. The tabletspassed from hand to hand; the signatures and seals of the sevenwitnesses were examined, the contents read and discussed. Meanwhileguests continued to arrive, until a considerable gathering, whichincluded several ladies, had assembled in the great hall. Here wasrepresented all that deemed itself best and most illustrious in thesociety of Rome. More came than were expressly invited; for, beyond thelegitimate interest of the occasion, curiosity had been aroused by thegossip of Petronilla, and some whose connection with the Anician housewas of the very slightest, hastened to present themselves at Basil'sdoor. Hither came men whose names recalled the glories of the Republic;others who were addressed by appellations which told of Greek dominion;alike they claimed the dignity of Roman optimates, and deemedthemselves ornaments of an empire which would endure as long as theworld. Several ranked as senators; two or three were ex-consuls; tenyears ago the last consul of Rome had laid down his shadowy honours;one had held the office of Praetorian Prefect when Theodoric was king;yet, from the political point of view, all were now as powerless astheir own slaves. Wealth a few of them still possessed, but with nosecurity; a rapacious Byzantine official, the accident of war, might atany moment strip them of all they had. For the most part they hadalready sunk to poverty, if not to indigence; among these aristocraticfaces were more than one which bore the mark of privation. Those whohad little means or none lived as parasites of more fortunaterelatives; though beggars, they housed in palaces--palaces, it is true, which had often no more comfort within their marble walls than theinsulae where the ignoble laid their heads. 

When all had perused the will, Basil rose up and addressed them. Hebegan by a seemingly careless allusion to the tattle about himself, which, as it appeared, had been started in Rome by some one who wishedhim ill. The serious matter of which he had to speak regarded thedaughter of Maximus. No one here, of course, would be inclined to takeup the defence of Aurelia, whose history was known to all, he wouldmerely make known to them that after having abjured her religiouserrors, and when living quietly in the Surrentine villa, she had beentreacherously seized and carried off he knew not whither. It was notdifficult to surmise by whom this plot had been laid, but he wouldleave that point for his hearers' discussion. Him it chiefly concernedto make known the strange facts so far as he knew them; and this heproceeded to do. Basil concluded with sarcastic reference to thepossibility that he, as heir, might be openly or secretly suspected ofhaving laid hands upon Aurelia; that point also he left to be debatedby such as thought it worth while. 

Only some two or three of those who listened had any personal interestin the will, and few cared at all for the fate of Aurelia; but the ladyat whom Basil's innuendo pointed enjoyed no great favour, and herabsence from this family gathering made it possible to discuss with allfreedom the likelihood of her culpability. At Basil himself nosuspicion glanced, but the rumour of his marriage with a Goth hadexcited much curiosity, hardly appeased by a whisper that Gordiandeclared the story false. Having spoken all he thought fit to say, Basil was going apart with the persons to whom legacies had been left, he, as heir, being charged with the execution of the will, when Gordianapproached him, and begged for a word in private. 

'I would not have you think me unkind, dear Basil, ' he said, in agentle voice. 'It was neither the place nor the moment to hear secretsfrom you, and I am glad now that I refused to listen; but be assuredthat I put faith in what you have declared to us. '

'It is well, dear Gordian, ' replied Basil frankly. 

'One word I will add, ' continued the other. 'If you are troubled aboutthings of the world, if you lack counsel such as you think a friendmight give, delay not in coming to me. I should not speak thusconfidently did I speak of myself alone; but there is one ever at myside, who with her wisdom--sometimes I think it divinelybestowed--supplies the weakness of my own understanding. Guided by her, I cannot counsel you amiss. '

They parted with an embrace, and Basil turned to the business of themoment. This occupied him until nearly mid-day. As he took leave of thelast of his guests, there entered Marcian; his coming surprised Basil, for they had parted at early morning not to meet again before themorrow. 

'I bring you an invitation, ' said Marcian, in a careless tone, whichwas not quite natural. 'It is to the Palatine, after dinner. '

'To the Palatine? I am summoned by Bessas?'

'In a friendly way. Have no anxiety. Petronilla has been examined thismorning, and, from what I can gather, she seems to have betrayedherself. Bessas wore the smile which means that he has over-reachedsomebody. '

'Then we shall find her, ' exclaimed Basil. 

'They will find her, I doubt not, ' was the reply. 

The meal being ready, they sat down to eat together, but their appetitewas small. Decius, who had wearied himself this morning in findingdiscreet answers to the questions with which he was privately assailedby his kinsfolk, did not come to table. Having dined, Basil and hisfriend set forth on foot, half a dozen servants walking behind them. Midway in the descent of the Caelian, they were met by an oddprocession: a beautiful boy of some twelve years old, clad in yellow, riding upon a small white ass with rich housings, and behind him threeslaves, dark-visaged men of the East, on mules of great size, caparisoned with yellow cloth, to which hung innumerable tinklingbells. At sight of Basil, the child drew rein; jumped down, and ranforward with smiling demonstrations of respect. 

'What is it, Laetus?' asked Basil, with no welcome upon his sombrecountenance. 'I cannot talk with you now. '

The boy, who had been sold into slavery from the far island of theAngles, did but smatter the Roman tongue. With a few words to signifythat his message was important, he delivered a letter, and Basil, turning aside impatiently, broke the seal. Upon the blank side of aslip of papyrus cut from some old manuscript were written lines whichseemed to be in Greek, and proved to be Latin in Greek characters, afoppery beginning to be used by the modish at Rome. 

'Heliodora to Basil. You are bidden to supper. Come if you will. If youcome not, I care not. '

'Say that I gave you no reply, ' were Basil's blunt words, as he walkedon past the ass and the mules. 

CHAPTER XI

SEEKING

They passed beneath the walls of the amphitheatre and by Constantine'striumphal arch. Like all the innumerable fountains of the city, theMeta Sudans stood dry; around the base of the rayed colossus of Apollo, goats were browsing. Thence they went along by the Temple of Venus andRome, its giant columns yet unshaken, its roof gleaming with gildedbronze; and so under the Arch of Titus, when, with a sharp turn to theleft, they began the ascent of the Palatine. 

The vast buildings which covered the Imperial hill, though discolouredby the lapse of ages and hung with ivy, had suffered little diminutionof their external majesty; time had made them venerable, but had notshattered their walls. For two centuries and a half, they had stood allbut desolate, and within that time had thrice been sacked bybarbarians, yet something of the riches and art which made theirancient glory was still discoverable in the countless halls andchambers; statues, busts, mural paintings, triumphs of mosaic, picturedhangings, had in many parts escaped the spoiler and survived ruin;whilst everywhere appeared the magnificence of rare stones, thesplendours of royal architecture, the beauty of unsurpassed carving. Though owls nested where empresses were wont to sleep, and nettlespierced where the lord of the world feasted his courtiers, this wasstill the Palace of those who styled themselves Ever August; each echoseemed to repeat an immortal name, and in every gallery seemed to movethe shadows of a majestic presence. 

Belisarius had not resided here, preferring for his abode the palace ofthe Pincian. His successor in the military government of Rome chose ahabitation on the deserted hill, in that portion of its complexstructures which had been raised by Vespasian and his sons. Thither thetwo visitors were now directing their steps. Having passed a gateway, where Marcian answered with a watchword the challenge of the guard, they ascended a broad flight of stairs, and stood before an entranceflanked with two great pillars of Numidian marble, toned by time to ahue of richest orange. Here stood soldiers, to whom again the passwordwas given. Entering, they beheld a great hall, surrounded by acolonnade of the Corinthian order, whereon had been lavished exquisitecarving; in niches behind the columns stood statues in basalt, thricethe size of life, representing Roman emperors, and at the far end was atribune with a marble throne. This, once the hall of audience, atpresent served as a sort of antechamber; here and there loitered alittle group of citizens, some of whom had been waiting since earlymorning for speech with the commander; in one corner, soldiers playedat dice, in another a notary was writing at a table before which stoodtwo ecclesiastics. Voices and footsteps made a faint, confusedreverberation under the immense vault. 

Anxiously glancing about him, Basil followed his conductor across thehall and out into a peristyle, its pavement richly tesselated, and theportico, still elaborately adorned with work in metal and in marble, giving proof of still greater magnificence in bygone time; pedestalshad lost their statues, and blank spaces on the wall told of preciouspanelling torn off. Beyond, they came to a curtained doorway, wherethey were detained for some moments by the sentry; then the curtain wasdrawn aside, and Basil found himself in the triclinium of the Flavianpalace, now used by the Greek general as his public reception room. Itssize was not much less than that of the hall of audience; itsdecoration in the same grandiose style. Enormous pillars of granitesupported the roof; statues stood, or had stood, all around; thepavement, composed of serpentine, porphyry, and Numidian marble in manyhues, was a superb work of art. But Basil saw only the human figuresbefore him. In a chair covered with furs sat a man of middle age, robust, fair-complexioned, with a keen look in his pale blue eyes andsomething of the wolfish about his mouth. Bessas had long ago givenproof of valour, and enjoyed repute as a general, but since his holdingcommand in Rome, his vices, chief of which was avarice, showed muchmore prominently than the virtues which had advanced him; he used theImperial authority chiefly to enrich himself, in this respect, it istrue, merely acting in harmony with the Emperor's representative atRavenna, and with: the other Greek generals scattered about Italy, butexhibiting in his methods a shrewdness and an inhumanity not easilyrivalled. Behind his chair stood several subordinates, and on a stoolbefore him sat a noble recently arrived as envoy from Byzantium. 

Having been previously instructed as to his behaviour in thisredoubtable presence, Basil followed the example of Marcian inapproaching with bent head to within a distance of three paces, thendropping to his knees, and bowing so as almost to touch the ground withhis forehead. He heard a gruff voice command him to rise. 

'So this is the heir of the Senator Maximus, ' said Bessas, much as hemight have spoken of viewing a horse that interested him. 'What is hisname?'

'Basilius, my lord, ' replied Marcian, with grave respect. 

'And what is he doing? Why does not a limber lad like that serve theEmperor?'

'Your Magnanimity will recollect that the lord Basil had permission toattend Maximus into Campania, whence he is but now returned. '

'Can't he speak for himself?' growled Bessas, turning sharply uponMarcian. 'You have a tongue, lord Basil? Do you only use it among thewenches?'

A subdued laugh sounded behind the commander's chair. The envoy fromByzantium showed more discreet appreciation of the jest. And Basil, hishead bowed, would fain have concealed a face burning with angry shame. 

'I will do my best, ' he replied in a steady voice, 'to answer anyquestion your excellence may put to me. '

'Come, that's better, ' said the general, with that affectation of bluffgood-nature which always veiled his designs. 'I like the look of you, my good Basil; who knows but we may be friends? By the bye, was therenot some special reason for your coming to see me?'

'Your excellence summoned me. '

'Yes, yes, I remember. That affair of the Gothic wench. ' Bessas checkedhimself, glanced at the envoy, and corrected his phrase. 'The Gothiclady, I would say, who has somehow been spirited out of sight. What canyou tell us of her, lord Basil? It has been whispered to me that if youcannot lead us to this beauty's hiding-place, nobody can. '

Basil answered in the only way consistent with prudence: he not onlydenied all knowledge of where Veranilda was to be found, but spoke asthough her fate had little or no interest for him, whereas he professedhimself greatly troubled by the disappearance of his cousin Aurelia. Itseemed that Petronilla did not purpose delivering Veranilda to theGreeks. Perhaps she did not yet understand the import of their inquiry. That it was she who held Veranilda prisoner he had less doubt thanever, and boldly he declared his conviction. But even, whilst speaking, he thought with dread of the possibility of Veranilda's being deliveredto Bessas; for who could assure him that this sinister-looking Thracianwould respect the mandate received from Byzantium? On the other hand, who could say to what sufferings and perils his beloved was exposedwhilst Petronilla's captive? He preferred the risks to follow upon hersurrender. Did he but know where she was there would at least be a hopeof rescuing her. 

'By Christ!' exclaimed Bessas, when he had listened intently to allBasil's replies, 'this is a strange business. I begin to think, excellent lord Basil, that you are as much deceived in your suspicionsof the lady Petronilla as she is in her suspicions of you. These twowenches--ladies, I would say--may have reasons of their own for hiding;or somebody of whom you know nothing may have carried them off. How isthis Aurelia to look upon? Young and comely, I warrant. '

Basil briefly described his cousin; whereupon the listener gave a shrug. 

'We will talk of it again, to-morrow or the day after. Hold yourself inreadiness, lord Basil--you hear?--to come when bidden. And, hark you, bring the senator's will, that I may look it over myself. Trust me, Iwill see that this lady Aurelia suffers no wrong; if necessary, I willmyself hold her property in trust. They tell me she is a heretic--thatmust be inquired into. But take no thought for the matter, my goodBasil; trust me, you shall be relieved from all responsibilities. Go inpeace!'

Bessas rose, impatient to have done with business. In the littlehippodrome, hard by, an entertainment had been prepared for thisafternoon: female equestrians were to perform perilous feats; there wasto be a fight between a man and a boar; with other trifles, such asserved to pass the time till dinner. In the entrance hall waitedmessengers from Ravenna, who for hours had urgently requested audience;but, partly because he knew that their despatches would bedisagreeable, in part because he liked playing at royalty, thecommander put them off till to-morrow. Even so did he postpone aninspection of a certain part of the city wall, repeatedly suggested tohim by one of his subordinates. Leisure and accumulation of wealth wereobscuring the man's soldierly qualities. He gave little heed to theprogress of the war, and scoffed at the fear that Totila might ere longmarch against Rome. 

Basil walked in gloomy silence. The interview had inflamed his pride. Mentally he repeated the oath never to acquiesce in this Byzantinetyranny, and he burned for the opportunity of open war against it. Whenthey were at a safe distance from the Palatine, Marcian warned hisfriend against the Greek's indulgent manner; let him not suppose thatBessas spoke one word sincerely. 

'His aim at present, I see, is to put you off your guard; and doubtlesshe is playing the like game with Petronilla. You will be spied upon, day and night--I myself, you understand, being one of the spies, butonly one, unfortunately. This Thracian is not so easy to deal with asthe Hun at Cumae. There have been moments when I thought he suspectedme. If ever I vanish, Basil--'

He ceased with a significant look. 

'Why does Totila delay?' exclaimed Basil, with a passionate gesture. 

'He delays not. It is wisdom to conquer Campania before coming hither. Another month will see him before Neapolis. '

'Could I but find Veranilda, make her my own, and put her in safety, Iwould go straight to the king's camp, and serve him as best I might. '

Marcian looked steadily at the speaker, smiling strangely. 

'Why do you look at me so?' cried Basil. 'You doubt me? You distrust mycourage?'

'Not for a moment. But why should this depend upon the finding ofVeranilda, my best Basil? Having found her, having made her your own, will it be easier than now to take your chance of death or ofcaptivity? When was a Roman wont to let his country's good wait uponhis amorous desire?'

They were on the Sacred Way, between the Basilica of Constantine andthe Atrium of Vesta. Struck to the heart by his friend's words, wordssuch as Marcian had never yet addressed to him, Basil stood mute andlet his eyes wander: he gazed at the Forum, at the temples beyond it, at the Capitol with its desecrated sanctuary of Jupiter towering above. Here, where the citizens once thronged about their business and theirpleasure, only a few idlers were in view, a few peasants with carts, and a drove of bullocks just come in from the country. 

'You would have me forget her?' he said at length, in a voicedistressfully subdued. 

'I spoke only as I thought. '

'And your thought condemned me--despised me, Marcian?'

'Not so. Pitied you rather, as one whose noble nature has fallen intotrammels. Have you not long known, O Basil, how I think of the thingcalled love?'

'Because you have never known it!' exclaimed Basil. 'My love is mylife. Having lost Veranilda, I have lost myself; without her I can donothing. Were she dead I could fling myself into the struggle with ourenemies, all the fiercer because I should care not whether I lived ordied; but to lose her thus, to know that she may be in Rome, longingfor me as I for her--to think that we may never hold each other's handsagain--oh, it tears my heart, and makes me weak as a child. You cannotunderstand me; you have never loved!'

'May such knowledge be far from me!' said Marcian, with unwontedvehemence. 'Do you feel no shame in being so subdued to the flesh?'

'Shame? Shame in the thought that I love Veranilda?'

Marcian seemed to make an effort to control a passion that wrought inhim; he was paler than of wont, and, instead of the familiar irony, acold, if not cruel, austerity appeared in his eyes and on his lips. Heshunned Basil's astonished gaze. 

'Let us not speak of this, ' broke from him impatiently. 'You understandme as little as I you. Forgive me, Basil--I have been talking idly--Iscarce know what I said. It is sometimes thus with me. Something takeshold upon me, and I speak at random. Come, come, dear friend of myheart, we will find your Veranilda; trust me, we will. '

Three days went by, then Basil was summoned again to the Palatine, where he had an interview with Bessas alone. This time the commanderhardly spoke of Veranilda; his talk was of the possessions left byMaximus, whose testament, when he had read it, he said that he wouldtake care of until the lost daughter was discovered; he inquiredclosely, too, as to Basil's own wealth, and let fall a remark that theRoman nobles would soon be called upon to support the army fighting fortheir liberties against the barbarians. When next called, let Basilhave ready and bring with him an exact statement of the money in hishands, and of the income he expected to derive from his property duringthe present year. Thereupon he was dismissed with a nod and a smile, which made him quiver in rage for an hour after. This happened in earlymorning. The day was overcast, and a cold wind blew from the mountains;Basil had never known such misery as fell upon him when he re-enteredhis gloomy, silent house. On the way home he had passed twofunerals--their hurried aspect proving that the dead were victims ofthe plague, that _lues inguinaria_ which had broken out in Italy twoyears ago, and with varying intensity continued throughout the land. Throwing himself down upon a couch, he moaned in utter wretchedness, fearful of the pestilence, yet saying to himself that he cared not ifit seized upon him. His moans became sobs; he wept for a long time, then lay, half soothed by the burst of hysterical passion, with eyesturned blankly to the ceiling and a hand clenched upon his breast. 

In his solitude he often talked with Felix, and more intimately perhapsthan with either Decius or Marcian. This trusty servant heldcommunication with a man in the household of Petronilla, and from himlearnt what he could as to the lady's movements; but nothing was as yetdiscoverable which threw light on the mystery of Aurelia and Veranilda. To-day, however, Felix returned from the other side of the Tiber withwhat sounded like important news. Petronilla had left home this morningin her carriage, had gone forth from the city by one of the southerngates, and, after an absence of two or three hours, had returned, bringing with her some one, a woman, whom she took into her house andkept there in privacy. He who related this to Felix declared that hismistress had only visited the church of her patron saint on the ViaArdeatina, but who the woman might be that she had brought back withher, he did not pretend to know. This story so excited Basil that hewould have hastened forthwith across the Tiber, had not Felix persuadedhim that at this late hour nothing could be done. After a sleeplessnight he set out at sunrise, accompanied by Felix alone. Whether hewould be admitted at Petronilla's door was quite uncertain; in anycase, it would serve no purpose to go thither with a band ofattendants, for the Anician house was sure to be strongly guarded. Allhe could do was to present himself in the hope of seeing Petronilla, and take his chance of learning something from her when they stood faceto face. 

On horseback he went down by the Clivus Scauri, followed the roadbetween the Circus Maximus and the Aventine, crossed the river by theAemilian bridge (the nearer bridge of Probus was falling into ruins), and then turned to the left. This part of the transtiberine districtwas inhabited by poor folk. Something unusual seemed to have happenedamong them just now: groups stood about in eager talk, and a littlefurther on, in front of a church, a noisy crowd was assembled, withsoldiers among them. Having made inquiry, Felix explained thedisturbance to his master. It was due to the rapacity of the Greekcommander, who, scorning no gain, however small, was seizing upon thefunds of the trade guilds; this morning the common chest of the pottershad been pillaged, not without resistance, which resulted in the deathof a soldier; the slayer had fled to St. Cecilia's church, and takensanctuary. Basil's feeling, as he listened, was one of renewedbitterness against the Greeks; but to the potters themselves he gavelittle thought, such folk and their wrongs appearing of small moment toone of his birth. 

Pursuing the road towards the Portuensian Gate, he was soon in sight ofthe palace where for generations had dwelt the heads of the Anicianfamily. It lay on a gentle slope above the river, at the foot of theJaniculan Hill; around it spread public porticoes, much decayed, andwhat had once been ornamental gardens, now the pasture of goats. AsBasil had expected, he was kept waiting without the doors until theporter had received orders regarding him. Permitted at length to enter, he passed by a number of slaves who stood, as if on guard, in theatrium, and, though seeming to be alone in the room beyond, he heardsubdued voices from behind the curtains of the doorways, which told himthat he was under observation. All parts of this great house wereperfectly familiar to him, and had it been possible to conduct asearch, he would soon have ascertained whether she he sought was keptimprisoned here; but, unless he took the place by storm, how could hehope to make any discovery? Whilst he was impatiently reflecting, Petronilla entered. She moved towards him with her wonted dignity ofmien, but in the look with which she examined him, as she paused at twopaces' distance, it was easy to perceive distrust, and a certaininquietude. 

'Your leisure at length permits you to visit me, dear lord Basil, ' shebegan coldly. 

'My leisure, indeed, ' he replied, 'has not been great since the day onwhich you left Surrentum. But the more plainly we speak to each otherthe better. I come now to ask whether you will release Veranilda to me, instead of waiting until you are compelled to release her to theGreeks. '

Before replying, Petronilla clapped her hands, then stood waiting for amoment, and said at length:

'You can now speak without hearers. I did not think you would be soimprudent in your words. Go on: say what you will. '

She seated herself, and looked at Basil with a contemptuous smile. He, surprised by her behaviour, spoke on with angry carelessness. 

'I neither cared before, nor do I now, if any of your servants overhearme. No more credit would be given to anything they told of me than isgiven to what you yourself say I might begin by warning you of thedangers to which you are exposed, but no doubt you have calculatedthem, and think the price not too much to pay for your revenge. Well, with your revenge I have no wish to interfere. Hold Aurelia prisoner aslong as you will, or as long as you can. I speak only of Veranilda, against whom you can feel no enmity. Will you release her to me? Itwill only be anticipating by a few days her release to Bessas. Veranilda in his hands, trust me, he will care little what becomes ofAurelia. '

'I listen to you, ' replied Petronilla, 'because I am curious to learninto what extravagances your ignoble passion drives you. I had beentold, but could hardly believe, that you charged me with having seizedthese women. Now I see that you really are foolish enough to think it. 'She threw her head back in a silent laugh of scorn. 'Child--for you area child in wit though man in years--do you not live at large in Rome, free to come and go as you will?'

'What of that?'

'Am not I also a free woman? Did I not yesterday visit the church ofthe blessed Petronilla, and might I not, if so I had willed, haveescaped instead of returning to the city?'

'What has this to do with the matter?' demanded Basil. 

'Child! child!' cried the other, as if with boundless contempt. 'Youask that, knowing why this Veranilda is sought by the Greeks? Were theytruly still in search of her, and were you, were I, suspected ofkeeping her hidden, do you suppose we should be free, and not ratherlocked as close as any prison in Rome could hold us?'

The listener stood mute. So vehement was Petronilla's speech, and soconvincing, thus delivered, seemed her argument, that Basil felt hisheart sink. Had she, then, outwitted him? Was he really playing thepart of a simpleton, at whom people laughed? He remembered the seemingindifference of Bessas touching Veranilda at the second interview, natural enough if the maiden had already passed into the Greek's hands. Two days ago Marcian had told him that Petronilla must needs be awareof Veranilda's importance, seeing that it was now common knowledge inRoman society. But a thought flashed into his mind, and he lifted uphis head again. 

'This is not true!' he exclaimed. 'If Bessas had found her, I shouldhave known it. '

'Pray, how? Does your foolish little lordship imagine that Bessas mustneeds have told you all he has done?'

'Bessas? no, ' he answered, his eyes burning with hatred as theysearched her face. 'But I have other means of learning the truth. Youtry vainly to deceive me. '

'As you will, good nephew, ' said the lady, as if indulgently. 'Believeas you list, and talk on, for you entertain me. '

'One thing I have to say, ' pursued Basil, 'which you will perhaps findless amusing. ' He had lost control of himself, and spoke in a low toneof fierce menace, all his body quivering. 'If I learn that Veranilda isin the hands of the Greeks, and that _you_ delivered her to them--bythe God above us, your life shall pay for it. '

Petronilla's face hardened till its cruel sternness outdid anyexpression of hatred possible to Basil's features. 

'Keep your ruffian threats for more suitable occasion, such as you willfind among your friends the Goths. ' She spoke coldly and deliberately. 'If enslavement to a yellow-haired barbarian had not muddled your wits, you would long ago have seen who it was that has played you false. '

Basil stared at her, his passion chilled with surprise and alarm. 

'Played me false!' he echoed involuntarily. 

'Who is it, ' continued Petronilla with slow scorn, 'that you havetrusted blindly? To whom have you looked for guidance and protection?Who has fostered your suspicion against _me_?'

An intolerable pang went through the listener's heart. 

'That's but another lie!' he exclaimed furiously. 'O basest of womenborn!'

A hand was upon his dagger. Petronilla rose and stepped back a little, glancing towards one of the drawn curtains. 

'You have threatened my life, ' she said in an undertone. 'Remember thatit is you who are in my power. If I raise my voice on one word, thenext moment you will lie pierced by a score of weapons. Moderate yourinsults: my temper is not meek. '

Basil thought for a moment with painful intentness. 

'Speak plainly, ' he said at length. 'You would have me suspect--? I amashamed to utter the name. '

'Keep it to yourself and muse upon it. '

'You dare bid me think that he, my dearest and most loyal friend, hasinfamously betrayed me? Now I know indeed that you have lied to me inevery word, for this is the last audacity of baseness. You hope topoison my soul against him, and so, whilst guarding yourself, bringmore evil upon those you hate. But you have overreached yourself. Onlycunning driven desperate could have devised this trick. Listen to meagain, before it is too late. Give me Veranilda. I take upon myself allthe peril. It shall be made to appear that I have all along kept her inhiding, and that you knew nothing of her. Be advised before the worstcomes upon you. I will escape with her to a place of safety that I knowof; _you_ will be declared innocent, and no one will care to ask whathas become of Aurelia. Think well; you spoke of prisons, but the Greekshave worse than imprisonment for those who incur their wrath. WillBessas forego revenge when, after much trouble, he has wrested thecaptive from your hands? Think!'

Petronilla's countenance, fixed as a face in marble, still suggested nothought save one of scorn; but there was a brief silence before shereplied. 

'I would not have believed, ' she said calmly, 'that a man could be sobesotted with foolish passions. Listen, you in turn. Where those womenare, I know as little as do you yourself. I think, and have good reasonfor thinking, that the Goth is already on her way to Constantinople, but I have no certainty of it. The one thing I do surely know, is thatyou are hoodwinked and baffled by the man you trust. '

A groan of rage and anguish broke from Basil. He wrung his bandstogether. 

'You lie! A thousand times you lie! Either Veranilda or Aurelia is inthis house. Who was it you brought back with you yesterday when youreturned from beyond the walls?'

The listener uttered a short, fierce laugh. 

'So that is what brought you here? O fool! Think you I should have nomore wisdom than that? Since you must needs pry into my doingsyesterday, you shall hear them. I went to the church of the holyPetronilla, to pray there against all the dangers that environme--against the wiles of the wicked, the cruelty of violent men, thesickness which is rife about us. And when I rose from before the altar, the servant of God who passes his life there, who is pleased to regardme with kindness, led me apart into the sacristy, where sat a woman whohad lost her sight. She had travelled, he told me, from Mediolanum, because of a vision in which she had been bidden to seek the tomb ofthe daughter of the chief Apostle; and, whilst praying in the church, her darkness had been illumined by a vision of the saint herself, whobade her go into the city, and abide in the house of the first whooffered her welcome, and there at length she would surely receive hersight. So I spoke with the woman, who, though in poverty, is of nobleblood, and when I had offered to make her welcome, she gladly came withme, and straightway we returned to Rome. And I brought with me oil fromthe lamp of the saint, wherewith, at the hours of prayer, I cross myforehead, that no evil may befall me. So, you have heard. Believe ornot, as you list, O Basil. '

Whether true or not, Basil had no choice but to accept the story. Helooked helplessly about him. If by killing this woman he could haveobtained liberty to search through every chamber of the great house, his dagger would have leapt at her breast; and that Petronilla wellknew; whence the defiant look in her eyes as they watched his slightestmovement. 

'What is your next question?' she said. 'I am at leisure for a littlelonger. '

'If Veranilda is in the hands of the Greeks, where is Aurelia?'

'I should be glad to think, ' replied the lady, 'that she has withdrawnfrom the world to expiate her sins. '

'Would you have me believe that Marcian knows that secret also?'

'I respect your innocence, ' answered Petronilla, with a smile, 'andwill say no more. '

Again Basil stood for a moment voiceless in wrath. Then he threw up anarm, and spoke with terrible vehemence. 

'Woman, if you have lied to me, wickedly seeking to put enmity betweenme and my friend, may the pest smite you, and may you perish unforgivenof man and God!'

Petronilla blanched not. For one instant he glared at her, and was gone. 

CHAPTER XII

HELIODORA

Marcian's abode was in the Via Lata, the thoroughfare which ranstraight and broad, directly northwards, from the Capitoline Hill tothe Flaminian Gate. Hard by were the headquarters of the city watch, avast building, now tenanted by a few functionaries whose authority hadfallen into contempt; and that long colonnade of Hadrian, called theSepta, where merchants once exposed their jewels and fabrics to thecrowd of sauntering wealthy, and where nowadays a few vendors of slavesdid their business amid the crumbling columns. Surrounded by thesemonuments of antiquity, the few private residences still inhabited hada dreary, if not a mean, aspect. Some of them--and Marcian's dwellingwas one--had been built in latter times with material taken from templeor portico or palace in ruins; thus they combined richness of detailwith insignificant or clumsy architecture. An earthquake of a few yearsago, followed by a great inundation of the Tiber, had wrought disasteramong these modern structures. A pillar of Marcian's porch, broken intothree pieces, had ever since been lying before the house, and a marblefrieze, superb carving of the Antonine age, which ran across thefacade, showed gaps where pieces had been shattered away. 

His family, active in public services under Theodoric, had sufferedgreat losses in the early years of the war; and Marcian, who, as a veryyoung man, held a post under the Praetorian Prefect at Ravenna, foundhimself reduced to narrow circumstances. After the fall of Ravenna, hecame to Rome (accompanied on the journey by Basil, with whom hisintimacy then began), and ere long, necessity driving him to expedientsfor which he had no natural inclination, he entered upon that life ofdouble treachery which he had avowed to his friend. As the world went, Marcian was an honest man: he kept before him an ideal of personalrectitude; he believed himself, and hitherto with reason, incapable offalsity to those who trusted him in the relations of private life. Moreover, he had a sense of religion, which at times, taking the formof an overpowering sense of sin, plunged him into gloom. Thoughburdened in conscience with no crime, he was subject in a notabledegree to that malady of his world, the disposition to regard all humankind, and himself especially, as impure, depraved. Often at the mercyof his passions, he refrained from marriage chiefly on this veryaccount, the married state seeming to him a mere compromise with theevil of the flesh; but in his house were two children, born to him by aslave now dead, and these he would already have sent into a monastery, but that human affection struggled against what he deemed duty. The manlived in dread of eternal judgment; he could not look at a setting sunwithout having his thought turned to the fires of hell, and a night ofwakefulness, common enough in his imperfect health, shook him withhorrors unutterable. Being of such mind and temper, it was strange thathe had not long ago joined the multitude of those who day by day fledfrom worldly life into ascetic seclusion; what withheld him was a sparkof the ancestral spirit, some drops of the old Roman blood, promptinghis human nature to assert and justify itself. Hence the sympathybetween him and Basil, both being capable of patriotism, and feeling adesire in the depths of their hearts to live as they would have livedhad they been born in an earlier time. But whereas Basil nursed thisdisposition, regarding it as altogether laudable, Marcian could onlysee in it an outcome of original sin, and after every indulgence ofsuch mundane thoughts did penance as for something worse than weakness. His father had died in an anguish of compunction for a life stainedwith sensuality; his mother had killed herself by excessive rigours ofpenitence; these examples were ever before his mind. Yet he seldomspoke, save to spiritual counsellors, of this haunting trouble, andonly the bitterness of envy, an envy entirely human, had drawn from himthe words which so astonished Basil in their last conversation. Indeed, the loves of Basil and Veranilda made a tumult in his soul; at times itseemed to him that he hated his friend, so intolerable was the jealousythat racked him. Veranilda he had never seen, but the lover's rapturehad created in his imagination a face and form of matchless beautywhich he could not cease from worshipping. He took this for apersecution of the fiend, and strove against it by all methods known tohim. About his body he wore things that tortured; he fasted to thepoint of exhaustion; he slept--if sleep came to him--on a bare stonefloor; some hours of each day he spent in visiting churches, where heprayed ardently. 

Basil, when he had rushed forth from the Anicianum, rode straightway tothe Via Lata, and presented himself at Marcian's door. The porter saidthat his master had been absent since dawn, but Basil none the lessentered, and, in the room where he and his friend were wont to talk, threw himself upon a couch to wait. He lay sunk in the most sombrethoughts, until at the door appeared Sagaris, who with the wonted suaveservility, begged permission to speak to him. 

'Speak on, ' said Basil gloomily, fixing his eyes upon the orientalvisage, so little reassuring to one harassed by suspicions. 

'It is regarding my dear lord, Illustrious, that I would say a humbleword, if your nobility will bear with me. '

'What can that be?'

'I am guilty, I know, of much presumption, but I entreat yournobility's patience, for in truth it is only my love and my fears thatembolden me to speak. What I would make known to you, Illustrious, isthat for more than two whole days my dear lord has not broken bread. Since our return to Rome he has fasted all but continuously, at thesame time inflicting upon himself many other penances of the severestkind. For this, I well know, he will have his reward in the eternallife; but when I note his aspect, I am overcome with fear lest weshould lose him too soon. This morning, when I was helping him todress, he sank down, and lay for a time as one dead. My lord wouldrebuke me severely if he knew that I had ventured to speak of thesethings; but with you, Illustrious, I feel that I am in no danger. Youwill understand me, and pardon me. '

Basil had raised himself to a sitting position. Supporting himself onone hand, he stared straight before him, and only spoke when a movementon the part of the servant betrayed impatience. 

'This has gone on, you say, since your return to Rome? Was it yourlord's habit to do such penance on his travels?'

'Never in this extreme, though I have always marvelled at his piety. '

Again Basil kept a long silence. 

'You have done well to tell me, ' he said at length; then, with a waveof the hand, dismissed the Syrian. 

It was nearly mid-day when Marcian returned. At the sight of Basil hispale, weary countenance assumed a troubled smile. He embraced hisfriend, kissing him affectionately on both cheeks, and sat down by himwith a sigh of fatigue. 

'What makes you so wan?' asked Basil, peering into his eyes. 

'I sleep ill. '

'Why so? Is it pain or thought that keeps you wakeful?'

'Both, perhaps, ' answered Marcian. He paused, reflected gloomily, andwent on in a subdued voice. 'Do you think often, Basil, of the eternalfire?'

'Not often. Sometimes, of course. '

'Last night I had a dream, which assuredly was a temptation of the evilone. My father stood before me, and said, "Fear not, Marcian, for thereis no Gehenna. It is but the vision of man's tormented conscience. " AndI awoke with a great joy. But at once the truth came upon me; and untildawn I prayed for strength to resist that perilous solace. This morningI have talked long with a holy man, opening my heart to him, that hemight finally resolve my doubts. I said to him: "Slaves who havecommitted a fault are punished that they may amend. To what purpose isthe punishment of the wicked after death, since there can be noamendment?" and he replied: "My son, the wicked are punished in Gehennathat the just may feel gratitude to the divine grace which haspreserved them from such a doom. " "But, " I objected, "ought not thejust to pray for their enemies in such evil case?" His answer wasprompt: "The time for prayer is past. The blessed concur in thejudgment of God!"'

Basil listened with bent head. 

'Maximus, ' he said presently, 'often doubted of eternal torment; and mycousin Decius has more than once confessed to me that he believes itnot at all, being strengthened therein by his friend the philosopherSimplicius. I, O Marcian, would fain think it a dream--yet there areevil doings in this world which make me fear that it may be true. '

'You have seen Bessas again?'

'Yes. And I have seen Petronilla. '

His eyes on the listener, Basil recounted his conversation of thismorning, all save that part of it which related to Marcian. He coulddetect no sign of guilty uneasiness in his friend's face, but saw thatMarcian grew very thoughtful. 

'Is not this a shamelessness in falsehood which passes belief?' werehis last words. 

'If indeed it be falsehood, ' replied Marcian, meeting the other's eyes. 'I will confess that, this day or two, I have suspected Bessas ofknowing more than he pretends. '

'What?' Basil exclaimed. 'You think Veranilda is really in his power?'

Marcian answered with a return to the old irony. 

'I would not venture to set bounds to the hypocrisy and the mendacityand the pertinacity of woman, but, after another conversation withPetronilla, I am shaken in my belief that she still holds herprisoners. She may, in truth, have surrendered them. What makes meinclined to think it, is the fierceness with which she now turns on_me_, accusing me of the whole plot from the first. That, look you, would be sweet revenge to a woman defeated. Why, ' he added, with apiercing but kindly look, 'do you hide from me that she sought topersuade you of my treachery? Is it, O Basil, because you feared lestshe spoke the truth?'

Flushing under that honest gaze, Basil sprang up and seized hisfriend's hand. Tears came into his eyes as he avowed the truth andentreated pardon. 

'It was only because misery has made me all but mad. Nay, I _knew_ thatshe lied, but I could not rest till I had the assurance of it from yourown lips. You think, then, dearest Marcian, that Veranilda is lost tome for ever? You believe it is true that she is already on the way toConstantinople?'

Marcian hoped it with all his heart, for with the disappearance ofVeranilda this strange, evil jealousy of his would fade away; and hehad many reasons for thinking that the loss of his Gothic love would bethe best thing that could happen to Basil. At the same time, he felthis friend's suffering, and could not bring himself to inflict anotherwound. 

'If so, ' he replied, 'the Greek has less confidence in me than Ithought, and I must take it as a warning. It may be. On the other hand, there is the possibility that Petronilla's effrontery outwits us all. Of course she has done her best to ruin both of us, and perhaps isstill trying to persuade Bessas that you keep Veranilda in hiding, whilst I act as your accomplice. If this be the case, we shall both ofus know the smell of a prison before long, and perchance the taste oftorture. What say you? Shall we wait for that chance, or speed awayinto Campania, and march with the king against Neapolis?'

Though he smiled, there was no mistaking Marcian's earnestness. For themoment he had shaken off his visions of Tartarus, and was his sanerself once more. 

'If I knew that she has gone!' cried Basil wretchedly. 'If I knew!'

'So you take your chance?'

'Listen! You speak of prison, of torture. Marcian, can you not help, meto capture that woman, and to get from her the truth?'

Basil's face grew terrible as he spoke. He quivered, his teeth groundtogether. 

'I, too, have thought of it, ' replied the other coldly. 'But it isdifficult and dangerous. '

They talked yet awhile, until Marcian, who looked cadaverous, declaredhis need of food, and they went to the mid-day meal. 

A few days went by. Basil was occupied with the business of hisinheritance. He had messengers to despatch to estates in Lucania andApulia. Then came news that a possession of Maximus' in the south hadbeen invaded and seized by a neighbour; for which outrage there waslittle hope of legal remedy in the present state of affairs; only bythe strong hand could Basil vindicate his right. Trouble was caused himby a dispute with one of the legatees, a poor kinsman who put anunexpected interpretation upon the item of the will which concernedhim. Another poor kinsman, to whom Maximus had bequeathed a share incertain property in Rome, wished to raise money on this security. Basilhimself could not lend the desired sum, for, though lord of greatestates, he found himself after Chorsoman's pillage of the strong roomat Surrentum, scarcely able to meet immediate claims upon him under thewill; but he consented to accompany his relative to a certainmoneychanger, of whom perchance a loan might be obtained. This man ofbusiness, an Alexandrian, had his office on the Capitoline Hill, inthat open space between the Capitol and the Arx, where merchants werestill found; he sat in a shadowed corner of a portico, before him alittle table on which coins were displayed, and at his back a smalldark shop, whence came a confused odour of stuffs and spices. Long anddifficult were the negotiations. To Basil's surprise, the Alexandrian, though treating him with the utmost respect, evidently gave littleweight to his guarantee in money matters; as to property in Rome, heseemed to regard it as the most insubstantial of securities. Only ongems and precious metals would he consent to lend a sum of anyimportance. 

Whilst this debate was in progress, a litter, gaudy and luxurious, borne by eight slaves clad in yellow, with others like them before andbehind, came to a stop close by, and from it alighted a lady whosegorgeous costume matched the brilliance of her vehicle and retinue. Shewas young and beautiful, with dark, oriental features, and a bearingwhich aimed at supremity of arrogance. Having stepped down, she stoodat the edge of the portico, languidly gazing this way and that, withthe plain intention of exhibiting herself to the loiterers whom herappearance drew together; at every slightest movement, the clink ofmetal sounded from her neck, her arms, her ankles; stones glistened onher brow and on her hands; about her she shed a perfume like thatwafted from the Arabian shore. 

The Greek merchant, as soon as he was aware of her arrival, ran forwardand stood obsequiously before her, until she deigned to notice him. 

'I would speak with you. See that we are private. '

'Noble lady, ' he replied, 'the lord Basilius, heir of the SenatorMaximus, is within. I will straightway beg him to defer his business. '

The lady turned and gazed into the dusky shop. 

'He is not alone, I see. '

'A kinsman is with him, noble lady. '

'Then bid the kinsman go his way, and keep apart, you, until you aresummoned. I will speak for a moment with the lord Basilius. '

The Alexandrian, masking a smile, drew near to Basil, and whisperedthat the lady Heliodora demanded to see him alone. A gesture ofannoyance was the first reply, but, after an instant's reflection, Basil begged his kinsman to withdraw. Heliodora then entered the shop, which was nothing more than an open recess, with a stone counter halfacross the entrance, and behind it a couple of wooden stools. Upon oneof these the lady seated herself, and Basil, who had greeted her onlywith a movement of the head, stood waiting. 

'So you will not sup with me?' began Heliodora, in a voice of banteringindifference. 'You will not come to see me? You will not write to me?It is well. I care less than the clipping of a finger-nail. '

'So I would have it, ' Basil replied coldly. 

'Good. Then we are both satisfied. This is much better than makingpretence of what we don't feel, and playing a comedy with our twoselves for spectators. You amused me for a while; that is over; now youamuse me in another way. Turn a little towards the light. Let me have alook at your pretty face, Basilidion. '

She spoke with a Greek accent, mingling now and then with the Romanspeech a Greek word or exclamation, and her voice, sonorous rather thanmelodious, one moment seemed about to strike the note of anger, atanother seemed softening to tenderness. 

'With your leave, ' said Basil, 'I will be gone. I have matters of someimportance to attend to. '

'With your leave, ' echoed Heliodora, 'I will detain you yet a little. For you, Basilidion, there is only one matter of importance, and it maybe that I can serve you better therein than any you esteem your graverfriends. There, now, I see your face. Holy Mary I how wan and worn itis. From my heart I pity you, Basilidion. Come now, tell me the story. I have heard fifty versions, some credible, some plain fable. Confidein me; who knows but I may help you. '

'Scoff as you will, ' was his answer. 'It is your privilege. But intruth, lady, I have little time to waste. '

'And in truth, lord, your courtesy has suffered since you began to peckand pine for this little Hun. '

'Hun?'

'Oh, I cry pardon! Goth, I should have said. Indeed, there are degreesof barbarism--but, as you will. I say again, I care not the clipping ofmy smallest nail. ' She held her hand towards him; very white it was, and soft and shapely, but burdened with too many rings. 'Tell me all, and I will help you. Tell me nothing, and have nothing for your pains. '

'Help me?' exclaimed Basil, in scornful impatience. 'Am I such a foolas to think you would wish to help me, even if you could?'

'Listen to me, Basil. ' She spoke in a deep note which was halffriendliness, half menace. 'I am not wont to have my requests refused. Leave me thus, and you have one more enemy--an enemy more to be dreadedthan all the rest. Already I know something of this story, and I canknow the whole of it as soon as I will; but what I want now is to hearthe truth about your part in it. You have lost your little Goth; ofthat I need no assurance. But tell me how it came about. '

Basil stood with bent head. In the portico, at a little distance, therebegan to sound the notes of a flute played by some itinerant musician. 

'You dare refuse me?' said Heliodora, after waiting a moment. 'You area bolder man than I thought. '

'Ask what you wish to know, ' broke from the other. 'Recount to you Iwill not. Put questions, and I will reply if I think fit. '

'Good. '

Heliodora smiled, with a movement which made all her trappings ofprecious metal jingle as though triumphantly. And she began toquestion, tracking out all Basil's relations with Veranilda from theirfirst meeting at Cumae to the day of the maiden's disappearance. Hisanswers, forced from him partly by vague fear, partly by as vague ahope, were the briefest possible, but in every case he told the truth. 

'It is well, ' said Heliodora, when the interrogation was over. 'Poor, poor Basilidion! How ill he has been used! And not even a kiss from thelittle Goth. Or am I mistaken? Perhaps--'

'Be silent!' exclaimed Basil harshly. 

'Oh, I will not pry into chaste secrets. For the present, enough. Goyour ways, Basil, and take courage. I keep faith, as you know; and thatI am disposed to be your friend is not your standing here, alive andwell, a sufficient proof?'

She had risen, and, as she uttered these words, her eyes gleamed largein the dusk. 

'When you wish to see me, ' she added, 'come to my house. To you it isalways open. I may perchance send you a message. If so, pay heed to it. '

Basil was turning away. 

'What! Not even the formal courtesy? Your manners have indeed declined, my poor Basil. '

With an abrupt, awkward movement, he took her half offered hand, andtouched the rings with his lips; then hastened away. 

On the edge of the cluster of idlers who were listening to the fluteplayer stood his needy kinsman. Basil spoke with him for a moment, postponed their business, and, with a sign to the two slaves inattendance, walked on. By the Clivus Argentarius he descended to theForum. In front of the Curia stood the state' carriage of the CityPrefect, for the Senate had been called together this morning to hearread some decree newly arrived from Byzantium; and as Basil drew nearhe saw the Prefect, with senators about him, come forth and descend thesteps. These dignitaries, who wore with but ill grace the ancient toga, were evidently little pleased by what they had heard; they talked undertheir breath together, many of them, no doubt, recalling sadly thehonour they were wont to receive from King Theodoric. As theirpresident drove away, Basil, gazing idly after the _carpentum_, felthimself touched on the arm; he looked round and saw Decius, whosepanting breath declared his haste, whilst his countenance was eloquentof ill. 

'I come from the Anicianum, ' Decius whispered, 'and bring terriblenews. Petronilla lies dying of the pest. '

Dazed as if under a violent blow, Basil stretched out his hand. Ittouched the wall of the little temple of Janus, in the shadow of whichthey were standing. 

'The pest?' he echoed faintly. 

'She was seized in the night. Some one in the house--some woman, theytell me, whom she brought with her a few days ago, I know notwhence--is just dead. I have sped hither in search of any one with whomI could speak of it; God be thanked that I have met you! I went tofetch away books, as you know. '

'I must go there, ' said Basil, gazing about him to find his slaves. 'Imust go straightway. '

'Why? The danger is great. '

'It may be'--this was spoken into Decius' ear--'that Veranilda isimprisoned there. I have proof now, awful proof, that Petronilla liedto me. I must enter, and seek. '

Hard by were litters for public hire. Bidding his slaves follow, Basilhad himself carried, fast as bearers could run, towards the Anicianum. Not even fear of the pestilence could withhold him. His curse uponPetronilla had been heard; the Almighty God had smitten her; would notthe same Power protect him? He prayed mentally, beseeching theintercession of the Virgin, of the saints. He made a vow that, did herecover Veranilda, he would not rest until he had won her conversion tothe Catholic faith. 

Without the Anicianum, nothing indicated disturbance, but as soon as hehad knocked at the door it was thrown wide open, and he saw, gatheredin the vestibule, a crowd of dismayed servants. Two or three of them, whom he knew well, hurried forward, eager to speak. He learnt thatphysicians were with the sick lady, and that the presbyter of St. Cecilia, for whom she had sent in the early morning, remained by herside. No member of the family (save Decius) had yet come, thoughmessages had been despatched to several. Unopposed, Basil entered theatrium, and there spoke with Petronilla's confidential freedman. 

'Leo, your mistress is dying. Speak the truth to me, and you shall berewarded; refuse to answer, or lie to me, and I swear by the Cross thatyou shall suffer. Who was the woman that died here yesterday?'

The freedman answered without hesitation, telling the same story Basilhad already heard from Petronilla. 

'Good. She has been buried?'

'She was carried out before dawn. '

'Tell me now, upon your salvation, is any one kept prisoner here?'

Leo, an elderly man, his eyes red with tears and his hands tremulous, gazed meaningly at the questioner. 

'No one; no one, ' he answered under his breath. 'I swear it to you, Olord Basil. '

'Come with me through the house. '

'But Leo, moving nearer, begged that he might be heard and believed. Heunderstood the meaning of these inquiries, for he had been with hismistress at Surrentum. They whom Basil sought were not here; all searchwould be useless; in proof of this Leo offered the evidence of hiswife, who could reveal something of moment which she had learnt only afew hours ago. The woman was called, and Basil spoke apart with her; helearnt that Petronilla, as soon as her pains began, sent a messenger tothe deacon Leander, entreating him to come; but Leander had onlyyesterday set out on a journey, and would not be back for a week ormore. Hearing this, the stricken lady fell into an anguish of mindworse even than that of the body; she uttered words signifyingrepentance for some ill-doing, and, after a while, said to those whowere beside her--a physician and the speaker--that, if she died, theywere to make known to Bessas that the deacon Leander, he and he alone, could tell all. Having said this, Petronilla became for a time calmer;but her sufferings increased, and suddenly she bade summon thepresbyter of St. Cecilia's church. With him she spoke alone, and for along time. Since, she had uttered no word touching worldly matters; thewoman believed that she was now unconscious. 

'And you swear to me, ' said Basil, who quivered as he listened, 'thatthis is the truth and all you know?'

Leo's wife swore by everything sacred on earth, and by all the powersof heaven, that she had falsified nothing, concealed nothing. ThereuponBasil turned to go away. In the vestibule, the slaves knelt weepingbefore him, some with entreaties to be permitted to leave this strickenhouse, some imploring advice against the plague; men and women alike, all were beside themselves with terror. In this moment there came aknocking at the entrance; the porter ran to open, and admitted Gordian. Basil and he, who had not met since the day of the family gathering, spoke together in the portico. He had come, said Gordian, in the fearthat Petronilla had been forsaken by all her household, as sometimeshappened to those infected. Had it been so, he would have held it aduty to approach her with what solace he could. As it was, physicianand priest and servants being here, he durst not risk harm to his ownfamily; but he would hold himself in readiness, if grave occasionsummoned him. So Gordian remounted his horse, and rode back home. 

Basil lingered. He no longer entertained the suspicion that Veranildamight be here, but he thought that, could he speak with Petronillaherself, penitence might prompt her to tell him where the captive layhidden. It surprised him not at all to hear Leander's name as that ofher confidant in the matter, though hitherto his thought had not turnedin that direction. Leander signified the Church, and what hope wasthere that he could gain his end against such an opponent?--moreformidable than Bessas, more powerful, perhaps, than Justinian. WereVeranilda imprisoned in some monastery, he might abandon hope ofbeholding her again on this side of the grave. 

Yet it was something to know that she had not passed into the hands ofthe Greeks; that she was not journeying to the Byzantine court, thereto be wedded against her will. Cheered by this, he felt an impulse ofdaring; he would see Petronilla. 

'Leo! Lead me to the chamber. '

The freedman besought him not to be so rash, but Basil was possessedwith furious resolve. He drove the servant before him, through theatrium, into a long corridor. Suddenly the silence was broken by ashriek of agony, so terrible that Basil felt his blood chilled to thevery heart. This cry came again, echoing fearfully through the hallsand galleries of this palace of marble. The servants had fled; Basildropped to his knees, crossed himself, prayed, the sweat standing uponhis forehead. A footstep approached him; he rose, and saw the physicianwho had been with Maximus at Surrentum. 

'Does she still live?' he asked. 

'If life it can be called. What do you here, lord Basil?'

'Can she hear and speak?'

'I understand you, ' replied the physician. 'But it is useless. She hasconfessed to the priest, and will utter no word more. Look to yourself;the air you breathe is deadly. '

And Basil, weak as a child, suffered himself to be led away. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE SOUL OF ROME

The library in Basil's house was a spacious, graceful room, offering atthis day very much the same aspect as in the time of that ancestralAnician, who, when Aurelian ruled, first laid rolls and codices uponits shelves. Against the walls stood closed presses of wood, withbronze panelling, on which were seen in relief the portraits of poetsand historians; from the key of each hung a strip of parchment, with acatalogue of the works within. Between the presses, on pedestals ofdark green serpentine, ranged busts of the Greek philosophers: Zenowith his brows knitted, Epicurus bland, Aratus gazing upward, Heraclitus in tears, Democritus laughing. These were attributed toancient artists, and by all who still cared for such things were muchadmired. In the middle stood a dancing faun in blood red marble, alsoesteemed a precious work of art. Light entered by an arched window, once glazed, now only barred with ornamental iron, too high in the wallto allow of any view; below this, serving as table, was an old marblesarcophagus carved with the Calydonian hunt. 

Here, one day of spring, Decius sat over his studies. Long ago he hadtransferred hither all the books from the great house across the Tiber, and had made his home on the Caelian. As he read or wrote a hard coughfrequently interrupted him. During the past half year his health hadgrown worse, and he talked at times of returning to the Surrentinevilla, if perchance that sweeter air might soothe him, but in thepresent state of things--Totila had just laid siege to Neapolis--theremoval did not seem feasible. Moreover, Decius loved Rome, and thoughtpainfully of dying elsewhere than within her walls. 

There was a footfall at the door, and Basil entered. He was carelesslyclad, walked with head bent, and had the look of one who spends hislife in wearisome idleness. Without speaking, however, he threw himselfupon a couch and lay staring with vacant eye at the bronze panels ofthe vaulted ceiling. For some minutes silence continued; then Decius, aroll in his hand, stepped to his kinsman's side and indicated with hisfinger a passage of the manuscript. What Basil read might be renderedthus:

'I am hateful to myself. For though born to do something worthy of aman, I am now not only incapable of action, but even of thought. '

'Who says that?' he asked, too indolent to glance at the beginning ofthe roll. 

'A certain Marcus Tullius, in one of his letters, ' replied the other, smiling, and returned to his own couch. 

Basil moved uneasily, sighed, and at length spoke in a serious tone. 

'I understand you, best Decius. You are right. Many a time I have usedto myself almost those very words. When I was young--how old I feel!--Ilooked forward to a life full of achievements. I felt capable of greatthings. But in our time, what can we do, we who are born Romans, yethave never learnt to lead an army or to govern a state?'

He let his arm fall despondently, and sank again into brooding silence. 

At root, Basil's was a healthy and vigorous nature. Sound of body, heneeded to put forth his physical energies, yet had never found morescope for them than in the exercise of the gymnasium, or the fatigue oftravel; mentally well-balanced, he would have made an excellentadministrator, such as his line had furnished in profusion, but thatcareer was no longer open. Of Marcian's ascetic gloom he knew nothing:not all the misery he had undergone in these last six months could sowarp his wholesome instincts. Owning himself, in the phrases he hadrepeated from childhood, a miserable sinner, a vile clot of animateddust, at heart he felt himself one with all the beautiful and joyousthings that the sun illumined. With pleasure and sympathy he lookedupon an ancient statue of god or hero; only a sense of duty turned hiseyes upon the images of Christian art. 

And this natural tendency was encouraged by his education, which, likethat of all well-born Romans, even in the sixth century after Christ, had savoured much more of paganism than of Christianity. Like hisancestors, before the age of Constantine, he had been taught grammarand rhetoric; grammar which was supposed to include all sciences, meaning practically a comment on a few classical texts, and rhetoricpresumed a preparation for the life of the Forum, having become an artof declamation which had no reference to realities. Attempts had beenmade--the last, only a few years ago, by Cassiodorus--to establishChristian schools in Rome, but without success, so profoundly were theancient intellectual habits rooted in this degenerate people. The longresistance to the new religion was at an end, but Romans, even whileconfessing that the gods were demons, could not cast off theiraffection for the mythology and history of their glorious time. ThusBasil had spent his schooldays mostly in the practice of sophisticargument, and the delivery of harangues on traditional subjects. Otheryouths had shown greater aptitude for this kind of eloquence; he didnot often carry off a prize; but among his proud recollections was asuccess he had achieved in the form of a rebuke to an impiousvoluptuary who set up a statue of Diana in the room which beheld hisdebauches. Here was the nemesis of a system of education which hadaimed solely at the practical, the useful; having always laboured toproduce the man perfectly equipped for public affairs, and nothing elsewhatever. Rome found herself tottering with senile steps in the samepath when the Empire and the ancient world lay in ruins about her. Basil was not studious. Long ago he had forgotten his 'grammatical'learning--except, of course, a few important matters known to alleducated men, such as the fact that the alphabet was invented byMercury, who designed the letters from figures made in their flight bythe cranes of Strymon. Though so ardent a lover, he had composed nolyric or elegy in Veranilda's honour; his last poetical effort was madein his sixteenth year, when, to his own joy, and to the admiration ofhis friends, he wrote a distich, the verses of which read the samewhether you began from the left hand or the right. Nowadays if he everopened a book it was some historian of antiquity. Livy, by choice, whoreminded him of his country's greatness, and reawakened in him thedesire to live a not inglorious life. 

Of his latter boyhood part had been spent at Ravenna, where his fatherProbus, a friend as well as kinsman of the wise minister Cassiodorus, now and then made a long sojourn; and he had thus become accustomed tothe society of the more cultivated Goths, especially of those who werethe intimates of the learned Queen Amalasuntha. Here, too, he learned acertain liberality in religious matters; for it was Cassiodorus who, inone of the rescripts given from the Gothic court, wrote those memorablewords: 'Religious faith we have no power to impose, seeing that no mancan be made to believe against his will. ' Upon the murder ofAmalasuntha, when the base Theodahad ruled alone, and ruin lay beforethe Gothic monarchy, Probus, despairing of Italy, following the exampleof numerous Roman nobles, migrated to Byzantium. His wife being dead, and his daughter having entered a convent, he was accompanied only byBasil, then eighteen years of age. A new world thus opened beforeBasil's mind; its brilliancy at first dazzled and delighted him, butvery soon he perceived the difference between a noble's life at Rome orRavenna under the mild rule of the Goths, and that led by so-calledRomans in the fear of Justinian and of Theodora. His father, disappointed in hopes of preferment which had been held out to him, gladly accepted a mission which would take him back to Italy: he wasone of the envoys sent to Belisarius during the siege of Ravenna, tourge the conclusion of the Gothic war and command the return of thePatricius as soon as might be for service against the Persians; andwith him came Basil. On the journey Probus fell ill; he was able tocross the Adriatic, but no sooner touched Italian Soil than he breathedhis last. 

Then it was that Basil, representing his father in the Imperialmission, came face to face with Belisarius, and conceived a boundlessenthusiasm for the great commander, whose personal qualities--the largecourtesy, the ready kindliness, the frequent laugh--made intimateappeal to one of his disposition. He stayed in the camp before Ravennauntil the city surrendered, and no one listened with more ardentapproval to the suggestion which began as a whisper between Italiansand Goths that Belisarius should accept the purple of the WesternEmpire. This, to be sure, would have been treachery, but treacheryagainst Justinian seemed a small thing to Basil, and a thing of nomoment at all when one thought of Rome as once more an Imperial city, and Italy with such a ruler as the laurelled Patricius. Treachery thegeneral did commit, but not against Byzantium. Having made pretence ofaccepting the crown which the Goths offered him, he entered intoRavenna, took possession in Justinian's name, and presently sailed forthe East, carrying with him the King Vitiges and his wife Matasuntha, grand-daughter of Theodoric. It was a bitter disappointment to Basil, who had imagined for himself a brilliant career under the auspices ofthe new Roman Emperor, and who now saw himself merely a conqueredItalian, set under the authority of Byzantine governors. He had notemptation to remain in the North, for Cassiodorus was no longer here, having withdrawn a twelvemonth ago to his own country by the IonianSea, and there entered the monastery founded by himself; at Ravennaruled the logothete Alexandros, soon to win a surname from hiscleverness in coin-clipping. So Basil journeyed to Rome, where hiskinsfolk met him with news of deaths and miseries. The city was butraising her head after the long agony of the Gothic siege. He enteredhis silent home on the Caelian, and began a life of dispirited idleness. 

Vast was the change produced in the Roman's daily existence by thedestruction of the aqueducts. The Thermae being henceforth unsuppliedwith water, those magnificent resorts of every class of citizen losttheir attraction, and soon ceased to be frequented; for all the Roman'sexercises and amusements were associated with the practice of luxuriousbathing, and without that refreshment the gymnasium, the tennis-court, the lounge, no longer charmed as before. Rome became dependent uponwells and the Tiber, wretched resource compared with the never-failingand abundant streams which once poured through every region of the cityand threw up fountains in all but every street. Belisarius, as soon asthe Goths retreated, ordered the repairing of an aqueduct, that whichserved the transtiberine district, and was indispensable to the workingof the Janiculan mills, where corn was ground; but, after hisdeparture, there was neither enough energy nor sufficient sense ofsecurity in Rome for the restoration of even one of the greaterconduits. Nobles and populace alike lived without the bath, grewaccustomed to more or less uncleanliness, and in a certain quartersuffered worse than inconvenience from the lack of good water. 

Formerly a young Roman of Basil's rank, occupied or not by any seriouspursuit, would have spent several hours of the day at one or other ofthe Thermae still in use; if inclined to display, he would have gonethither with a train of domestic attendants, and probably of parasites;were the season hot, here he found coolness; were it cold, here hewarmed himself. Society never failed; opportunity for clandestinemeetings could always be found; all the business and the pleasure of aday were regulated with reference to this immemorial habit. Now, toenter the Thermae was to hear one's footsteps resound in a marblewilderness; to have statues for companions and a sense of ruin forone's solace. Basil, who thought more than the average Roman aboutthese changes, and who could not often amuse himself with suchspectacles as the theatres or the circus offered, grew something of asolitary in his habits, and was supposed by those who did not know himintimately, to pass most of his time in religious meditation, thepreface, perhaps, to retirement from the world. Indolence bringing itswonted temptations, he fell into acquaintance with Heliodora, aNeapolitan Greek of uncertain origin, whose husband that year held theoffice of City Prefect. Acquaintance with Heliodora was, in his case, sure to be a dangerous thing, and might well prove fatal, for many andfierce were the jealousies excited by that brilliant lady, whosehusband alone regarded with equanimity her amorous adventures. Happily, Basil did not take the matter very much to heart; he scarce pretendedto himself that he cared whether Heliodora was his for a day only orfor a month; and he had already turned his thoughts to the sweetness ofAemiliana, that young sister of Gordian, whom, if he chose, he mightmake his wife. 

Now again had sluggishness taken possession of him, and with it camethose promptings of the flesh which, but a few months ago, he easilysubdued, but which the lapse of time had once more made perilous. Toany who should have ventured to taunt him with forgetfulness ofVeranilda, he would have fiercely given the lie; and with reason, forVeranilda's image was as vivid to him as on the day when he lost her, and she alone of women had the power to excite his deepest andtenderest emotions. Nevertheless, he had more than once of late visitedHeliodora, and though these visits were in appearance only such as hemight have paid to any lady of his acquaintance, Basil knew very wellwhither they tended. As yet Heliodora affected a total forgetfulness ofthe past; she talked of Veranilda, and confessed that her efforts tomake any discovery regarding the captive were still fruitless, thoughshe by no means gave up hope; therewithal, she treated Basil only halfseriously, with good-naturedly mocking smiles, as a mere boy, a disdainto her mature womanhood. Of this was he thinking as he tossed on thecouch in the library; he had thought of it too much since leavingHeliodora yesterday afternoon. It began to nettle him that his griefshould be for her merely an amusement. Never having seen the Gothicmaiden, whose beauty outshone hers as sunrise outdoes the lighting of acandle, this wanton Greek was capable of despising him in good earnest, and Basil had never been of those who sit easy under scorn. He feltsomething chafe and grow hot within him, and recalled the days when he, and not Heliodora, had indulged contempt--to his mind a much morenatural posture of affairs, The animal that is in every man had begunto stir; it urged him to master and crush and tame this woman, whom, indeed, he held rather in hate than in any semblance of love. Herbeauty, her sensuality, had power over him still; he resented suchdanger of subjection, and encouraged himself in a barbarism of mood, which permitted him to think that even in yielding he might find theway of his revenge. 

There had been a long silence since his reply to the hint offered byDecius. The student spoke again. 

'Basil, leave Rome. '

'It is forbidden, ' answered the other dully, his face averted. 

'Many things are forbidden which none the less are done. Did you learnthat Veranilda awaited you at Asculum, how long would it be before youset forth?'

'Not one hour, good Decius. '

'Even so. You would pass the gates disguised as a peasant or as awoman--no matter how. Will you do less to save all that makes life dearto an honourable man? Be gone, be gone, I entreat you. '

'Whither?'

'To Picenum, which is not yet subject to the Goths. There gather yourcapable men and arm them, and send to the King Totila, offering toserve him where he will, and how he will. You know, ' pursued Deciusearnestly, 'that I speak this something against my conscience, but, alas! we can only choose between evils, and I think Totila is less of atyrant than Justinian. You will not go to Constantinople, nor would Ibid you, for there, assuredly, is nothing to be done worthy of a man;but you must act, or you perish. For me, a weakling and a dreamer, there is solace in the _vita umbratilis_; to you, it is naught. Arise, then, O Basil, ere it be too late. '

The listener rose from his recumbent attitude; he was stirred by thisunwonted vigour in Decius, but not yet did resolve appear on hiscountenance. 

'Did I but know, ' he murmured, 'that Veranilda is not in Rome!'

Innumerable times had he said it; the thought alone held him inert. Impossible to discover, spite of all his efforts, whether Veranilda hadbeen delivered to the Greeks, or still lay captive in some place knownto the deacon Leander. From the behaviour of Bessas nothing could becertainly deduced: it was now a long time since he had sent for Basil, and Marcian, though believing that the commander's search was stillfutile, had no more certainty than his friend. Soon after Petronilla'sdeath, the Anician mansion had been thoroughly pillaged and everythingof value removed to the Palatine. Bessas condescended to justify thisproceeding: having learnt, he said, that the question of Aurelia'sorthodoxy lay in doubt, some declaring that she was a heretic, somethat she had returned to orthodoxy before her father's death, he tookcharge of the property which might be hers until she appeared to claimit, when, having the testament of Maximus in his hand, he would seethat justice was done. With Leander, Basil had succeeded in obtainingan interview, which was altogether fruitless. The deacon would answerno question, and contented himself with warning his visitor of thedangers incurred by one who openly sought to defeat the will of theEmperor. 

'Is it farewell?' asked Decius, stepping towards his kinsman, whoseemed about to leave the room. 

'I will think. '

'Go speak with Gordian. He says that he can obtain you permission toleave the city. '

'I doubt it, ' replied Basil. 'But I will see him--ere long. '

Decius went forth for his morning's exercise, which sometimes took theform of a gentle game of ball, but was generally a ramble on foot andunaccompanied, for he never felt at ease when an attendant followedhim. His habits were solitary; ever absorbed in thought, or lost indreams, he avoided the ways where he would be likely to encounter anacquaintance, and strayed among ruins in deserted gardens, such as wereeasily found in the remoter parts of the Caelian. To-day, tempted on bythe delicious air, and the bright but not ardent sunshine, he wanderedby such unfrequented paths till a sound of voices broke upon hismeditation, and he found himself in view of the Lateran. Numbers ofpoor people were streaming away from the open space by the Pope'spalace, loud in angry talk, its purpose intelligible enough to any onewho caught a few words. Decius heard maledictions upon the Holy Father, mingled with curses no less hearty upon the Greeks who held Rome. 

'It was not thus, ' cried an old man, 'in the time of King Theodoric, heretic though he might be. We had our bread and our hog's flesh, primequality both, and plenty for all. '

'Ay, ' cried a woman, 'and our oil too. Since these Greek dogs came, nota drop of oil has there been in my cruse. Heretics, forsooth! Whatbetter is the Holy Father who lets Christians die of hunger while heeats and drinks his fill?'

'Evil go with thee, O Vigilius! The pest seize thee, O Vigilius! May'stthou perish eternally, O Vigilius!' shrilled and shouted all manner ofvoices, while fists were shaken towards the pontifical abode. 

Decius hastened away. The sight of suffering was painful to him, andthe cries of the vulgar offended his ear; he felt indignant that thesepeople should not be fed, as Rome for so many ages had fed hermultitude, but above all, he dreaded uproar, confusion, violence. Hishurried pace did not relax until he was lost again amid a wilderness ofruins, where browsing goats and darting lizards were the only life. 

Later in the day, when he sat alone in the peristyle, a visitor wasintroduced, whom he rose to welcome cordially and respectfully. Thiswas a man of some threescore years, vigorous in frame, with dry, wrinkled visage and a thin, grey beard that fell to his girdle. As heapproached, Decius saw that he was bleeding from a wound on the headand that his cloak was torn. 

'What means this, dear master?' he exclaimed. 'What has befallen you?'

'Nothing worth your notice, gentle Decius, ' the philosopher replied, calmly and gravely. 'Let us rather examine this rare treatise ofPlotinus, which by good fortune I yesterday discovered among rubbishthrown aside. '

'Nay, ' insisted Decius, 'but your wound must be washed and dressed; itmay else prove dangerous. I fear this was no accident?'

'If you must know, ' answered the other with good-natured peevishness, 'I am accused of magic. The honest folk who are my neighbours, prompted, I think it likely, by a certain senator who takes it ill thathis son is my disciple, have shown me of late more attention than Icare for, and to-day as I came forth, they pursued me with cries of"Sorcerer!" and the like, whereupon followed sticks and stones, andother such popular arguments. It is no matter. Plotinus begins--'

Simplicius was one of the last philosophers who taught in Athens, oneof the seven who were driven forth when Justinian, in his zeal forChristianity, closed the schools. Guided by a rumour that supremewisdom was to be found in Persia, the sages journeyed to that kingdom, where disappointment awaited them. After long wanderings and manyhardships, Simplicius came to Rome, and now had sojourned here for ayear or two, teaching such few as in these days gave any thought tophilosophy. Poor, and perhaps unduly proud, he preferred his own veryhumble lodging to the hospitality which more than one friend hadoffered him; and his open disregard for religious practices, togetherwith singularities of life and demeanour, sufficiently explained thetrouble that had come upon him. Charges of sorcery were not uncommon inRome at this time. Some few years ago a commission of senators had satin judgment upon two nobles accused of magic, a leading article ofproof against one of them being that he had a horse which, whenstroked, gave off sparks of fire. On this account Decius was muchtroubled by the philosopher's story. When the wound had been attendedto, he besought Simplicius not to go forth again to-day, and with somedifficulty prevailed. 

'Why should it perturb you, O most excellent Decius, ' said the sage, 'that a lover of wisdom is an offence to the untaught and the foolish?Was it not ever thus? If philosophy may no longer find peace at Athens, is it likely that she will be suffered to dwell at ease in Rome?'

'Alas, no!' admitted Decius. 'But why, dear master, should you invitethe attacks of the ignorant?'

'I do no such thing. I live and act as seems good to me, that is all. Should no one have the courage to do that, what hope would there be, ODecius, for that most glorious liberty, the liberty of the mind?'

The listener bent his head abashed. Then Simplicius began to read fromthe manuscript, and Decius, who knew Greek fairly well--he had latelycompleted certain translations from Plato, left unfinished byBoethius--gave reverent attention. At a certain point the philosopherpaused to comment, for the subject was difficult--nothing less than thenature of God. In God, according to the system here expounded, thereare three principles or hypostases, united but unequal--the One, theIntelligence, the Soul; which correspond, respectively, to the God ofPlato, the God of Aristotle, the God of Zeno. Usually curt and ratherdry in his utterances, Simplicius rose to a fervid eloquence as heexpounded this mysticism of Alexandria. Not that he accepted it as thefinal truth, it was merely a step, though an important one, towardsthat entire and absolute knowledge of which he believed that a glimpsehad been vouchsafed to him, even to him, in his more sublime hours. Asfor Decius, the utmost effort never enabled him to attain familiaritywith these profound speculations: he was soon lost, and found his brainwhirling with words that had little or no significance. At home inliterature, in philosophy he did but strive and falter and losehimself. When at length there came a silence, he sighed deeply, hishand propping his forehead. 

'Master, how few men can ever know God!'

'Few, few, ' admitted the philosopher, his gaze upwards. 

'I think I should be content, ' said Decius, 'to love and praise Him. Yet that meseems is no less hard. '

'No less, ' was the reply. 'For, without knowledge, love and praise arevain. '

But Decius' thought had another meaning. 

CHAPTER XIV

SILVIA'S DREAM

It was the Paschal season, and Basil, careless at most times ofreligious observances, did not neglect this supreme solemnity of hisfaith. On Passion Day he fasted and received the Eucharist, Deciusdoing the like, though with a half-smiling dreaminess which contrastedwith the other's troubled devotion. Since the death of Petronilla, Basil had known moments of awe-stricken wonder or of gloomy fear suchas never before had visited him; for he entertained no doubt that hisimprecation had brought upon Petronilla her dreadful doom, and this wasa thought which had power to break his rest. Neither to Marcian nor toDecius did he speak of it in plain terms, merely hinting his beliefthat the cruel and treacherous woman had provoked divine anger. 

But the inclination to piety which resulted from such brooding was insome measure counteracted by his hostile feeling towards all theChurch. Petronilla might have conceived the thought of imprisoningAurelia and Veranilda, but only with the aid of an influential clericsuch as Leander could she have carried it out so successfully. TheChurch it was that held Veranilda captive; unless, indeed, it hadhanded her over to the Greeks. This conviction made his heart burn withwrath, which he could scarce subdue even whilst worshipping thecrucified Christ. His victim's heresy would of course be Leander'sexcuse for what he had done; the daughter of Maximus and the Gothicmaiden were held in restraint for their souls' good. Not long afterPetronilla's death Basil had been driven by his distress of mind tovisit Gordian and Silvia, and to speak with them of this suspicion. Hesaw that, for all their human kindness, they were disposed rather, toapprove than condemn the deacon's supposed action, and he had goneforth from them in scarce concealed bitterness. 

Now, in the festival days of Easter, his thoughts again turned to thathouse on the Clivus Scauri, so near to his own dwelling, yet so remotefrom the world of turbid passions in which his lot was cast. Thehousehold of Gordian seemed untouched by common cares; thoughthoroughly human its domestic life, it had something of the calm, thesilence, of a monastery. None entered save those whom husband and wifeheld in affection or in respect; idle gaiety was unknown beneath theirroof, and worldly ambition had no part in their counsels. Because ofthe reverence these things inspired in him, and because of his longingto speak with a pure-hearted woman who held him in kindness, Basilagain presented himself at his kinsman's door. He was led directly toan inner room, where sat Silvia. 

The severe fasts of Lent had left their mark upon the young face, yetit was fresh and smooth in its delicate pallor, and almost maidenly inits gentle smile. Silvia had blue eyes, and hair of the chestnut hue; asimple, white fillet lay above her forehead; her robe was of palerusset, adorned with the usual purple stripes and edged withembroidery; on each hand she wore but one ring. When the visitorentered, she was nursing her child, a boy of four years old, namedGregorius, but at once she put him to sit upon a little stool besideher. 

'Welcome, dear cousin Basil, ' was her greeting. 'We hoped this time ofgladness would turn your thoughts to us. My husband has been calledforth; but you will await his return?'

'It was you, lady cousin, whom I wished to see, ' Basil replied. As hespoke, he touched the curly head of the boy, who looked up at him withlarge, grave eyes. 'Why is he so pale?'

'He has had a sickness, ' answered the mother, in a low, tender voice. 'Not many days ago, one might have feared he would be taken from us. Our prayers prevailed, thanks to the intercession of the holy Cosma andDamian, and of the blessed Theodore. When he seemed to be dying, I borehim to the church in the Velabrum, and laid him before the altar; andscarcely had I finished my prayer, when a light seemed to shine uponhis face, and he knew me again, and smiled at me. '

Listening, the child took his mother's hand, and pressed it against hiswan little cheek. Then Silvia rang a bell that was beside her, and awoman came to take the child away, he, as he walked in silence from theroom, looking back and smiling wistfully. 

'I know not, ' pursued Silvia, when they were alone, 'how we dare topray for any young life in times so dark as ours. But that we areselfish in our human love, we should rather thank the Omnipotent whenit pleases Him to call one of these little ones, whom Christ blessed, from a world against which His wrath is so manifestly kindled. Andyet, ' she added, 'it must be right that we should entreat for a life indanger; who can know to what it may be destined?--what service it mayrender to God and man? One night when I watched by Gregorius, wearinessovercame me, and in a short slumber I dreamt. That dream I shall neverforget. It kept me in heart and hope through the worst. '

'May I hear your dream?' asked Basil. 

'Nay, ' was the gentle reply, with a smile and a shake of the head, 'toyou it would seem but foolishness. Let us speak of other things, andfirst of yourself. You, too, are pale, good cousin. What have you totell me? What has come to pass since I saw you?'

With difficulty Basil found words to utter the thought which had ledhim hither. He came to it by a roundabout way, and Silvia presentlyunderstood: he was indirectly begging her to use her influence witheminent churchmen at Rome, to discover whether Veranilda was yetdetained in Italy, or had been sent to the East. At their previousinterview he had kept up the pretence of being chiefly interested inthe fate of Aurelia, barely mentioning the Gothic maiden; but that wasin the presence of Gordian. Now he spoke not of Aurelia at all, and sodwelt on Veranilda's name that his implied confession could not bemisunderstood. And Silvia listened with head bent, interested, secretlymoved, at heart troubled. 

'What you ask, ' she began, after a short silence, 'is not easy. If Imake inquiries of such of the clergy as I know, I must needs tell themwhy I am doing so; and would they, in that case, think it well toanswer me?'

'You know the deacon Leander, ' urged Basil. 'Can you not plead for mewith him, O Silvia?'

'Plead for you? Remember that it is impossible for me to assume thatthe holy deacon knows anything of this matter. And, were thatdifficulty removed, dare I plead for your union with one who is not ofour faith--one, moreover, whom you cannot wed without putting yourselfin grave peril?'

'Listen, gentle cousin!' exclaimed Basil eagerly. 'It may be thatVeranilda has already renounced the heresy of Anus. If not, she wouldassuredly do so at my persuasion. So, that objection you may dismiss. As for the danger to which our marriage might expose us, our love woulddare that--ay, and things much worse. '

'You speak so confidently of the Gothic maiden?' said Silvia, with alook half-timid, half-amused. 'Was there, then, a veritable plightingof troth between you?'

'There was, dear cousin. From you I will conceal nothing, for you aregood, you are compassionate. '

And whilst he poured forth the story of his love, not without tears, Silvia gave sympathetic attention. The lady Petronilla had never beenone of her intimates, nor was the deacon Leander among thoseecclesiastics whom she most reverenced. When Basil had told all, herreply was ready. All she could do would be to endeavour to learnwhether Veranilda remained in the charge of Petronilla's confederate, or had been given up to the Greeks. From conversation she had heard, Silvia inclined to this belief, that Bessas and his subordinates werestill vainly seeking. 

'I can make you no promise, good Basil; but I will take counsel with myhusband (whom you can trust as you trust me), and see if indeedanything may be learnt. '

The lover kissed her hands in ardent gratitude. Whilst they were stilltalking confidentially, another visitor was announced, the deaconPelagius. Basil begged permission to withdraw before the clericentered; he was in no mood for conversation with deacons; and Silviapointed smilingly to the door by which he could retreat. 

The hour was still early. Basil passed a day of hopefulness, and hismood became exultant when, about sunset, a letter was brought to himfrom Silvia. 

'To-morrow morning, at the third hour, ' she wrote, 'certain of ourkinsfolk and friends will assemble in this house to hear the reverendman Arator read his poem on the Acts of the Holy Apostles. This is anhonour done to us, for only two or three persons have as yet heardportions of the poem, which will soon be read publicly in the church ofthe Holy Petrus ad Vincula. Let me welcome your Amiability among myguests. After the reading, I shall beg you to be acquainted with onewho may perchance serve you. '

Scarcely had Basil read this, when another missive was put into hishands. It was from Heliodora, and written, as usual, in Greekcharacters. 

'To-morrow, after the ninth hour, you are bidden hither. Come if youchoose. If you do not, I shall have forgotten something I have learnt. '

To this he paid little heed; it might have significance, it might havenone. If the morning sustained his hope, he would be able to resist thetemptation of the afternoon. So he cherished Silvia's letter, and flungHeliodora's contemptuously aside. 

Reaching Gordian's house next morning a little before the appointedhour, he found the members of the family and one or two guestsassembled in a circular room, with a dome pierced to admit light:marble seats, covered with cushions, rose amphitheatre-wise on one halfof the circle, and opposite was a chair for the reader. In this hallSidonius Apollinaris had declaimed his panegyric on the Emperor Avitus;here the noble Boethius had been heard, and, in earlier days, the poetClaudian. Beside Silvia stood her husband's two sisters, Tarsilla andAemiliana, both of whom, it had begun to be rumoured, though still inthe flower of their youth, desired to enter the monastic life. At theyounger, who was beautiful, Basil glanced diffidently, remembering thatshe might have been his wife; but Aemiliana knew nothing of the thoughther brother had entertained, and her eyes were calm as those of alittle child. When other guests appeared, Basil drew aside, for most ofthe persons who entered were strangers to him. Ecclesiastics grewnumerous; among them might be distinguished a tall, meagre, bald-headedman, the sub-deacon Arator, who held in his hand the manuscript fromwhich he was to read. Among the latest to arrive was a lady, strickenin years and bowed with much grief, upon whom all eyes wererespectfully bent as Gordian conducted her to a place of honour. Thiswas Rusticiana, the daughter of Symmachus, the widow of Boethius. WhenBasil looked at her, and thought of the anguish through which her lifehad passed in that gloomy evening of the reign of Theodoric, he felthimself for a moment at one with those who rejected and scorned theGothic dominion. A great unhappiness flooded his heart and mind; heforgot what was passing about him, and only returned to himself whenthere sounded the voice of the reader. 

Arator's poetic version of the Acts of the Apostles was written inhexameters; whether good or ill, Basil felt unable to decide, and hewished Decius had been here to whisper a critical comment. In any casehe would have found the reading wearisome; that monotonous, indistinctvoice soon irritated him, and at length made him drowsy. But admirationfrequently broke out from the audience, and at the end applause becameenthusiasm. Unspeakably glad that the ceremony was over, Basil mingledwith the moving crowd, and drew towards Silvia. At length their eyesmet; the lady thereupon spoke a word to a cleric who was standing byher, and in the next moment summoned Basil with a movement of the head. There was a brief formality, then Basil found himself led aside by thedeacon Pelagius, who spoke to him in a grave, kind voice very pleasantto the ear, with the courtesy of a finished man of the world, and atthe same time with a firmness of note, a directness of purpose, whichdid not fail to impress the listener. 

Aged about five-and-thirty, bearing upon his countenance the signatureof noble birth, Pelagius was at this moment the most accomplisheddiplomat that the Church of Rome possessed. He had spent some years atByzantium, as papal emissary; had engaged the confidence of Justinian;and, on his return, had brought an Imperial invitation to Vigilius, whowas requested to set forth for the East as soon as possible. PopeVigilius had the misfortune to differ on certain dogmatic questionswith that pious and acute theologian the Empress Theodora; being a manof little energy or courage, he durst not defy Byzantium, as he gladlywould have done, nor yet knew how to deal subtly for his own ends withthe Eastern despots; he lingered his departure, and in the meantimeearned hatred at Rome because of his inability to feed the populace. Itwas already decided that, during his absence, the Holy Father should berepresented by Pelagius, an arrangement very agreeable to that party inthe Church which upheld Imperial supremacy, but less so to thoseecclesiastics--a majority--who desired the independence of Rome inreligious matters, and the recognition of Peter's successor asPatriarch of Christendom. In speaking to such a personage as this onBasil's behalf, Silvia had not reflected that the friend of Justinianwas little likely to take the part of one who desired to frustrate anImperial command; she thought only of his great influence, and of thefact that he looked with no favour on the deacon Leander, ananti-imperialist. What was again unfortunate for Basil, Pelagius hadheard, before leaving Byzantium, of the Emperor's wish to discoverVeranilda, and had already made inquiries on this subject in Rome. Hewas glad, then, to speak with this young noble, whose mind he found itvery easy to read, and whom, without the least harshness, he resolvedto deter from his pursuit of a Gothic bride. 

The colloquy was not long. Buoyed by his ardour, Basil interpreted thefirst words of courteous preamble in the most hopeful sense. Whatfollowed gave him pause; he saw a shadow of obstacle arise. Anothermoment, and the obstacle had become very real; it grew to vastness, toinsuperability He stood, as it were, looking into the very eyes of theSerene Majesty of Byzantium. Not that the speaker used a tone ofperemptory discouragement. Granting the indispensable condition thatVeranilda became a Catholic, it was not an impossible thing, saidPelagius, that Basil should obtain her as a wife; _but_ it could onlybe by the grace of the Emperor. Veranilda had been summoned toByzantium. If Basil chose to follow her thither, and sue for her beforethe throne, why, this was open to him, as to any other Roman of noblebirth. It would have been idle indeed to seek to learn from Pelagiuswhether Veranilda had already left Italy, his tone was that ofomniscience, but his brow altogether forbade interrogation. Basil, indespair, ventured one inquiry. If he desired to go to Byzantium, couldhe obtain leave of departure from the Greek commandant, under whose banhe lay? The reply was unhesitating; at any moment, permission could begranted. Therewith the conversation came to an end, and Basil, hatingthe face of man, stole away into solitude. 

Entering his own house, he learnt that Marcian was within. For a monththey had not seen each other, Marcian having been absent on missions ofthe wonted double tenor; they met affectionately as ever, then Basilflung himself down, like one crushed by sudden calamity. 

'What now?' asked his friend, with a rallying rather than a sympatheticair. 

'No matter, ' Basil replied. 'You are weary of my troubles, and I can nolonger talk of them. '

'What troubles? The old story still? I thought you had found solace?'

Basil looked an indignant wonder. His friend, sitting on the couchbeside him, continued in the same half-bantering tone:

'When were you last at the house of a certain disconsolate widow, onthe Quirinal?'

'What mean you?' cried the other, starting up, with sudden fury in hiseyes. 'Are you vowed with my enemies to drive me mad?'

'Not I, dear Basil; but hear the truth. Only late last night I enteredthe gates of Rome, and since I rose this morning three several personshave spoken your name to me together with that of Heliodora. '

'They are black and villainous liars! And you, Marcian, so ready tobelieve them? Tell me their names, their names!'

'Peace! One would think you mad indeed. You know the son of Opilio, young Vivian?'

'I know him!' answered Basil scornfully, 'as I know the lousy beggarwho sits before St. Clement's Church, or the African who tumbles inTrajan's forum. '

'Even so. This same spark of fashion stops me in the Vicus Longus. "Youare the friend of Basil, " quoth he. "Give him this warning. If ever Ichance to find him near the portico of Heliodora, I will drive mydagger into his heart, " and on he struts, leaving me so amazed that Iforgot even to fetch the cub a box o' the ear. But I had not long towait for an explanation of his insolence. Whom should I next meet butthe solemn-visaged Opilio. "So your friend Basil, " he began, "hasforgotten his Gothic love?" We talked, and I learnt from him that youwere the hot rival of Vivian for Heliodora's favour. Nay, I do butrepeat what you ought to hear. Can such gossip begin without cause?Tell me now, how often have you been yonder since I left Rome?'

Basil could scarce contain himself. He had visited Heliodora, yes, butmerely because he would neglect no chance of learning where Veranildawas imprisoned; it was not impossible that through this woman such asecret might be discovered. He the rival of that debauched boy! He thelover of Heliodora! Had he sunk so low in the esteem of his bestfriend? Why, then, it was time indeed to be gone: befall him whatmight, he could not be unhappier in Constantinople than here in Rome. 

At these words, Marcian checked him with a surprised inquiry. What hadturned his thoughts to Constantinople? Basil related the events ofyesterday and of this morning. 

'What other counsel could you have expected from Pelagius?' saidMarcian, after listening attentively. 'But on one point I can reassureyou. Veranilda has not yet fallen into the hands of the Greeks. '

'How do you know that?' exclaimed Basil eagerly. 

'Enough that I do know it. Whilst you have been idling here--forgiveme, good Basil--I have travelled far and conversed with many men. And Ihave something else to tell you, which will perchance fall lessagreeably upon your ear. The fame of Veranilda promises to go forthover all lands. King Totila himself has heard of her, and would fainbehold this ornament of his race. '

'Totila!'

'When Cumae was besieged by the Goths three months ago, Chorsoman--whomyou have not forgotten--made terms with Totila, and was allowed to keepsome portion of the plunder he had amassed. Thinking to do the king apleasure, he told him of Veranilda, of the commands regarding her whichhad come from the East, and of her vanishing no one knew whither. Andof these things, O Basil, did Totila himself, with his royal mouth, speak unto me not many days gone by. '

'I see not how that concerns me, ' said Basil wearily. 

'True, it may not. Yet, if I were wooing a wife, I had rather seek herat the hands of Totila than at those of Justinian. To be sure, I didnot speak of you to the king; that would have been less than discreet. But Totila will ere long be lord of all Italy, and who knows but thedeacon Leander, no friend of Constantinople, might see his interest andhis satisfaction in yielding Veranilda rather to the Goth than to theGreek?'

Basil started. Such a thought had never entered his mind, yet he sawprobability in the suggestion. 

'You assure me, ' he said, 'that she has not yet been surrendered. Ifind that hard to believe. Knowing in whose power she is, how comes itthat Bessas does not seize the insolent Leander, and force the truthfrom him? Were I the commander, would I be baffled for an hour by thatsleek deacon?'

'Were you commander, O best Basil, ' replied Marcian, smiling, 'youwould see things in another light. Bessas does not lay hands upon thedeacon because it is much more to his profit to have the clergy of Romefor his friends than for his enemies. Whether Veranilda be discoveredor not, he cares little; I began to suspect that when I saw that youcame off so easily from your dealings with him. 'Tis a long road toConstantinople, and the Thracian well knows that he may perchance nevertravel it again. His one care is to heap up treasure for to-day; themorrow may look after itself. But let us return to the point from whichwe started. Do you think in earnest of voyaging to the Bosporus?'

'I should only choose a hazard so desperate were it the sole chancethat remained of recovering Veranilda. '

'Wait, then, yet awhile. But take my counsel, and do not wait in Rome. '

To this advice Basil gave willing ear. Since he had heard from Pelagiusthat he was free to quit the city, he was all but resolved to be gone. One thought alone detained him; he still imagined that Heliodora mighthave means such as she professed of aiding him in his search, and that, no matter how, he might subdue her will to his own. She, of course, aimed only at enslaving him, and he knew her capable of any wickednessin the pursuit of her ends; for this very reason was he tempted intothe conflict with her, a conflict in which his passions would have nosmall part, and whether for or against him could not be foreseen. Oncemore he would visit Heliodora; if fruitlessly, then for the last time. 

But of this decision he did not speak to Marcian. 

CHAPTER XV

YOUNG ROME

At the hour named by Heliodora, Basil set forth alone and rode byunfrequented ways towards the street on the Quirinal named Alta Semita. A sense of shame forbade him to make known even to his slaves whitherhe was going. He kept repeating to himself that it was for the lasttime; and perhaps a nobler motive would have withheld him altogether, had not the story told by Marcian of his 'rival's' insolent menacerankled in him and urged him to show that he felt no fear. Chance ledhim past the little church of St. Agatha, which belonged to the Arians;it helped him to fix his thoughts upon Veranilda, and silently he sworethat no temptation should prevail against the fidelity due to hisbeloved. 

Not far from the Thermae of Constantine, and over against thatlong-ruined sanctuary of ancient Rome, the Temple of Quirinus, he drewrein at a great house with a semicircular portico of Carystian columns, before which stood a bronze bull, the ornament of a fountain nowwaterless; on either side of the doorway was a Molossian hound inmarble. A carriage and a litter waiting here showed that Heliodora hadvisitors. This caused Basil to hesitate for a moment but he decided toenter none the less. At his knock he was at once admitted, and a slavewas sent to look after his horse. 

Few houses in Rome contained so many fine works of ancient sculpture asthis, for its master had been distinguished by his love of such thingsin a time when few cared for them. Some he had purchased at a greatprice; more than one masterpiece he had saved from oblivion amid ruins, or from the common fate of destruction in a lime-kiln. Well for him hadhe been content to pass his latter years with the cold creations of thesculptor; but he turned his eyes upon consummate beauty in flesh andblood, and this, the last of his purchases, proved the costliest of all. 

The atrium was richly adorned. A colossal bust of Berenice faced thegreat head of an Amazon, whilst numerous statues, busts, and vasesstood between the pillars; mosaics on the floor represented huntingscenes, the excellence of the work no less than its worn conditionshowing it to be of a time long gone by. Following his conductor, Basilpassed along a corridor, and into a peristyle with a double colonnade. In the midst of a little garden, planted with flowering shrubs, rosethe statue which its late owner had most prized, an admirable copy ofthe Aphrodite of Cnidos; it stood upon a pedestal of black basalt andwas protected by a light canopy with slender columns in all buttransparent alabaster. Round about it were marble seats, and here, shielded from the sun by little silken awnings, sat Heliodora and herguests. At once Basil became aware of the young Vivian, whose boyishform (he was but some eighteen years old) lounged among cushions on theseat nearest to Heliodora, his eyes fixed upon her beauty in alanguishing gaze, which, as soon as he beheld the new comer, flashedinto fierceness. The others were two women, young and comely, whoseextravagant costume and the attitudes in which they reclined provedthem suitable companions of the lady of the house. Whilst yet at somedistance, Basil had heard a feminine voice rising to shrillness, and ashe approached the group he found a discussion going on which threatenedto become more than vivacious. The shrill speaker he had met herebefore, who she was, he knew not, save that she bore the name ofMuscula. 

'You--you--you!' this lady was exclaiming contemptuously. 'You saythis, and you say that! Mother of God! What do _you_ know about racing?When were you last in the circus at Constantinople? At eight years oldyou once told me. You have a good memory if you can remember as farback as that!'

She shrieked a laugh, which no one else joined in. Heliodora, to whomthe speech was addressed, affected to smile as in lofty tolerance ofinfantine pettishness. At this moment Basil stepped up to her, andkissed her hand; As though for contrast with Muscula's utterance, shegreeted him in the softest tone her voice could compass, inviting himwith a gesture to take a place at her side, or rather at her feet, forshe was reclining on a long couch. Heliodora's robe was of hyacinthblue, broidered in silver thread with elaborate designs. Bracelets, chains, and rings shone about her in the wonted profusion. Above theflat coils of her hair lay a little bunch of grapes between two vineleaves, wrought in gold, and at her waist hung a dagger, the silversheath chased with forms of animals. Standing behind her the littleAnglian slave Laetus gently fanned her with a peacock's tail, orsprinkled her with perfume from a vial; the air was heavy with Sabaeanodours. 

'Ah, here is lord Basil!' pursued Muscula with a mischievous glance atVivian. 'He has lived at Constantinople lately--not thirty or fortyyears ago. Tell us, sweet lord'--she bent towards him with large, rolling eyes--'was it not Helladius who won for the Greens when Thomasthe Blue was overturned and killed?'

'For all I know it may have been, ' replied Basil carelessly; he hadscarce heard the question. 

'I swear you are wrong, Muscula, ' put in the third lady. 'The lordBasil cares naught for such things, and would not contradict you lestyou should scratch his face--so dangerous you look, much more like acat than a mouse. By the beard of Holy Peter! should not Heliodoraknow, who, though she is too young to remember it herself, has heard ofit many a time from her father. You think too much of yourself, OMuscula, since you ate crumbs from the hands of Bessas. '

The boy Vivian gave a loud laugh, rolling on his cushions. 

'O witty Galla!' he exclaimed. 'Crumbs from the hand of Bessas. Say on, say on; I love your spicy wit, O Galla! Cannot you find somethingsharp, for the most grave, the most virtuous Basil?'

'Hold your saucy tongue, child, ' said Heliodora with a pouting smile. 'But it is true that Muscula has won advancement. One doesn't need tohave a very long memory to recall her arrival in Rome. There are whosay that she came as suckling nurse in a lady's train, with the promiseof marriage to a freedman when her mistress's baby was weaned. That ismalice, of course; poor Muscula has had many enemies. For my part, Ihave never doubted that she was suckling her own child, nor that itsfather was a man of honourable name, and not a slave of the Circusstables as some said. '

Again Vivian rolled on the cushions in mirth, until he caught Basil'seye as it glanced at him with infinite scorn. Then he started to asitting posture, fingered the handle of his dagger, and glared atHeliodora's neighbour with all the insolent ferocity of which his facewas capable. This youth was the son of a man whose name sounded ill toany Roman patriot, --of that Opilio, who, having advanced to high rankunder King Theodoric, was guilty of frauds, fell from his eminence, and, in hope of regaining the king's favour, forged evidence oftreachery against Boethius. His attire followed the latest model fromByzantium: a loose, long-sleeved tunic, descending to the feet, its huea dark yellow, and over that a long mantle of white silk, held togetherupon one shoulder by a great silver buckle in the form of a runninghorse; silken shoes, gold embroidered, with leather soles dyed purple;and on each wrist a bracelet. His black hair was short, and crispedinto multitudinous curls with a narrow band of gold pressing it fromthe forehead to the ears. 

'Oh, look at little Vivian!' cried Muscula. 'He has the eyes of anangry rat. What vexes him? Is it because he saw Basil touch Heliodora'sslipper?'

'If I had!' sputtered the boy. 'By the devil, if I had!'

'Oh, he affrights me!' went on the mocking woman. 'Heliodora, strokehis curls, and give him a kiss, I beseech you. Who knows what dreadfulthing may happen else?'

'I have had enough of this, ' said Galla, rising with a careless laugh. 'Your house has been intolerable, most dear Heliodora, since you madefriends with Muscula. Why you did, I'm sure I don't know; but for mypart I take a respectful leave, noble lady, until I hear that thismouse of the Palatine has ceased to amuse you with its pretty pranks. May I never be saved if she is fit company for women who respectthemselves. '

'Why such hurry, O chaste Galla!' exclaimed Muscula. 'Is your husbandat home for once? I can answer for it he is not there very often; thewiser man he. '

'Slap her face, Galla, ' cried Vivian. 'At her! She will run before you. '

Galla moved as if to act upon this advice, but the voice of Heliodora, peremptory, resonant, checked her step. 

'None of that! Get you gone, both of you, and try conclusions if youwill in the open street. Off! Pack! By the Virgin Mother, if you lingerI will have you flung out of doors. '

In her amazement and indignation, Galla rose to the tips of her feet. 

'This to _me_!' she screamed. 'To me, the only woman of noble birth andhonest life who still remained your friend! Wanton! witch! poisoner!'

Basil sprang up and walked aside, overcome with shame at the sceneenacted before him, and fearing it would end in ignoble violence. Heheard Muscula's shriek of laughter, a shout of anger from Vivian, andthe continued railing of Galla; then, ere he had taken a dozen steps, ahand touched him, and Heliodora's voice sounded low at his ear. 

'You are right, dear Basil. Only an accident prevented me from beingalone at your hour. Forgive me. We will go apart from thesebase-tongued creatures. '

But almost in the same moment sounded another voice, that of Muscula, who had sprung after them. 

'Sweet lord Basil, ' she murmured at his ear, 'a moment's patience, forI have that to say which is worth your hearing. '

Heliodora stepped aside. Pale with fury, she held herself in anattitude of contemptuous indifference. 

'Speak and have done!' exclaimed Basil harshly. 

'But a word, Illustrious. I know well why you are here. Not for thiswoman's painted cheeks and essence-soaked hair: you had enough of thatlong ago. You come because she pretends to know a secret which concernsyou nearly. It was to discover this secret that she sought friendshipwith me. But do not imagine, sweet lord, that I tell all I know toHeliodora. I have played with her curiosity and fooled her. From me shehas learnt nothing true. Even if she desired to tell you the truth--andbe sure she does not--she could only mislead you. '

Basil was standing between the two women, his eyes on the ground. Hadhe watched Heliodora at this moment, he would have understood thesudden start with which Muscula sprang nearer to him as if forprotection. 

'I alone, ' she continued, in a voice not so subdued but that Heliodoracould hear every word. 'I alone can discover for you what you wish toknow. Give yourself no more trouble in suing to a woman of whom you areweary--a woman evil and dangerous as a serpent. When you choose to seekme, dear lord, I will befriend you. Till that day, fare you well, andbeware of other things than the silver-hilted dagger--which she woulddraw upon me did she dare. But she knows that I too have my littlebosom friend--' she touched her waist--'though it does not glitterbefore every eye. '

Therewith Muscula turned and tripped off, looking back to laugh aloudbefore she disappeared in the corridor. Galla was already gone, halfpersuaded, half threatened away by Vivian, who now stood with knittedbrows glaring at Basil. 

'I must get rid of this boy, ' said Heliodora to her companion. 'In amoment we shall be alone. '

Basil was held from taking curt leave only by Vivian's insolent eyes;when Heliodora moved, he stepped slowly after her. 

'Your company is precious, dear Vivian, ' he heard her say, 'but youmust not spoil me with too much of it. Why did you not go away withGalla, whose wit so charms you, and whose husband is so complaisant?There, kiss my little finger, and say good-bye. '

'That shall be when it pleases me, ' was Vivian's reply. 'To-day I havea mind to sup with you, Heliodora. Let that intruder know it; or I willdo so myself. '

Heliodora had the air of humouring a jest. Putting forth a hand, shecaught the stripling's ear and pinched it shrewdly. 

'Little lord, ' she said, 'you take too large a liberty. '

Whereto Vivian replied with a pleasantry so broad and so significantthat Heliodora's cheek fired; for she saw that Basil stood withinhearing. 

'Nay, I must be brief with you, young monkey!' she exclaimed. 'Away!When I am at leisure for your tricks I will send for you. Be off!'

'And leave you with that. .. ?' cried the other, using a villainousword. 

Hereupon Basil addressed him. 

'Whether you stay or go, foul mouth, is naught to me. I am myself inhaste to be gone, but I will not leave you without a lesson by which, perchance, you may profit. '

As he uttered the last word, he dealt Vivian such a buffet on the sideof the head with his open hand that the youngster staggered. The resultof this, Basil had well foreseen; he stood watchful, and in an instant, as a dagger gleamed before his eyes, grasped the descending arm thatwielded it. Vivian struggled furiously, but was overcome by the other'sstrength. Flung violently to the ground, his head struck against theedge of a marble seat, and he lay senseless. 

Heliodora looked on with the eyes with which she had often followed afight between man and beast in the amphitheatre. Pride, and somethingmore, lit up her countenance as she turned to Basil. 

'Brave generous!' she exclaimed, her hands clasped against her bosom. 'Not even to draw your dagger! Noble Basil!'

'Have him looked to, ' was the reply; 'and console him as you choose. Lady, I bid you farewell. '

For a moment Heliodora stood as though she would let him thus depart. Basil was nearing the entrance to the corridor, when she sprang afterhim. Her arms were about his neck; her body clung against his; shebreathed hotly into his eyes as she panted forth words, Latin, Greek, all burning with shameless desire. But Basil was not thus to besubdued. The things that he had heard and seen, and now at last thehand-to-hand conflict, had put far from him all temptation of theflesh; his senses were cold as the marbles round about him. This woman, who had never been anything to him but a lure and a peril, whom he hadregarded with the contempt natural in one of his birth towards all buta very few of her sex, now disgusted him. He freed himself from herembrace with little ceremony. 

'Have I deceived you?' he asked. 'Have I pretended to come here foranything but my own purpose, which you pretended to serve?'

Heliodora stood in a strange attitude, her arms thrown back, her bodyleaning forward--much like some fierce and beautiful animal watchingthe moment to spring. 

'Do you believe what that harlot said?' she asked in a thick voice. 

'Enough of it to understand my folly in hoping to learn anythingthrough you. Let us part, and think of each other no more. '

She caught his arm and put her face close to his. 

'Leave me thus, and your life shall pay for it. '

Basil laughed scornfully. 

'That cockerel, ' he replied, pointing to Vivian, who was just stirring, 'sent me a message this morning, that if I valued my life I should notcome here. I heed your threat no more than his. '

They looked into each other's eyes, and Heliodora, deep read in thelooks of men, knew that her desire was frustrate. 

'Go then, ' she said. 'Go quickly, lest the boy pursue you His secondaim might be surer. '

Basil deigned no reply. He went into the vestibule, waited there untilhis horse was brought up, and rode away. 

His head bent, scarce noting the way he took, he found himself at theentrance to Trajan's Forum. Here he checked his horse, and seemed to becontemplating that scene which for centuries had excited the wonder andthe awe of men. But when he rode on over the grass-grown pavement, hewas as little observant of the arches, statues, galleries, and of thatgreat column soaring between Basilica and Temple, as of the people whomoved hither and thither, sparse, diminutive. Still brooding, he cameinto the Via Lata and to the house of Marcian. 

Marcian, said the porter, was closeted with certain visitors. 

'Make known to him, ' said Basil, 'that I would speak but a word inprivate. '

They met in the atrium. Marcian smiled oddly. 

'If you come to tell me what you have heard this afternoon, ' hewhispered, 'spare your breath. I know it already. '

'How can that be?'

'I have seen an angry woman. Angry women are always either verymischievous or very useful. In this case I hope to make use of her. ButI can tell you nothing yet, and I would that you were far from Rome. Could I but persuade you to be gone, dear Basil. '

'I need no more persuading, ' replied the other, with sudden resolve. 'If it be true that I am free to leave the city, I go hence to-morrow. '

Marcian's face lighted up. 

'To Asculum, then?'

'Since here I have no hope. Can I trust you, Marcian?' he added, grasping his friend's hand. 

'As yourself--nay, better. '

'Then, to Asculum. '

CHAPTER XVI

WHISPERS

The greater part of southern Italy was once more held by the Goths. Whilst the long blockade of Neapolis went on, Totila found time tosubdue all that lay between that city and the Ionian Sea, meeting, indeed, with little resistance among the country-folk, or from theinhabitants of the mostly unwalled towns. The Imperial forces whichshould have been arrayed against him had wintered in various cities ofthe north, where their leaders found all they at present cared for, repose and plunder; their pay long in arrear, and hardly to be hopedfor, the Greek soldiers grew insubordinate, lived as they would orcould, and with the coming of spring deserted in numbers to thevictorious enemy. Appeals to Byzantium for reinforcements had as yetresulted only in the sending of a small, ill-equipped fleet, which, after much delay in Sicilian ports, sailed for Neapolis, only to besurprised by a storm, and utterly wrecked on the shores of the greatbay. Not long after the news of this disaster, it was reported in Romethat Neapolis, hopeless of relief, had opened her gates, and presentlythe report had strange confirmation. There arrived by the Appian Wayofficers of the garrison which had surrendered; not as harassedfugitives, but travelling with all convenience and security, the Gothicking himself having expedited their journey and sent guides with themlest they should miss the road. Nor was this the most wonderful of thethings they had to relate. For they told of humanity on the part of thebarbarian conqueror such as had no parallel in any story of warfareknown to Greek or Roman; how the Neapolitans being so famine-strickenthat they could scarce stand on their legs, King Totila would not atonce send plentiful stores into the town, lest the sufferers should dieof surfeit, but ministered to their needs even as a friendly physicianwould have done, giving them at first little food, and more as theirstrength revived. To be sure, there were partisans of the Empire inRome who scoffed at those who narrated, and those who believed, a storyso incredible. On the Palatine, it was at first received with roars oflaughter, in which the lady Muscula's shrill voice had its part. Whenconfirmation had put the thing beyond dispute, Bessas and hissupporters made a standing joke of it; if any one fell sick their wordwas: 'Send for the learned Totila'; and when there was talk of a siegeof Rome, they declared that their greatest fear, should the city fall, was of being dieted and physicked by the victor. 

Romans there were, however, who heard all this in another spirit. Theill-fed populace had long ago become ready for any change which mightbenefit their stomachs, and the name of Totila was to them significantof all they lacked under the Greeks. 'Let the Goth come quickly!'passed from mouth to mouth wherever the vulgar durst speak what theythought. Among the nobles, prejudice of race and religion andimmemorial pride ensured predominance to the Imperialists, but evenhere a Gothic party existed, and imprudent utterances had broughtcertain senators into suspicion. The most active friend of Totila, however, was one whom Bessas never thought of suspecting, having, as hethought, such evidence of the man's devotion to the Greek cause. Marcian had played his double part with extraordinary skill and withboldness which dared every risk. He was now exerting himself inmanifold ways, subtly, persistently, for the supreme achievement of hisintrigue, the delivery of Rome from Byzantine tyranny. 

Among the many persons whom he made to serve his ends without admittingthem to his confidence was Galla, the wife of a noble whom Amalasunthahad employed in her secret communications with Byzantium, and who wasnow one of the intimates of Bessas. A light woman, living as shepleased because of her husband's indifference, Galla knew and carednothing about affairs of state, and on that account was the more usefulto Marcian. She believed him in love with her, and he encouraged thebelief; flattering her with pretence at timidity, as though he wouldfain have spoken but durst not. Regarding him as her slave, Gallaamused herself by sometimes coming to his house, where, as if in thepride of chastity, she received his devotion, and meanwhile told himthings he was glad to know. And thus it happened on that day of thequarrel between Heliodora and Muscula, wherein Galla unexpectedly foundherself involved. Bubbling over with wrath against Heliodora, she atonce sought out Marcian, acquainted him with all that had happened, andmade evident her desire to be in some way avenged. Marcian saw in thistrivial affair the opportunity for a scheme of the gravest import;difficult, perilous, perhaps impracticable, but so tempting in itspossibilities that he soon resolved to hazard everything on the chanceof success. Basil's departure from Rome, which he had desired for otherreasons, fell pat for the device now shaping itself in his mind. A dayor two after, early in the morning, he went to Heliodora's house, andsent in a message begging private speech with the lady. As he hadexpected, he was received forthwith, Heliodora being aware of hisfriendship with Basil. Between her and Marcian the acquaintance was butslight; he had hitherto regarded her as unserviceable, because toodangerous. It was because of her dangerous qualities that he now soughther, and his courage grew as the conversation became intimate. 

He began with a confession. Head hanging, visage gloomy, in slow, indirect, abashed language, he let it be understood that though trulyBasil's friend, he had all along been secretly doing his utmost tofrustrate the lover's search for the Gothic maiden Veranilda, and, aspart of this purpose, had striven to turn Basil's thoughts toHeliodora. That he had had no better success grieved him to the heart. All who wished Basil well, desired that he should marry a lady of hisown rank, his own religion, and could he but have won a wife such asHeliodora!

'Alas!' sighed Marcian, 'it was too much to hope. How could you beother than cold to him? Had you deigned, thrice gracious lady, to setyour beauty, your gifts, in contest with his memory of that other!'

In every man that approached her, Heliodora suspected a selfish aim, but it was seldom that she talked with one whose subtlety seemed theequal of her own. The little she knew of Marcian had predisposed her toregard him as a cold and melancholy nature, quite uninteresting; sheeyed him now with her keenest scrutiny, puzzled by his story, vainlyseeking its significance. 

'Your friend complained to you of my coldness?' she said distantly. 

'He scarce spoke of you. I knew too well with what hope he came here. When he found it vain, he turned away in bitterness. '

This sounded like truth to one who knew Basil. After a moment'sreflection, Heliodora made another inquiry, and in a tone of lessindifference. 

'Why, lord Marcian, do you come to tell me this? Basil has quittedRome. You can scarce ask me to pursue him. '

'Lady, ' was the sad reply, 'I will not even yet abandon hope. But thisis not the moment to plead his cause with you, and indeed I came with athought more selfish. '

Ready to believe whatever might be uttered with such preface, Heliodorasmiled and bade the speaker continue. Again Marcian's head drooped;again his words became hesitant, vague. But their purpose at lengthgrew unmistakable; unhappy that he was, he himself loved Veranilda, andthe vehemence of his passion overcame his loyalty in friendship; neverwhilst he lived should Basil wed the Gothic maiden. This revelationastonished Heliodora; she inquired when and how Marcian had becomeenamoured, and heard in reply a detailed narrative, part truth, partfalse, of the events at Surrentum, known to her as yet only in outlineand without any mention of Marcian's part in them. Upon her surprisefollowed malicious joy. Was there no means, she asked, of discoveringVeranilda? And the other in a low voice made answer that he knew whereshe was--knew but too well. 

'I shall not ask you to tell me the secret, ' said Heliodora, with asmile. 

'Gracious lady, ' pursued Marcian, 'it is for the purpose of revealingit to you that I am here. Veranilda is in the palace, held in guard byBessas till she can have escort to Constantinople. '

'Ha! You are sure of that?'

'I have it on testimony that cannot be doubted. '

'Why then, ' exclaimed Heliodora, all but betraying her exultation inthe thought, 'there is little chance that Basil's love will prosper. '

'Little chance, dear lady, I hope and believe, but I have confessed toyou that I speak as a self-seeker and a faithless friend. It is notenough that Basil may not wed her; I would fain have her for myself. '

The listener laughed. She began to think this man something of asimpleton. 

'Why, my excellent Marcian, I will give you all my sympathy and wishyou good fortune. But that any one may do. What more do you expect ofme?'

Marcian looked towards the open doorway. They were seated in aluxurious little room, lighted from the peristyle, its adornments insculpture a sleeping Hermaphrodite and a drunken satyr; on the wallwere certain marble low-reliefs, that behind Heliodora representingHylas drawn down by the Naiads. 

'Speak without fear, ' she reassured him. 'In this house, believe me, noone dare play the eavesdropper. '

'I have to speak, ' said Marcian, bending forward, 'of thingsperilous--a life hanging on every word. Only to one of whosemagnanimity I felt assured should I venture to disclose my thought. Youhave heard, ' he proceeded after a pause, 'and, yet I am perchance wrongin supposing that such idle talk could reach your ears, let me makeknown to you then, that with Bessas in the palace dwells a fair woman(or so they say, for I have not seen her) named Muscula. She is said tohave much power with the commander. '

The listener's countenance had darkened. Regarding Marcian with haughtycoldness, she asked him how this could concern _her_. He, in appearancedismayed, falteringly entreated her pardon. 

'Be not angered, O noble Heliodora! I did not presume to think that youyourself had any acquaintance with this woman. I wished to make knownto you things that I have heard of her--things which I doubt not aretrue. But, as it is only in my own interest that I speak, I will say nomore until I have your permission. '

This having been disdainfully granted, Marcian proceeded with seemingtimid boldness, marking in his listener's eyes the eager interest withwhich she followed him. Though every detail of the story was of his owninvention, its plausibility had power upon one whose passions inclinedher to believe it. He told then that Muscula, bribed by Basil, wassecretly endeavouring to procure the release of Veranilda, which shouldbe made to appear an escape of Basil's contriving. The lover's visitsto Heliodora, he said, and his supposed ignorance as to where Veranildawas detained, were part of the plot. Already Muscula had so far wroughtupon Bessas that success seemed within view, and Basil's departure fromRome was only a pretence; he waited near at hand, ready to carry offhis beloved. 

'How come you to know all this?' Heliodora asked bluntly at the firstpause. 

'That also I will tell you, ' answered Marcian. 'It is through some onewhom Muscula holds of more account than Bessas, and with whom sheschemes against him. '

'By the Holy' Mother!' exclaimed Heliodora, 'that is yourself. '

Marcian shook his head. 

'Not so, gracious lady. '

'Nay, why should you scruple to confess it? You love Veranilda, and doyou think I could not pardon an intrigue which lay on your way to her?'

'Nevertheless it is not I, ' persisted the other gravely. 

'Be it so, ' said Heliodora. 'And in all this, my good Marcian, whatpart have I? How does it regard me? What do you seek of me?'

Once more the man seemed overcome with confusion. 

'Indeed I scarce know, ' he murmured. 'I hardly dare to think what wasin my mind when I sought you. I came to you, O Heliodora, as to onebefore whom men bow, one whose beauty is resistless, whose wish is acommand. What gave me courage was a word that fell from Bessas himselfwhen I sat at table with him yesterday. "Wore I the purple, " he said, "Heliodora should be my Empress. "'

'Bessas said that?'

'He did--and in the presence of Muscula, who heard it, I am bound tosay, with a sour visage. '

Heliodora threw back her head and laughed. 'I think he has scarce seenme thrice, ' fell from her musingly. 'Tell him from me, ' she added, 'that it is indiscreet to talk of wearing the purple before those whomay report his words. '

There was a silence. Marcian appeared to brood, and Heliodora did herbest to read his face. If, she asked herself; he had told herfalsehoods, to what end had he contrived them? Nothing that she couldconjecture was for a moment satisfying. If he told the truth, what anopportunity were here for revenge on Muscula, and for the frustrationof Basil's desire. 

How that revenge was to be wrought, or, putting it the other way, howMarcian was to be helped, she saw as yet only in glimpses of ruthlesspurpose. Of Bessas she did not think as of a man easy to subdue or tocajole; his soldierly rudeness, the common gossip of his inconstancy inlove, and his well-known avarice, were not things likely to touch herimagination, nor had she ever desired to number him in the circle ofher admirers. That it might be in her power to do what Marcianbesought, she was very willing to persuade herself, but the undertakinghad such colour of danger that she wished for more assurance of thetruth of what she had heard. 

'It seems to me, ' she said at length, 'that the hour is of the latest. What if Veranilda escape this very day?'

'Some days must of necessity pass, ' answered Marcian. 'The plot is notso far advanced. '

He rose hurriedly as if distracted by painful thoughts. 

'Noble lady, forgive me for thus urging you with my foolish sorrows. You see how nearly I am distraught. If by any means you could aid me, were it only so far as to withhold her I love from the arms of Basil--'

So deep was Heliodora sunk in her thoughts that she allowed Marcian toleave her without another word. He, having carried his machination thusfar, could only await the issue, counting securely on Heliodora'spassions and her ruthlessness. He had but taken the first step towardsthe end for which he schemed; were this successful, with the resultthat Heliodora used her charms upon the Greek commander, and, as mightwell happen, obtained power over him, he could then proceed to the nextstage of his plot, which had a scope far beyond the loves of Basil andVeranilda. That the Gothic maiden was really in the hands of Bessas hedid not believe; moreover, time had soothed his jealousy of Basil, and, had he been able to further his friend's desire, he would now willinglyhave done so; but he scrupled not to incur all manner of risks, forhimself and others, in pursuit of a great design. Marcian's convulsivepiety, like the religion of most men in his day, regarded only thesalvation of his soul from eternal torment, nor did he ever dream thatthis would be imperilled by the treacheries in which his life was nowinured. 

Only a few hours after his departure, Heliodora, by means familiar toher, had learnt that Marcian's confidential servant was a man namedSagaris, a conceited and talkative fellow, given to boasting of hislight loves. Before sunset, Sagaris had received a mysterious message, bidding him repair that night to a certain place of public resort uponthe Quirinal. He did so, was met by the same messenger, and bidden waitunder a portico. Before long there approached through the darkness amuffled figure, followed by two attendants with lanterns; the Syrianheard his name whispered; a light touch drew him further away from thelantern-bearing slaves, and a woman's voice, low, caressing, began toutter endearments and reproaches. Not to-night, it said, should he knowwho she was; she could speak a name which would make his heart beat;but he should not hear it until he had abandoned the unworthy womanwhose arts had won him. 'What woman?' asked Sagaris in astonishment. And the answer was whispered, 'Muscula. '

Now Muscula's name and position were well known to the Syrian. Thereproach of the mysterious fair one made him swell with pride; heaffected inability to deny the charge, and in the next breath declaredthat Muscula was but his sport, that in truth he cared nothing for her, he did but love her as he had loved women numberless, not only in Rome, but in Alexandria, Antioch, Constantinople. The muffled lady gave adeep sigh. Ah! and so it would be with _her_, were she weak enough toyield to _her_ passion. Sagaris began to protest, to vow. 

'It is vain, ' replied the amorous voice. 'Only in one way can youconvince me and win me. '

'Oh, how?'

'Let me hear that Muscula is dead. '

Sagaris stood mute. A hand touched his shoulder, his hair; perfumesloaded the air about him. 

'Tell me your name and it shall be done. '

The warm mouth breathed against his cheek and a name was murmured. 

The second day after this saw an event in the Palatine which was matterof talk for some two days more, and then passed into oblivion. Rumoursaid that Muscula had been detected plotting against the life ofBessas, that she had been examined under torture, found guilty, andexecuted. Certain gossips pretended that there was no plot at all, butthat Bessas, weary of his mistress, had chosen this way of getting ridof her. Be that as it might, Muscula was dead. 

CHAPTER XVII

LEANDER THE POLITIC

For most of his knowledge of private things that happened on thePalatine--and little that went on in the household of Bessas escapedhim--Marcian depended upon his servant Sagaris. Exorbitant vanity andvagrant loves made the Syrian rather a dangerous agent; but it waslargely owing to these weaknesses that he proved so serviceable. Hismaster had hitherto found him faithful, and no one could have workedmore cunningly and persistently when set to play the spy or worm forsecrets. Notwithstanding all his efforts, this man failed to discoverwhether Veranilda had indeed passed into the guardianship of Bessas;good reason in Marcian's view for believing that she was still detainedby Leander, and probably in some convent. But a rumour sprang up amongthose who still took interest in the matter that some one writing fromSicily professed to have seen the Gothic maiden on board a vessel whichtouched there on its way to the East. This came to the ears of Marcianon the day after his conversation with Heliodora. Whether it were trueor not he cared little, but he was disturbed by its having becomesubject of talk at this moment, for Heliodora could not fail to hearthe story. 

The death of Muscula set him quivering with expectancy. That itresulted from his plotting he could not be assured. Sagaris, who wore amore than usually self-important air when speaking of the event, hadall manner of inconsistent reports on his tongue Not many days passedbefore Marcian received a letter, worded like an ordinary invitation, summoning him to the house on the Quirinal. 

He went at the third hour of the morning, and was this time ledupstairs to a long and wide gallery, which at one side looked down uponthe garden in the rear of the house, and at the other offered a viewover a great part of Rome. Here was an aviary, constructed of finelattice work in wood, over-trailed with creeping plants, large enoughto allow of Heliodora's entering and walking about among the multitudeof birds imprisoned. At this amusement Marcian found her. Upon her headperched a little songster; on her shoulder nestled a dove; twofledglings in the palm of her hand opened their beaks for food. Sinceher last visit a bird had died, and Heliodora's eyes were still moistfrom the tears she had shed over it. 

'You do not love birds, ' she said, after gazing fixedly at Marcian amoment through the trellis. 

'I never thought, ' was the reply, 'whether I loved them or not. '

'I had rather give my love to them than to any of mankind. They repayit better. '

She came forth, carefully closed the wicket behind her, and began topace in the gallery as though she were alone. Presently she stood togaze over the city spread before her, and her eyes rested upon the onevast building--so it seemed--which covered the Palatine Hill. 

'Marcian!'

He drew near. Without looking at him, her eyes still on the distance, she said in an unimpassioned voice:

'Did you lie to me, or were you yourself deceived?'

'Lady, I know not of what you speak. '

'You know well. ' Her dark eyes flashed a glance of rebuke, and turnedscornfully away again. 'But it matters nothing. I sent for you to askwhat more you have to say. '

Marcian affected surprise and embarrassment. 

'It was my hope, gracious lady, that some good news awaited me on yourlips. What can I say more than you have already heard from me?'

'Be it so, ' was the careless reply. 'I have nothing to tell you exceptthat Veranilda is not there. ' She pointed towards the palace. 'And thisI have no doubt you know. '

'Believe me, O Heliodora, ' he exclaimed earnestly, 'I did not. I wasperhaps misled by--'

Her eyes checked him. 

'By whom?'

'By one who seemed to speak with honesty and assurance. '

'Let us say, then, that you were misled; whether deceived or not, concerns only yourself. And so, lord Marcian, having done what I canfor you, though it be little, I entreat your kind remembrance, and Godkeep you. '

Her manner had changed to formal courtesy, and, with this dismissal, she moved away again. Marcian stood watching her for a moment, thenturned to look at the wide prospect. A minute or two passed; he heardHeliodora's step approaching. 

'What keeps you here?' she asked coldly. 

'Lady, I am thinking. '

'Of what?'

'Of the day soon to come when Totila will be king in Rome. '

Heliodora's countenance relaxed in a smile. 

'Yet you had nothing more to say to me, ' she murmured in a significanttone. 

'There were much to say, Heliodora, to one whom I knew my friend. I haddared to think you so. '

'What proof of friendship does your Amiability ask?' inquired the ladywith a half-mocking, half-earnest look. 

As if murmuring to himself, Marcian uttered the name 'Veranilda. '

'They say she is far on the way to Constantinople, ' said Heliodora. 'Ifso, and if Bessas sent her, his craft is greater than I thought. For Ihave spoken with him, and'--she smiled--'he seems sincere when hedenied all knowledge of the maiden. '

Marcian still gazed at the distance. Again he spoke as if unconsciouslymurmuring his thoughts:

'Totila advances. In Campania but a few towns still await his conquest. The Appian Way is open. Ere summer be past he will stand at the gatesof Rome. '

'Rome is not easily taken, ' let fall the listener, also speaking asthough absently. 

'It is more easily surrendered, ' was the reply. 

'What! You suspect Bessas of treachery?'

'We know him indolent and neglectful of duty. Does he not live here athis ease, getting into his own hands, little by little, all the wealthof the Romans, careless of what befall if only he may glut his avarice?He will hold the city as long as may be, only because the city is hispossession. He is obstinate, bull-headed. Yet if one were found whocould persuade him that the cause of the Greeks is hopeless--that, byholding out to the end, he will merely lose all, whereas, if he came toterms--'

Marcian was watching Heliodora's face. He paused. Their eyes met for aninstant. 

'Who can be assured, ' asked Heliodora thoughtfully, 'that Totila willtriumph? They say the Patricius will come again. '

'Too late. Not even Belisarius can undo the work of Alexandros andthese devouring captains. From end to end of Italy, the name of theGreeks is abhorred; that of Totila is held in honour. He will renew thekingdom of Theodoric. '

Marcian saw straight before him the aim of all his intrigue. It was anaim unselfish, patriotic. Though peril of the gravest lay in every wordhe uttered, not this made him tremble, but the fear lest he hadmiscalculated, counting too securely on his power to excite thiswoman's imagination. For as yet her eye did not kindle. It might bethat she distrusted herself, having learnt already that Bessas was noeasy conquest. Or it might be that he himself was the subject of herdistrust. 

'What is it to _you_?' she suddenly asked, with a fierce gaze. 'Can theGoth bring Veranilda back to Italy?'

'I do not believe that she has gone. '

Marcian had knowledge enough of women, and of Heliodora, to harp on apersonal desire rather than hint at high motive. But he was impelled bythe turmoil of his fears and hopes to excite passions larger thanjealousy. Throwing off all restraint, he spoke with hot eloquence ofall that might be gained by one who could persuade the Greek commanderto open the gates of Rome. Totila was renowned for his generosity, anddesired above all things to reconcile, rather than subdue, the Romanpeople; scarce any reward would seem to him too great for service suchas helped this end. 

'Bessas lies before you. Ply your spells; make of him your creature;then whisper in his ear such promise of infinite gold as will make hisliver melt. For _him_ the baser guerdon; for _you_, O Heliodora, allthe wishes of your noble heart, with power, power, power and gloryunspeakable!'

Heliodora pondered. Then, without raising her head, she asked quietly:

'You speak for the King?'

'For the King, ' was answered in like tone. 

'Come to me again, Marcian, when I have had time for thought. '

With that they parted. On the same day, Sagaris was bidden as before toa meeting after nightfall, and again he conversed with a lady whoseface was concealed from him. She began with a gentle reproof, for hehad ventured to present himself at her door, and to beg audience. Lethim be patient; his hour would come, but it must be when she chose. Many questions did she put to him, all seeming to be prompted byinterest in the Gothic maiden of whom Sagaris had heard so much. Withthe simplicity of inordinate conceit, he assured her that here she hadno ground for jealousy; Veranilda he had never beheld. Softly shecorrected his error; her interest in the maiden was a friendly one. Only let him discover for her where Veranilda was concealed. Sagariswas led to avow that in this very search he and his master had beenvainly occupied for many a day; it had carried them, he declared in awhisper, even to the camp of King Totila. With this the questionerappeared to be satisfied, and the Syrian was soon dismissed, promisesin a caressing voice his sole reward. 

When Marcian next held speech with Heliodora--it was after somedays--she bore herself more openly. In the course of their talk, helearnt that she had consulted an astrologer, and with results whollyfavourable to his design. Not only had this man foretold to her thatTotila was destined to reign gloriously over the Italians for manyyears, but he saw in Heliodora's own fate a mysterious link with thatof the triumphant king; her, under the Gothic conquest, great thingsawaited. 'Do, ' was his counsel, 'that which thou hast in mind. ' Hearingall this, Marcian's heart leaped with joy. He urged her to pursue theirend with all the speed that prudence permitted. For his own part, hewould make known to Totila as soon as might be the hope of his friendsin Rome. 

Again some days passed, and Marcian received one of those messageswhich at times reached him from the Gothic king. Totila's bidding wascontained in a few words: Let Marcian seek speech with the deaconLeander. Surprised, but having full confidence in the messenger, Marcian presently wrote to the deacon in brief terms, saying that hewished to converse with him regarding a certain heretic of whom he hadhopes. To this came prompt reply, which did not, however, inviteMarcian, as he had expected, to a meeting in private; but merely saidthat, on the morrow, an hour after sunrise, Leander would be found in acertain public place. 

Leander was busied just now in a matter peculiarly congenial to him, the destruction of an ancient building in order to enrich with itscolumns and precious marbles a new Christian church. At the hourappointed, Marcian found him in the temple of Minerva Chalcidica, directing workmen as to what they should remove; before him lay certainmouldings in green porphyry (the precious _lapis Lacedaemonius_), whichhad been carefully broken from their places, and he was regarding themwith the eye of a lover. For the first few minutes of theirconversation, Marcian felt mistrust, as the deacon appeared to have nointelligence of any secret purpose in this meeting; but presently, still gossiping of stones, Leander led him out of the temple and walkedin the shadowy public place beside the Pantheon. 

'That must be purified and consecrated, ' he remarked, glancing from thegranite columns of Agrippa's porch to the bronze-tiled dome. 'Too longit has been left to the demons. '

Marcian, preoccupied as he was, listened with awe. Since the ravage ofthe Vandals, no mortal had passed those vast doors, behind which allthe gods of heathendom, known now for devils, lurked in retreat. 

'I have urged it upon the Holy Father, ' Leander added. 'But Vigilius isall absorbed in the dogmatics of Byzantium. A frown of the EmpressTheodora is more to him than the glory of the Omnipotent and the wealof Christendom. '

The look which accompanied these words was the first hint to Marcianthat he might speak in confidence. He inquired whether the Pope, as wasreported, would shortly sail for Constantinople. 

'Before another week has passed, ' was the reply, 'he will embark. Hewould fain go forth'--a malicious smile was in the corner of Leander'seye--'without leave-taking of his beloved people but that can scarce bepermitted. '

'Ere he return, ' said Marcian, 'things of moment may happen. '

Again the deacon smiled. Seeing on the steps of the Pantheon a coupleof idlers playing at flash-finger, they turned aside to be out ofearshot. 

'We are agreed, it seems, ' remarked Leander quickly, 'that there ishope of the heretic. You had news of him yesterday? I, also. It may bein my power to render him some service--presently, presently. Meanwhile, what can you tell me of the lost maiden about whom there hasbeen so much talk? Is it true that Bessas has sent her to the East?'

Marcian turned his eyes upon the speaker's face, and regarded himfixedly with a half smile. For a moment the deacon appeared to beunconscious of this; then he met the familiar look, averted his headagain, and said in the same tone as before:

'The heretic, I learn, would gladly see her. '

'It would be as well, I think, ' was the reply, 'if his wish weregratified. '

'Ah? But how would that please a friend of yours, dear lord?' askedLeander, with unaffected interest. 

Marcian's answer was in a tone of entire sincerity, very unlike that hehad used when speaking on this subject with Heliodora. 

'It might please him well or ill. The King'--he lowered his voice alittle--'would see with gladness this beautiful maiden of his ownpeople, sprung too from the royal blood, and would look with favourupon those who delivered her in safety to him. Should he make her hisqueen, and I believe she is worthy of that, the greater his gratitudeto those who prevented her marriage with a Roman. If, on the otherhand, he found that she could not forget her first lover, Totila islarge-hearted enough to yield her up in all honour, and politic enoughto see advantage in her union with the heir of the Anician house. Between these things, Basil must take his chance. Had he carried offhis love, he would have wedded her in disregard of every danger; and solong as it was only the Greeks that sought her, I should have done mybest to aid and to protect him. It is different now. Basil I holddearer than any friend; his place is in my very heart, and hishappiness is dearer to me than my own; but I cannot help him tofrustrate a desire of Totila. The King is noble; to serve him is topromote the weal of Italy, for which he fights, and in which name hewill conquer. '

The deacon had paused in his walk. He looked thoughtfully about him. Atthis moment there came along the street an ox-drawn wagon, on which laythe marble statue of a deity; Leander stepped up to it, examined themarble, spoke with the men who were conveying it, and returned toMarcian with a shake of the head. 

'It pains me to see such carven beauty burnt to lime. And yet how manythousands of her worshippers are now burning in Gehenna. Lord Marcian, 'he resumed, 'you have spoken earnestly and well, and have given me goodproof of your sincerity. I think with you, and willingly would workwith you. '

'Reverend, does no opportunity present itself?'

'In this moment, none that I can see, ' was the suave answer. 

'Yet I perceive that you have made some offer of service to the King. '

'It is true; and perchance you shall hear more of it. Be not impatient;great things are not hastily achieved. '

With sundry other such remarks, so uttered that their triteness seemedto become the maturity of wisdom, Leander brought the colloquy to anend. It was his principle to trust no man unless he were assured of amotive strong enough to make him trustworthy, and that motive he hadnot yet discovered in Marcian. Nor, indeed, was he entirely sure ofhimself; for though he had gone so far as to communicate with theGothic king, it was only in view of possibilities whose issue he stillawaited. If the Pope set forth for Constantinople, he would leave asrepresentative in Rome the deacon Pelagius, and from this brothercleric Leander had already received certain glances, which were not tobe misunderstood. The moment might shortly come when he would need afriend more powerful than any he had within the city. 

But Vigilius lingered, and Leander, save in his influence with theirresolute Pontiff, postponed the step he had in view. 

CHAPTER XVIII

PELAGIUS

Rome waited. It had been thought that the fall of Neapolis would befollowed by Totila's swift march along the Appian Way; but three monthshad passed, and the Gothic king was but little nearer to the city. Heseemed resolved to leave nothing behind him that had not yielded to hisarms; slowly and surely his rule was being established over all theSouth. Through the heats of summer, with pestilence still lurking inher palaces and her dens, no fountain plashing where the sun blazed onForum and on street, Rome waited. 

In June Bessas was joined by another of the Greek commanders, Joannes, famed for his ferocity, and nicknamed the Devourer. A show of activityin the garrison resulted from this arrival; soldiers were set to workupon parts of the city wall which needed strengthening; the Romansbegan to make ready for a siege; and some, remembering the horrors of afew years ago, took to flight. There was much talk of a conspiracy toopen the gates to Totila; one or two senators were imprisoned, and afew Arian priests who still dwelt in Rome were sentenced to banishment. But when, after a few weeks, Joannes and his troop marched northward, commotion ceased; Bessas fell back into the life of indolent rapacity, work on the walls was soon neglected, and Rome found that she had stillonly to wait. 

About this time Marcian fell sick. He had suffered much fromdisappointment of high hopes, neither Heliodora nor Leander aiding hisschemes as he expected. The constant danger in which he lived tried hisfortitude to the utmost, and at length he began to burn with fever. Agonies came upon him, for even the slightest disorder in theseplague-stricken times filled men with fear. And whilst he lay thuswretched, his servants scarce daring to attend upon him--Sagarisrefused to enter his chamber, and held himself ready for flight (withall he could lay hands on) as soon as the physician should have utteredthe fatal word--whilst his brain was confused and his soul shaken witheven worse than the wonted terrors, there came to visit him the deaconPelagius. That the visit happened at this moment was mere chance, butPelagius, hearing of Marcian's condition, felt that he could not havecome more opportunely. A courageous man, strong in body as in mind, hewas not to be alarmed by mere talk of the pest; bidding the porterconduct him, he came to Marcian's bedside, and there sat for half anhour. When he went away, his handsome countenance wore a smile ofthoughtful satisfaction. 

As though this conversation had relieved him, the sick man at oncebegan to mend. But with his recovery came another torment. Lying infear of death and hell, he had opened his soul to Pelagius, and hadrevealed secrets upon which depended all he cared for in this world. Not only he himself was ruined, but the lives of those he had betrayedwere in jeopardy. That suspicion was busy with him he knew; thekeen-sighted deacon had once already held long talk with him, whereuponfollowed troublesome interrogation by Bessas, who had since regardedhim with somewhat a sullen eye. How would Pelagius use the knowledge hehad gained? Even when quite recovered from the fever, Marcian did notventure to go forth, lest an enemy should be waiting for him without. In his weak, dejected and humbled state he thought of the peace of amonastery, and passed most of his time in prayer. 

But when a few days had passed without event, and increasing strengthenabled him to think less brain-sickly, he began to ask whether hehimself had not peradventure been betrayed It was a long time since hehad seen Heliodora, who appeared to be making no effort for theconquest of the Greek commander; had she merely failed, and lostcourage, or did the change in her mean treachery? To trust Heliodorawas to take a fool's risk; even a little wound to her vanity mightsuffice to turn her against him. At their last meeting she had sat withfurrowed brows, brooding as if over some wrong, and when he urged herfor an explanation of her mood, she was first petulant, then fiery, sothat he took umbrage and left her. Happily she knew none of his graversecrets, much though she had tried to discover them. Were shetraitorous, she could betray him alone. 

But he, in the wreck of his manhood, had uttered many names besideshers--that of Basil, from whom he had recently heard news, that of thepolitic Leander, those of several nobles engaged in the Gothic cause. Scarcely could he believe that he had been guilty of such baseness; hewould fain have persuaded himself that it was but a memory of delirium. He cursed the subtlety of Pelagius, which had led him on tilleverything was uttered. Pelagius, the bosom friend of Justinian, wouldknow how to deal with plotters against the Empire. Why had he notalready struck? What cunning held his hand?

Unable at length to sit in idleness, he tried to ease his conscience bysending a warning to Basil, using for this purpose the trustworthyslave who, in many disguises, was wont to travel with his secretmessages. This man wore false hair so well fixed upon his head that itcould not attract attention; the letter he had to deliver was laidbeneath an artificial scalp. 

'Be on your guard, ' thus Marcian wrote. 'Some one has made known to theGreeks that you are arming men, and for what purpose. Delay no longerthan you must in joining the King. In him is your only hope, if hopethere still can be. I, too, shall soon be in the camp. '

These last words were for his friend's encouragement. As soon as theletter had been despatched, he went forth about Rome in his usual way, spoke with many persons, and returned home unscathed. Plainly, then, hewas to be left at liberty yet awhile; Pelagius had purposes to serve. Next day, he betook himself to the Palatine; Bessas received him withbluff friendliness, joked about his escape from death (for every onebelieved that he had had the plague), and showed no sign of themistrust which had marked their last meeting. In gossip with certainRomans who were wont to hang about the commander, flattering andfawning upon him for their base advantage, he learnt that no one hadyet succeeded to the place left vacant by the hapless Muscula; only incasual amours, generally of the ignoblest, did Bessas bestow hisaffections. Of Heliodora there was no talk. 

Another day he passed in sauntering; nothing that he could perceive inthose with whom he talked gave hint of menace to his safety. Then, early the next morning, he turned his steps to the Quirinal. As usual, he was straightway admitted to Heliodora's house, but had to waitawhile until the lady could receive him. Gloomily thoughtful, standingwith eyes fixed upon those of the great bust of Berenice, he wasstartled by a sudden cry from within the house, the hoarse yell of aman in agony; it was repeated, and became a long shriek, rising andfalling in terrible undulation. He had stepped forward to seek anexplanation, when Heliodora's eunuch smilingly came to meet him. 

'What is that?' asked Marcian, his nerves a-quiver. 

'The noble lady has ordered a slave to be punished, ' was the cheerfulreply. 

'What is his fault?'

'Illustrious, I know not, ' answered the eunuch more gravely. 

The fearful sounds still continuing, Marcian turned as though to hurryaway; but the eunuch, following, implored him not to go, for hisdeparture would but increase Heliodora's wrath. So for a few moreminutes he endured the horror of that unbroken yell. When it ceased, hecould hear his heart beating. 

Summoned at length to the lady's presence, he found her lying in thechamber of the Hermaphrodite. A strange odour floated in the air, overcoming that of wonted perfumes. 

Faint with a sudden nausea, Marcian performed no courtesy, but stoodregarding the living woman much as he had gazed at the face in marble, absent and sombre-browed. 

'What now?' were Heliodora's first words, her smile fading indispleasure. 

'Must we needs converse in your torture-chamber?' asked Marcian. 

'Are your senses more delicate than mine?'

'It seems so. I could wish I had chosen another hour for visiting you. '

'It was well chosen, ' said Heliodora, regarding him fixedly. 'Thisslave I have chastised, shall I tell you of what he was guilty? He hasa blabbing tongue. '

'I see not how that concerns me, ' was his cold reply, as he met herlook with steady indifference. 

From her lounging attitude Heliodora changed suddenly to one in which, whilst seated, she bent forward as though about to spring at him. 

'How comes it that Bessas knows every word that has passed between us?'broke fiercely from her lips. 

In an instant Marcian commanded himself, shrugged his shoulders, andlaughed. 

'That is a question, ' he said, 'to put to your astrologer, youroneirocritic, your genethliac. I profess not to read mysteries. '

'Liar!' she shot out. 'How could he have had it but from your own lips?'

Marcian betook himself to his utmost dissimulation, and the talk of thenext few minutes--on his part, deliberately provocative; on hers, recklessly vehement--instructed him in much that he had desired tolearn. It was made clear to him that a long combat of wills and desireshad been in progress between the crafty courtesan and the half wily andthe half brutal soldier, with a baffling of Heliodora's devices whichwould never have come to his knowledge but for this outbreak of rage. How far the woman had gone in her lures, whether she had played herlast stake, he could not even now determine; but he suspected that onlysuch supreme defeat could account for the fury in which he beheld her. Bessas, having (as was evident) heard the secret from Pelagius, mightperchance have played the part of a lover vanquished by his passions, and then, after winning his end by pretence of treachery to theEmperor, had broken into scoffing revelation. That were a triumph afterthe Thracian's heart. Having read thus far in the past, Marcian had toturn anxious thought upon the future, for his position of seemingsecurity could not long continue. He bent himself to allay the wrath hehad excited. Falling of a sudden into a show of profound distress, hekept silence for a little, then murmured bitterly:

'I see what has happened. When the fever was upon me, my mind wandered, and I talked. '

So convincing was the face, the tone, so plausible the explanation, that Heliodora drew slowly back, her fury all but quenched. Shequestioned him as to the likely betrayer, and the name of Sagarishaving been mentioned, used the opportunity to learn what she couldconcerning the man. 

'I cannot promise to give him up to you to be tortured, ' said Marcian, with his characteristic smile of irony. 

'That I do not ask. But, ' she added significantly, 'will you send himhere, and let me use gentler ways of discovering what I can?'

'That, willingly. '

And when Marcian went away, he reflected that all was not yet lost. ForHeliodora still had faith in the prophecy of her astrologer; she wasmore resolute than ever in her resolve to triumph over Bessas; shecould gain nothing to this end by helping her confederate's ruin. Before parting, they had agreed that Marcian would do well to affectignorance of the discovery Bessas had made; time and events mustinstruct them as to the projects of their enemies, and guide their owncourse. 

That same day, he despatched the Syrian with a letter to Heliodora, andon the man's return spoke with him as if carelessly of his commission. He remarked that the face of Sagaris shone as though exultantly, but noindiscreet word dropped from the vaunter's lips. A useful fellow, murmured Marcian within himself, and smiled contempt. 

Another day or two of indecision, then in obedience to an impulse hecould no longer resist, he sought speech with the deacon Pelagius. Notwithout trouble was this obtained, for Pelagius was at all times busy, always beset by suitors of every degree, the Romans holding him in highreverence, and making their appeals to him rather than to the Pope, forwhom few had a good word. When at last Marcian was admitted to thedeacon's presence, he found himself disconcerted by the long, silentscrutiny of eyes deep read in the souls of men. No word would reach hislips. 

'I have been expecting you, ' said the deacon at length, gravely, butwithout severity. 'You have made no haste to come. '

'Most reverend, ' replied Marcian, in a tone of the deepest reproach, 'Iknew not certainly whether I had indeed made confession to you, or ifit was but a dream of fever. '

Pelagius smiled. He was standing by a table, and his hand lay upon anopen volume. 

'You are of noble blood, lord Marcian, ' he continued, 'and thegreatness of your ancestors is not unknown to you. Tell me by whatmotive you have been induced to play the traitor against Rome. I cannotthink it was for the gain that perishes. Rather would I suppose youmisled by the opinion of Cassiodorus, whose politics were as unsound ashis theology. I read here, in his treatise _De Anima_, that there isneither bliss nor torment for the soul before the great Day ofJudgment--a flagrant heresy, in utter contradiction of the Scriptures, and long ago refuted by the holy Augustine. Can you trust in worldlymatters one who is so blinded to the clearest truths of eternity?'

'I confess, ' murmured the listener, 'that I thought him justified inhis support of the Gothic kingdom. '

'You are content, then, you whose ancestors have sat in the Senate, tobe ruled by barbarians? You, a Catholic, revolt not against thedominions of Arians? And so little is your foresight, your speculation, that you dream of permanent conquest of Italy by this leader of abarbaric horde? I tell you, lord Marcian, that ere another twelvemonthhas passed, the Goths will be defeated, scattered, lost. The Emperor ispreparing a great army, and before the end of summer Belisarius willagain land on our shores. Think you Totila can stand against him? Bewarned; consider with yourself. Because your confession had indeedsomething of sickness in it, I have forborne to use it against you asanother might have done. But not with impunity can you resume yourtraitorous practices; of that be assured. '

He paused, looking sternly into Marcian's face. 

'I have no leisure to debate with you, to confute your errors. Onething only will I add, before dismissing you to ponder what I haveuttered. It is in your power to prove your return to reason and thedignity of a Roman; I need not say how; the occasion will surely erelong present itself, and leave you in no doubt as to my meaning. Remember, then, how I have dealt with you; remember, also, that no suchindulgence will be granted to a renewal of your crime against Rome, your sin against God. '

Marcian dropped to his knees; there was a moment of silence; then hearose and went forth. 

A week passed, and there came the festival of St. Laurentius. All Romestreamed out to the basilica beyond the Tiburtine Gate, and among thosewho prayed most fervently at the shrine was Marcian. He besoughtguidance in an anguish of doubt. Not long ago, in the early days ofsummer, carnal temptation had once more overcome him, and thesufferings, the perils, of this last month he attributed to that lapsefrom purity. His illness was perhaps caused by excess of rigour inpenitence. To-day he prayed with many tears that the Roman martyr wouldenlighten him, and make him understand his duty to Rome. 

As he was leaving the church, a hand touched him; he turned, and beheldthe deacon Leander, who led him apart. 

'It is well that I have met you, ' said the cleric, with less than hisusual bland deliberation. 'A messenger is at your house to bid you cometo me this evening. Can you leave Rome to-morrow?'

'On what mission?'

Leander pursed his lips for a moment, rolled his eyes hither andthither, and said with a cautious smile:

'That for which you have been waiting. '

With difficulty Marcian dissembled his agitation. Was this the saint'sreply to his prayer? Or was it a temptation of the Evil Power, which itbehoved him to resist?

'I am ready, ' he said, off-hand. 

'You will be alone for the first day's journey, and in the evening youwill be met by such attendants as safety demands. Do you willinglyundertake the charge? Or is there some new danger which you had notforeseen?'

'There is none, ' replied Marcian, 'and I undertake the charge rightwillingly. '

'Come to me, then, at sunset. The travel is planned in every detail, and the letters ready. What follower goes with you?'

'The same as always--Sagaris. '

'Confide nothing to him until you are far from Rome. Better if you neednot even then. '

Leander broke off the conference, and walked away at a step quickerthan his wont. But Marcian, after lingering awhile in troubled thought, returned to the martyr's grave. Long he remained upon his knees, theconflict within him so violent that he could scarce find coherent wordsof prayer. Meanwhile the August sky had clouded, and thunder wasbeginning to roll. As he went forth again, a flash of lightning dazzledhim. He saw that it was on the left hand, and took courage to followthe purpose that had shaped in his thoughts. 

That evening, after an hour's close colloquy with Leander, he betookhimself by circuitous way to the dwelling of Pelagius, and with himagain held long talk. Then went home, through the dark, still streets, to such slumber as his conscience might permit. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE PRISONER OF PRAENESTE

On the morrow of St. Laurentius, at that point of dawn when a man canrecognise the face of one who passes, there issued from the Lateran asilent company equipped for travel. In a covered carriage drawn by twohorses sat the Pope, beside him a churchman of his household; a secondcarriage conveyed the deacon Leander and another ecclesiastic; servantsand a baggage vehicle brought up the rear. With what speed it couldover the ill-paved roads, this procession made for the bank of theTiber below the Aventine, where, hard by the empty public granaries, aship lay ready to drop down stream. It was a flight rather than adeparture. Having at length made up his mind to obey the Emperor'ssummons, Vigilius endeavoured to steal away whilst the Romans slept offtheir day of festival. But he was not suffered to escape thus. Beforehe had reached the place of embarkation, folk began to run shoutingbehind his carriage. Ere he could set foot on board the vessel a crowdhad gathered. The farewell of the people to their supreme Pontiff wasgiven in a volley of stones and potsherds, whilst the air rang withmaledictions. 

Notwithstanding his secret hostility, Leander had of late crept intoVigilius' confidence, thus protecting himself against his formidableadversary Pelagius. He was now the Pope's travelling companion as faras Sicily. Had he remained in Rome, the authority of Pelagius wouldhave fallen heavily upon him, and he could scarce have escaped thehumiliation of yielding his Gothic captive to Justinian's friend. Apprised only a day before of Vigilius' purpose, he had barely time toplot with Marcian for the conveyance of Veranilda to Totila's camp. This had long been his intention, for, convinced that Totila would ruleover Italy, he saw in the favour of the king not only a personaladvantage, but the hope of the Western Church in its struggle withByzantium. Driven at length to act hurriedly, he persuaded himself thathe could use no better agent than Marcian, who had so deeply pledgedhimself to the Gothic cause. Of what had passed between Marcian andPelagius he of course knew nothing. So, as the ship moved seaward upontawny Tiber, and day flamed upon the Alban hills, Leander laughedwithin himself. He enjoyed a plot for its own sake, and a plot, longsavoured, which gave him triumph over ecclesiastical rivals, and evenover the Emperor Justinian, was well worth the little risk that mightensue When he returned to Rome, it would doubtless be with thevictorious Goth--safe, jubilant, and ere long to be seated in the chairof the Apostle. 

At the same hour Marcian was riding along the Praenestine Way, theglory of summer sunrise straight before him. The thought most active inhis mind had nothing to do with the contest of nations or with the fateof Rome: it was that on the morrow he should behold Veranilda. For along time he had ceased to think of her; her name came to his lips inconnection with artifice and intrigue, but the maiden herself had fadedinto nothingness, no longer touched his imagination. He wondered atthat fantastic jealousy of Basil from which he had suffered. Thismorning, the caress of the warm air, the scents wafted about him as herode over the great brown wilderness, revived his bygone mood. Again hemused on that ideal loveliness which he attributed to the unseenVeranilda For nearly a year she had been sought in vain by her lover, by Greek commanders, by powerful churchmen; she had been made thepretext of far-reaching plots and conspiracies; her name had excitedpassions vehement and perilous, had been the cause of death. Now he wasat length to look upon her; nay, she was to pass into his guardianship, and be by him delivered into the hands of the warrior king. Dreaming, dreaming, he rode along the Praenestine Way. 

Though the personal dignity of Pelagius and the calm force of hisspeech had awed and perturbed him, Marcian soon recovered his habitualmind. He had thought and felt too deeply regarding public affairs to beso easily converted from the cause for which he lived. A new treacherywas imposed upon him. When, after receiving all his instructions fromLeander, he went to see Pelagius, it was in order to secure his ownsafety and the fulfilment of his secret mission by a seeming betrayalof him he served. He knew that his every movement was watched; he couldnot hope to leave Rome without being stopped and interrogated. If hedesired to carry out Leander's project--and he desired it the moreardently the longer he reflected--his only course was this. Why did itagitate him more than his treachery hitherto? Why did he shake andperspire when he left Pelagius, after promising to bring Veranilda toRome? He knew not himself--unless it were due to a fear that he mightperform his promise. 

This fear it was, perhaps, which had filled his short sleep with dreamsnow terrible, now luxurious. This fear it was which caught hold of him, at length distinct and intelligible, when, on turning his head towardsthe city soon after sunrise, he became aware of a group of horsemenfollowing him at a distance of half a mile or so. Thus had it beenagreed with Pelagius. The men were to follow him, without approaching, to a certain point of his journey, then would close about him and hisattendants, who would be inferior in number, and carry them, with theGothic maiden, back to Rome. At the sight Marcian drew rein, and for amoment sat in his saddle with bent head, suffering strangely. Sagariscame up to his side, regarded him with anxious eye, and asked whetherthe heat of the sun's rays incommoded him; whereupon he made a negativesign and rode on. 

He tried to laugh. Had he forgotten the subtlety of his plot fordeceiving Pelagius? To have made known to the deacon where Veranildareally was, would have been a grave fault in strategy. These armedhorsemen imagined that a two days' journey lay before them, whereas theplace of Veranildas imprisonment would be reached this evening. Theartifice he had elaborated was, to be sure, full of hazard; accidentmight disconcert everything; the instruments upon whom he reckonedmight fail him. But not because of this possibility was his heart somiserably perturbed. It was himself that he dreaded--the failure of hisown purpose, the treachery of his own will. 

On he rode in the full eye of the August sun. The vast, undulant plainspread around him; its farms, villas, aqueducts no less eloquent ofdeath than the tombs by the wayside its still air and the cloudlessazure above speaking to a man's soul as with the voice of eternity. Marcian was very sensible of such solemn influence. More than once, intraversing this region, he had been moved to bow his head in devotionpurer than that which commonly inspired his prayers, but to-day he knewnot a moment's calm. All within him was turbid, subject to evilthoughts. 

A little before noon he made his first halt. Amid the ruins of aspacious villa two or three peasant families had their miserable home, with a vineyard, a patch of tilled soil, and a flock of goats for theirsustenance. Here the travellers, sheltered from the fierce sun, ate ofthe provisions they carried, and lay resting for a couple of hours. Marcian did not speak with the peasants, but he heard the voice of awoman loud in lamentation, and Sagaris told him that it was for thedeath of a child, who, straying yesterday at nightfall, had been killedby a wolf. Many hours had the mother wept and wailed, only interruptingher grief to vilify and curse the saint to whose protection her littleone was confided. 

When he resumed his journey, Marcian kept glancing back until he againcaught sight of the company of horsemen; they continued to follow himat the same distance. On he rode, the Alban hills at his right hand, and before him, on its mountain side, the town for which he made. Thesun was yet far from setting when he reached Praeneste. Its great wallsand citadel towering on the height above told of ancient strength, andmany a noble building, within the city and without, monuments of gloryand luxury, resisted doom. Sulla's Temple of Fortune still looked downupon its columned terraces, but behind the portico was a Christianchurch, and where once abode the priests of the heathen sanctuary, theBishop of Praeneste had now his dwelling. Thither did Marcianstraightway betake himself. The bishop, a friend and ally of Leander, received him with cordiality, and eagerly read the letter he brought. Asked whether Vigilius had left Rome, Marcian was able to tellsomething of the Pope's departure, having heard the story just beforehis own setting forth; whereat the prelate, a man of jovial aspect, laughed unrestrainedly. 

'To supper! to supper!' he exclaimed with hospitable note. 'Time enoughfor our business afterwards. '

But Marcian could not postpone what he had to say. Begging the bishop'spatience, he told how all day long he had been followed by certainhorsemen from Rome, who assuredly were sent to track him. His servant, he added, was watching for their entrance into the town, and wouldobserve where they lodged. This, the bishop admitted, was a matter ofsome gravity. 

'Your guard is ready, ' he said. 'Six stout fellows on good horses. Butthese pursuers outman you. Let me think, let me think. '

Marcian had but to suggest his scheme. This was, to resume his journeyas soon as the townsfolk were all asleep, and travel through the night, for there was a moon all but at the full. He might thus gain so muchadvance of his pursuers that they would not be able to overtake himbefore he came to the nearest outpost of the Gothic army. Afterreflection, the bishop gave his approval to this project, and undertookthat all should be ready at the fitting hour. He himself wouldaccompany them to the gate of the town, and see them safely on theirway. To make surer, Marcian used another device. When he had learnedthe quarters of the pursuing horsemen he sent Sagaris privily to speakwith their leader, warning him to be ready to ride at daybreak. Such amessage had of course nothing unexpected for its recipient, who lookedupon Marcian as secretly serving Pelagius. It put his mind at ease andreleased him from the necessity of keeping a night watch. Sagaris, totally ignorant of his master's mission, and of the plans that hadjust been formed, imagined himself an intermediary in some plot betweenMarcian and the leader of the horsemen, and performed the deceitfuloffice in all good faith. 

The bishop and his guest sat down to supper in an ancient room, ofwhich the floor was a mosaic representing an Egyptian landscape, with amultitude of figures. Marcian would gladly have asked questions aboutVeranilda; how long she had been at Praeneste, whether the lady Aureliawas in the same convent, and many other things; but he did not ventureto make known how little he had enjoyed of Leander's confidence. Hisreverend host spoke not at all on this subject, which evidently had nointerest for him, but abounded in inquiries as to the state of thingsecclesiastical at Rome. The supper was excellent; it pained the goodprelate that his guest seemed to have so poor an appetite. He vauntedthe quality of everything on the table, and was especially enthusiasticabout a wine of the south, very aromatic, which had come to him as apresent from his friend the Bishop of Rhegium, together with a certaincheese of Sila, exquisite in thymy savour, whereof he ate withprodigious gusto. 

It was about the third hour of the night when Sagaris, to hisastonishment, was aroused from a first sleep, and bidden prepare atonce for travel. Following his master and the bishop, who were nototherwise attended, he passed through a garden to a postern, where, bydim lantern light, he saw, in the street without, a small coveredcarriage drawn by four mules, and behind it several men on horseback;his master's horse and his own were also in readiness at the door. Hemounted, the carriage moved forward; and by a steep descent whichneeded extreme caution, the gate of the city was soon reached. Here thebishop, who had walked beside Marcian, spoke a word with two drowsywatchmen sitting by the open gateway, bade his guest an affectionatefarewell, and stood watching for a few minutes whilst vehicle andriders moved away in the moonlight. 

Finding himself well sped from Praeneste, where his pursuers lay soundasleep, Marcian felt an extravagant joy; he could scarce commandhimself to speak a few necessary words, in an ordinary tone, to theleader of the guard with which he was provided; to shout, to sing, would have better suited his mood. Why he thrilled with such exultancyhe could not have truly said; but a weight seemed to be lifted from hismind, and he told himself that the relief was due to knowing that hehad done with treachery, done with double-dealing, done with the shameand the peril of such a life as he had led for years. Never could hereturn to Rome save with the Gothic King; in beguiling Pelagius, he hadthrown in his lot irrevocably with the enemies of the Greeks. Now hewould play the part of an honest man; his heart throbbed at the thought. 

But all this time his eyes were fixed upon the closed vehicle, behindwhich he rode; and was it indeed the thought of having gained freedomwhich made his heart so strangely beat? He pushed his horse as near aspossible to the carriage; he rode beside it; he stretched out his handand touched it. As soon as the nature of the road permitted, he gave anorder to make better speed, and his horse began to trot; he thoughtless of the danger from which he was fleeing than of the place of restwhere Veranilda would step down from the carriage, and he would lookupon her face. 

Under the great white moon, the valley into which they were descendinglay revealed in every feature, and the road itself was as wellillumined as by daylight. On they sped, as fast as the mules could bedriven. Near or far sounded from time to time the howl of a wolf, answered by the fierce bark of dogs in some farm or village; thehooting of owls broke upon the stillness, or the pipe of toads from amarshy hollow. By the wayside would be seen moving stealthily a darkform, which the travellers knew to be a bear, but they met no humanbeing, nor anywhere saw the gleam of a light in human habitation. Coming within view of some temple of the old religion, all crossedthemselves and murmured a prayer, for this was the hour when thedethroned demons had power over the bodies and the souls of men. 

After a long descent they struck into the Via Latina, still in spite oflong neglect almost as good a road as when the legions marched over itswheel-furrowed stones. If the information on which Leander hadcalculated was correct, some three days' journey by this way wouldbring them within reach of the Gothic king; but Marcian was nowdebating with himself at what point he should quit the high road, so asto make certain his escape, in case the Greek horsemen began a chaseearly on the morrow. To the left lay a mountainous region, with bywaysand little ancient towns, in old time the country of the Hernici;beyond, a journey of two good days, flowed the river Liris, and there, not far from the town of Arpinum, was Marcian's ancestral villa. Ofthis he thought, as his horse trotted beside or behind the carriage. Itwas much out of his way; surely there would be no need to go so far inorder to baffle pursuers. Yet still he thought of his villa, islandedin the Liris, and seemed to hear through the night the music oftumbling waters, and said within his heart, 'Could I not there liesafe?'

Safe?--from the Greeks, that is to say, if they persistently searchedfor him. Safe, until a messenger could reach Totila, and let him knowthat Veranilda was rescued. 

An hour after midnight, one of the mules' traces broke. In the silenceof the stoppage, whilst the driver was mending the harness as best hecould, Marcian alighted, stepped to the side of the vehicle, laid ahand on the curtain which concealed those within, and spoke in asubdued voice. 

'Is all well with you, lady?'

'As well, ' came the answer, 'as it can be with one who dreads herunknown fate. '

The soft accents made Marcian tremble. He expected to hear a sweetvoice, but this was sweeter far than he could have imagined: itsgentleness, its sadness, utterly overcame him, so that he all but weptin his anguish of delight. 

'Have no fear, ' he whispered eagerly. 'It is freedom that awaits you. Iam Marcian--Marcian, the friend of Basil. '

There sounded a low cry of joy; then the two names were repeated, hisand that of his friend, and again Marcian quivered. 

'You will be no more afraid?' he said, as though laughingly. 

'Oh no! The Blessed Virgin be thanked!'

An owl's long hoot wailed through the stillness, seeming to fill withits infinite melancholy the great vault of moonlit heaven. In Marcianit produced a sudden, unaccountable fear. Leaping on to his horse, hecursed the driver for slowness. Another minute, and they were speedingonward. 

Marcian watched anxiously the course of the silver orb above them. Whenit began to descend seaward, the animals were showing signs ofweariness; before daybreak he must perforce call a halt. Inconversation with the leader of his guard, he told the reason of theirhasting on by night (known already to the horseman, a trusted followerof the Bishop of Praeneste), and at length announced his resolve toturn off the Latin Way into the mountains, with the view of gaining thelittle town Aletrium, whence, he explained, they could cross the hillsto the valley of the Liris, and so descend again to the main road. Itwas the man's business to obey; he let fall a few words, however, concerning the dangers of the track; it was well known that bands ofmarauders frequented this country, moving onward before the slowadvance of the Gothic troops. Marcian reflected, but none the less heldto his scheme. The beasts were urged along an upward way, which, justabout the setting of the moon, brought them to a poor village with alittle church. Marcian set himself to discover the priest, and, whenthis good man was roused from slumber, spoke in his ear a word whichhad great effect. With little delay stabling was found, and a place ofrepose for Marcian's followers; he himself would rest under thepriest's roof, whither he conducted Veranilda and a woman servant whosat with her in the carriage. The face which was so troubling hisimagination he did not yet see, for Veranilda kept the hood close abouther as she passed by candle light up steps to the comfortless and dirtylittle chamber which was the best she could have. 

'Rest in peace, ' whispered Marcian as the door closed. 'I guard you. '

For an hour or more he sat talking with his host over a pitcher ofwine, found how far he was from Aletrium, and heard with satisfactionthat the brigand bands seemed to have gone higher into the mountains. The presbyter asked eagerly for Roman news, and cautiously concerningKing Totila, whom it was evident he regarded with no very hostilefeeling. As the day broke he stretched himself on his host's bed, therebeing no other for him, and there dozed for two or three hours, far tooagitated to enjoy a sound sleep. 

When he arose, he went forth into the already hot sunshine, looked atthe poor peasants' cottages, and talked with Sagaris, whosehalf-smiling face seemed anxious to declare that he knew perfectly wellon what business they were engaged. At this hour, in all probability, the horsemen of Pelagius were galloping along the Latin Way, in hope ofovertaking the fugitives. It seemed little likely that they wouldsearch in this direction, and the chances were that they would turnback when their horses got tired out. Of them, indeed, Marcian thoughtbut carelessly; his hard-set brows betokened another subject ofdisquiet. Should he, after Aletrium, go down again to the Latin Way, orshould he push a few miles further to the valley of the Liris, and tohis own villa?

To-day, being the first day of the week, there was a gathering to hearmass. Marcian, though he had that in his mind which little accordedwith religious worship, felt himself drawn to the little church, andknelt among the toil-worn folk. Here, as always when he heard theliturgy, his heart melted, his soul was overcome with awe. Fromearliest childhood he had cherished a peculiar love and reverence forthe Eucharistic prayer, which was associated with his noblest feelings, his purest aspirations. As he heard it now, here amid the solitude ofthe hills, it brought him help such as he needed. 

'Vere dignum et justum est, aequum et salutare, nos tibi semper etubique gratias agere, Domine sancte, Pater omnipotens, aeterne Deus. '

When at the end he rose, these words were still resonant within him. Heturned to go forth, and there behind, also just risen from her knees, stood a veiled woman, at the sight of whom he thrilled withastonishment. No peasant she; for her attire, though but littleadorned, told of refinement, and the grace of her figure, the simpledignity of her attitude, would alone have marked her out among thegirls and women who were leaving the church, their eyes all turned uponher and on the female attendant standing respectfully near. Through theveil which covered her face and hung about her shoulders, Marcian coulddimly discern lips and eyebrows. 

'Lord Marcian, may I speak with you?'

It was the voice of last night, and again it shook him with an ecstasywhich had more of dread than of joy. 

'You here?' he replied, speaking very low. 'You have heard the mass?'

'I am a Catholic. My religion is that of Basil. '

'God be thanked!' broke from Marcian. And his exclamation meant morethan it conveyed to the listener. 

'May you tell me whither we are going?' was the next question from theveiled lips. 

The church was now empty, but in the doorway appeared faces curiouslypeering. Marcian looking in that direction seemed for a moment to findno reply; his lips were parted, and his breath came rapidly; then hewhispered:

'Not far from here there is a villa. There you shall rest in safetyuntil Basil comes. '

'He is near?'

'Already I have summoned him. '

'O kind Marcian!' uttered the low, sweet voice. 'Oh, true and bravefriend!'

In silence they walked together to the priest's house. Marcian had nowput off all irresolution. He gave orders to his guard; as soon as thehorses had sufficiently rested, they would push on for Aletrium, andthere pass the night. The start was made some two hours after noon. Riding once more beside the carriage, Marcian felt his heart light:passions and fears were all forgotten; the sun flaming amid the paleblue sky, the violet shadows of the mountains, the voice of cicadasmade rapture to his senses. It was as though Veranilda's beauty, noteven yet beheld, rayed something of itself upon all the visible world. Never had a summer's day shone so gloriously for him; never had he somarked the hues of height and hollow, the shape of hills, the windingof a stream. Where an ascent made the pace slow, he alighted, walked bythe vehicle, and exchanged a few words with her who sat behind thecurtain. 

At length Aletrium came in view, a little town in a strong position onthe mountain side, its walls and citadel built in old time, long unusedfor defence, but resisting ages with their cyclopean force. Onarriving, they found a scene of disorder, misery and fear. This morningthe place had been attacked by a brigand horde, which had ravaged atwill: the church was robbed of its sacred vessels, the beasts of burdenwere driven away, and, worst of all, wives and daughters of thedefenceless townsmen had suffered outrage. Marcian, with that air ofauthority which he well knew how to assume, commanded the attendance ofthe leading citizens and spoke with them in private. Finding them eagerfor the arrival of the Goths, to whom they looked rather than to thedistant Greeks for protection against ruinous disorder (already theyhad despatched messengers to Totila entreating his aid), he made knownto them that he was travelling to meet the Gothic outposts, andpromised to hasten the king's advance. At present, there seemed to beno more danger, the marauders having gone on into the Apennines; soMarcian obtained lodging for Veranilda and for himself in the priest'shouse. Only when he was alone did he reflect upon the narrowness of hisescape from those fierce plunderers, and horror shook him. Thereremained but half a day's journey to his villa. He was so impatient toarrive there, and to dismiss the horsemen, that though utterly wearied, he lay awake through many hours of darkness, hearing the footsteps ofmen who patrolled the streets, and listening with anxious ear for anysound of warning. 

He rose in the twilight, and again held conference with those of thetownsmen who were stoutest in the Gothic cause. To them he announcedthat he should travel this day as far as Arpinum (whither he wasconducting a lady who desired to enter a convent hard by that city), and thence should proceed in search of Totila, for whom, he assured hishearers, he carried letters of summons from the leading churchmen atRome. This news greatly cheered the unhappy Aletrians, who had beentroubled by the thought that the Goths were heretics. If Romanecclesiastics closed their eyes to this obstacle, the inhabitants of alittle mountain town evidently need nurse no scruples in welcoming theconqueror. With acclamations and good wishes, the crowd saw Marcian andhis train set forth along the road over the hills; before the sun hadshed its first beam into the westward valley, they had lost sight ofAletrium. 

Not a word of the perils escaped had been allowed to reach Veranilda'sear; exhausted by her journeying and her emotions, she had sleptsoundly through the whole night, and this morning, when Marcian toldher how near was their destination, she laughed light-heartedly as achild. But not yet had he looked upon her countenance. At Aletrium hemight have done so had he willed, but he withheld himself as if from adread temptation. 

Never had he known such tremours of cowardliness as on this ride overthe hills. He strained his eyes in every direction, and constantlyimagined an enemy where there was none. The brigands, as he found byinquiry of labouring peasants, had not even passed this way. He wouldnot halt, though the heat of the sun grew terrible. At length, whenexhaustion threatened men and beasts, they surmounted a ridge, issuedfrom a forest of chestnut-trees, and all at once, but a little waybelow them, saw the gleam of the river Liris. 

CHAPTER XX

THE ISLAND IN THE LIRIS

Not yet the '_taciturnus amnis_, ' which it becomes in the broad, seaward valley far below, the Liris at this point parts into twostreams, enclosing a spacious island, and on either side of the islandleaps with sound and foam, a river kindred to the mountains which feedits flood. Between the two cataracts, linked to the river banks withgreat arched bridges, stood Marcian's villa. Never more than a modestcountry house, during the last fifty years an almost total neglect hadmade of the greater part an uninhabitable ruin. A score of slaves andpeasants looked after what remained of the dwelling and cultivated theland attached to it, garden, oliveyard, vineyard, partly on the island, partly beyond the river in the direction of Arpinum, which historiccity, now but sparsely peopled, showed on the hillside a few milesaway. Excepting his house in Rome, this was all the property thatMarcian possessed. It was dear to him because of the memories of hischildhood, and for another reason which sprang out of the depths of hisbeing: on the night after his mother's death (he was then a boy muchgiven to seeing visions) her spirit appeared to him, and foretold thathe too should die in this house 'at peace with God. ' This phrase, onwhich he had often brooded, Marcian understood to mean that he shouldreach old age; and it had long been his settled intention to found inthe ruinous villa a little monastery, to which, when his work was over, he could retire to pass the close of life. And now, as he rode downbehind the carriage, he was striving to keep his thought fixed on thispious purpose. He resolved that he would not long delay. As soon asVeranilda was safe, he would go on foot, as a pilgrim, to the monasteryat Casinum, which were but two or three days' journey, and speak of hisintention to the aged and most holy Benedict. Thus fortified, he rodewith bright visage down into the valley, and over the bridge, and so tohis own gate. 

The steward and the housekeeper, who were man and wife, speedily stoodbefore him, and he bade them make ready with all expedition certainchambers long unoccupied, merely saying that a lady would for some daysbe his guest. Whilst Sagaris guided the horsemen to the stables, andreceived them hospitably in the servants' quarter, Marcian, using amore formal courtesy than hitherto, conducted his charge into the greathall, and begged her to be seated for a few minutes, until her room wasprepared. Seeing that fatigue scarce suffered her to reply, he at oncewithdrew, leaving her alone with her handmaiden. And yet he had notbeheld Veranilda's face. 

Himself unable to take repose, he strayed about the purlieus of thevilla, in his ears the sound of rushing water, before his eyes aflitting vision which he would not see. He had heard from his stewardthe latest news of the countryside; it was said in Arpinum that theGothic forces were at length assembled for the march on Rome; atAquinum Totila would be welcomed, and what resistance was he likely tomeet with all along the Latin Way? When the horsemen had refreshedthemselves, Marcian summoned the leader; their services, he said, wouldno longer be necessary; he bade them depart as early as might be on themorrow, and bear with all speed to their lord the bishop an importantletter which he forthwith wrote and gave to the man, together with agenerous guerdon. This business despatched, he again wandered hitherand thither, incapable of rest, incapable of clear thought, fever inhis heart and in his brain. 

As the sun sank, fear once more beset him. This house lay open on allsides, its only protection being a couple of dogs, which prowled atlarge. He thought with dread of the possibility of a brigand attack. But when night had fallen, when all lights except his own wereextinguished, when no sound struck against the deep monotone of thecataracts, this emotion yielded before another, which no less harassedhis mind. In the hall, in the corridors, in the garden-court, he pacedceaselessly, at times walking in utter darkness, for not yet had themoon risen. When at length its rays fell upon the pillars of the uppergallery where Veranilda slept, he stood looking towards her chamber, and turned away at length with a wild gesture, like that of a demoniacin torment. 

The man was torn between spiritual fervour and passions of the flesh. With his aspiration to saintliness blended that love of his friendwhich was the purest affection he had known in all the years ofmanhood; yet this very love became, through evil thoughts, aninstrument against him, being sullied, poisoned by the basest spirit ofjealousy, until it seemed all but to have turned to hate. One moment hefelt himself capable of acting nobly, even as he had resolved when atmass in the little mountain church; his bosom glowed with the defianceof every risk; he would guard Veranilda secretly until he could lay herhand in that of Basil. The next, he saw only danger, impossibility, insuch a purpose, and was anxious to deliver the beautiful maiden to theking of her own race as soon as might be--lest worse befell. Thus didhe strive with himself, thus was he racked and rent under the glowingmoon. 

At dawn he slept. When he rose the horsemen had long since set forth ontheir journey home. He inquired which road they had taken. But to thisno one had paid heed; he could only learn that they had crossed theriver by the westward bridge, and so perhaps had gone back by way ofAletrium, instead of descending the valley to the Latin Way. Even yetMarcian did not feel quite safe from his Greek pursuers. He feared ameeting between them and the Praenestines. 

Having bathed (a luxury after waterless Rome), and eaten a morsel ofbread with a draught of his own wine, he called his housekeeper, andbade her make known to the lady, his guest, that he begged permissionto wait upon her. With but a few minutes' delay Veranilda descended tothe room which lay behind the atrium. Marcian, loitering among theivied plane-trees without, was told of her coming, and at once entered. 

She was alone, standing at the back of the room; her hands hanginglinked before her, the lower part of the arms white against the foldsof a russet-coloured tunic. And Marcian beheld her face. 

He took a few rapid steps toward her, checked himself, bowedprofoundly, and said in a somewhat abrupt voice:

'Gracious lady, is it by your own wish that you are unattended? Or havemy women, by long disuse, so forgotten their duties--'

Veranilda interrupted him. 

'I assure you it was my own wish, lord Marcian. We must speak of thingswhich are not for others' hearing. '

In the same unnatural voice, as though he put constraint upon himselffor the performance of a disagreeable duty, he begged her to be seated, and Veranilda, not without betraying a slight trouble of surprise, tookthe chair to which he pointed. But he himself did not sit down. In themiddle of the room stood a great bronze candelabrum, many-branched forthe suspension of lamps, at its base three figures, Pluto, Neptune, andProserpine. It was the only work of any value which the villa nowcontained, and Marcian associated it with the memories of his earliestyears. As a little child he had often gazed at those three faces, awedby their noble gravity, and, with a child's diffidence, he had neverventured to ask what beings these were. He fixed his eyes upon themnow, to avoid looking at Veranilda. She, timidly glancing at him, saidin her soft, low voice, with the simplest sincerity:

'I have not yet found words in which to thank you, lord Marcian. '

'My thanks are due to you, dear lady, for gracing this poor house withyour presence. '

His tone was more suavely courteous. For an instant he looked at her, and his lips set themselves in something meant for a smile. 

'This is the end of our journey?' she asked. 

'For some days--if the place does not displease you. '

'How could I be ill at ease in the house of Basil's friend, and withthe promise that Basil will soon come?'

Marcian stared at the face of Proserpine, who seemed to regard him withsolemn thoughtfulness. 

'Had you any forewarning of your release from the monastery?' he askedof a sudden. 

'None. None whatever. '

'You thought you would remain there for long to come?'

'I had not dared to think of that. '

Marcian took a few paces, glanced at the sweet face, the beautiful headwith its long golden hair, and came back to his place by thecandelabrum, on which he rested a trembling hand. 

'Had they spoken of making you a nun?'

A look of dread came upon her countenance, and she whispered, 'Once ortwice. '

'You would never have consented?'

'Only if I had known that release was hopeless, or that Basil--'

Her voice failed. 

'That Basil--?' echoed Marcian's lips, in an undertone. 

'That he was dead. '

'You never feared that he might have forgotten you?'

Again his accents were so hard that Veranilda gazed at him in troubledwonder. 

'You never feared that?' he added, with fugitive eyes. 

'Had I dreamt of it, ' she replied, 'I think I should not live. ' Then ina voice of anxious humility, 'Could Basil forget me?'

'Indeed, I should not think it easy, ' murmured the other, his eyes castdown. 'And what, ' he continued abruptly, 'was said to you when you leftthe convent? In what words did they take leave of you?'

'With none at all. I was bidden prepare for a journey, and soon afterthey led me to the gates. I knew nothing, nor did the woman with me. '

'Was the lady Aurelia in the same convent?' Marcian next inquired. 

'I never saw her after we had landed from the ship which carried usfrom Surrentum?'

'You do not know, of course, that Petronilla is dead?'

He told her of that, and of other events such as would interest her, but without uttering the name of Basil. Above all, he spoke of Totila, lauding the victorious king who would soon complete his triumph by theconquest of Rome. 

'I had all but forgotten, ' were Veranilda's words, when she hadlistened anxiously. 'I thought only of Basil. '

He turned abruptly from her, seemed to reflect for a moment, and saidwith formal politeness:

'Permit me now to leave you, lady. This house is yours. I would itoffered you worthier accommodation. As soon as I have news, I willagain come before you. '

Veranilda rose whilst he was speaking. Her eyes were fixed upon him, wistfully, almost pleadingly, and before he had reached the exit sheadvanced a step, with lips parted as if to beseech his delay. But hewalked too hurriedly, and was gone ere she durst utter a word. 

At the same hurried pace, gazing before him and seeing nothing, Marcianleft the villa, and walked until he came to the river side. Here was ajutting rock known as the Lover's Leap; story told of a noble maiden, frenzied by unhappy love, who had cast herself into the roaringwaterfall. Long he stood on the brink, till his eyes dazzled from thesun-stricken foam. His mind was blasted with shame; he could not holdhis head erect. In sorry effort to recover self-respect he reasonedinwardly thus:

'Where Basil may be I know not. If he is still at Asculum many daysmust pass before a summons from me could bring him hither. He mayalready be on his way to join the king, as I bade him in my lastmessage. The uncertainty, the danger of this situation, can be met onlyin one way. On leaving Rome I saw my duty plain before me. A desire topleasure my friend made me waver, but I was wrong--if Basil is to haveVeranilda for his bride he can only receive her from the hands ofTotila. Anything else would mean peril to the friend I love, anddisrespect, even treachery, to the king I honour. And so it shall be; Iwill torment myself no more. '

He hastened back into the villa, summoned Sagaris, and bade him beready in half an hour to set forth on a journey of a day or two. Hethen wrote a brief letter to the king of the Goths. It was in theGothic tongue, such Gothic as a few Romans could command for everydayuse. Herein he told that Veranilda, intrusted to him by the deaconLeander to be conducted to the king's camp, had arrived in safety athis villa by Arpinum. The country being disturbed, he had thoughtbetter to wait here with his charge until he could learn the king'spleasure, which he begged might be made known to him as soon aspossible. 

'This, ' he said, when Sagaris appeared before him equipped for travel, 'you will deliver into the king's own hands. At Aquinum you will bedirected to his camp, which cannot be far beyond. Danger there is nonebetween here and there. Make your utmost speed. '

Many were the confidential missions which Sagaris had discharged; yet, looking now into his man's face, the master was troubled by a suddenmisgiving. The state of his own mind disposed him to see perileverywhere. At another time he would not have noted so curiously a sortof gleam in the Syrian's eye, a something on the fellow's cunning, sensual lips, which might mean anything or nothing. Did Sagaris divinewho the veiled lady was? From the bishop's man he could not havelearned it, they themselves, as the bishop had assured Marcian, beingtotally ignorant in the matter. If he guessed the truth, as was likelyenough after all the talk he had heard concerning Veranilda, was it adanger? Had Sagaris any motive for treachery?

'Listen, ' continued Marcian, in a tone such as he had never before usedwith his servant, a tone rather of entreaty than of command. 'Upon thesafe and swift delivery of that letter more depends than you canimagine. You will not lack your reward. But not a word to any save theking. Should any one else question you, you will say that you bear onlya verbal message, and that you come direct from Rome. '

'My lord shall be obeyed, ' answered the slave, 'though I die undertorture. '

'Of that, ' said Marcian, with a forced laugh, 'you need have no fear. But, hark you!' He hesitated, again searching the man's countenance. 'You might chance to meet some friend of mine who would inquire afterme. No matter who it be--were it even the lord Basil--you will answerin the same words, saying that I am still in Rome. You understand me?Were it even lord Basil who asked?'

'It shall be as my lord commands, ' replied the slave, his face set inunctuous solemnity. 

'Go, then. Lose not a moment. '

Marcian watched him ride away in the blaze of the cloudless sun. Theman's head was sheltered with a broad-brimmed hat of the lightest felt, and his horse's with a cluster of vine-leaves. He rode away at a quicktrot, the while dust rising in a cloud behind him. 

And Marcian lived through the day he knew not how. It was a day ofburning sunshine, of heat scarce tolerable even in places the mostsheltered. Clad only in a loose tunic, bare-armed, bare-footed, he layor sauntered wherever shade was dense, as far as possible from the partof the villa consecrated to his guest. Hour after hour crawled by, aneternity of distressful idleness. And, even while wishing for the day'send, he dreaded the coming of the night. 

It came; the silent, lonely night, the warm, perfumed night, the seasonof fierce temptations, of dreadful opportunity. Never had thepassionate soul of Marcian been so manifestly lured by the Evil One, never had it fought so desperately in the strength of religious hopesand fears. He knelt, he prayed, his voice breaking upon the stillnesswith anguish of supplication. Between him and the celestial vision rosethat face which he had at length beheld, a face only the moreprovocative of sensual rage because of its sweet purity, its flawlesstruth. Then he flung himself upon the stones, bruised his limbs, lay atlength exhausted, as if lifeless. 

No longer could he strengthen himself by the thought of loyalty infriendship; that he had renounced. Yet he strove to think of Basil, and, in doing so, knew that he still loved him. For Basil he would doanything, suffer anything, lose anything; but when he imaged Basil withVeranilda, at once his love turned to spleen, a sullen madnesspossessed him, he hated his friend to the death. 

By his own order, two watchmen stood below the stairs which led toVeranilda's chamber. Nigh upon midnight he walked in that direction, walked in barefooted stealth, listening for a movement, a voice. Nearerand nearer he approached, till he saw at length the ray of a lantern;but no step, no murmur, told of wakeful guard. Trembling as though withcold, though sweat streamed over his body, he strode forward; there, propped against the wall, sat the two slaves fast asleep. Marcianglanced at the stairs; his face in the dim lantern light was that of adevil. All of a sudden one of the men started, and opened his eyes. Thereupon Marcian caught up a staff that lay beside them, and began tobelabour them both with savage blows. Fiercely, frantically, he pliedhis weapon, until the delinquents, who had fallen to their knees beforehim, roared for mercy. 

'Let me find you sleeping again, ' he said in a low voice, 'and youreyes shall be burnt out. '

He stole away into the darkness, and the men whispered to each otherthat he had gone mad. For Marcian was notably humane with his slaves, never having been known even to inflict a whipping. Perhaps they wereeven more astonished at this proof that their master seriously guardedthe privacy of his guest; last night they had slept for long hoursundisturbed, and, on waking, congratulated each other with familiarjests on having done just what was expected of them. 

The morn broke dark and stormy. Thunder-clouds purpled before therising sun, and ere mid-day there fell torrents of rain. Heedless ofthe sky, Marcian rode forth this morning; rode aimlessly about thehills, for the villa was no longer endurable to him. He talked awhilewith a labouring serf, who told him that the plague had broken out inArpinum, where, during the last week or two, many had died. From hissteward he had already heard the same news, but without heeding it; itnow alarmed him, and for some hours fear had a wholesome effect uponhis thoughts. In the coolness following upon the storm, he enjoyed along, tranquil sleep. And this day he did not see Veranilda. 

A mile or two down the valley was a church, built by Marcian'sgrandfather, on a spot where he had been saved from great peril; theland attached to it supported two priests and certain acolytes, together with a little colony of serfs. On his ride this morningMarcian had passed within view of the church, and would have gonethither but for his rain drenched clothing. Now, during the secondnight of temptation, he resolved to visit the priests as soon as it wasday and to bring one of them back with him to the villa, to remain aslong as Veranilda should be there. Firm in this purpose he rose withthe rising sun, called for his horse, and rode to the bridge. There, looking down at the white cataract, stood Veranilda and her attendant. 

He alighted. With a timid smile the maiden advanced to meet him. 

'Abroad so early?' were his first words, a mere tongue-found phrase. 

'I was tempted by the fresh morning. It does not displease you, lordMarcian?'

'Nay, I am glad. '

'It is so long, ' continued the gentle voice, 'since I was free to walkunder the open sky. '

Marcian forgot that his gaze was fixed upon her, forgot that he wassilent, forgot the purpose with which he had ridden forth. 

'I hoped I might see you to-day, ' she added. 'You have yet no news forme?'

'None. '

The blue eyes drooped sadly. 

'To-morrow, perhaps, ' she murmured. Then, with an effort to seemcheerful, as if ashamed of her troubled thought, 'I had listened solong to a sound of falling water that I could not resist the desire tosee it. How beautiful it is!'

Marcian felt surprise; he himself saw the cataract as an object ofbeauty, but had seldom heard it so spoken of, and could least of allhave expected such words on the lips of a woman, dread seeming to himthe more natural impression. 

'That on the other side, ' he said, pointing across the island, 'is morebeautiful still. And there is shade, whilst here the sun grows too hot. But you must not walk so far. My horse has a very even pace. If youwould let me lift you to the saddle--'

'Oh, gladly!' she answered, with a little laugh of pleasure. 

And it was done. For a moment he held her, for a moment felt the warmthand softness of her flesh; then she sat sideways upon the horse, looking down at Marcian with startled gaiety. He showed her how to holdthe reins, and the horse went gently forward. 

'It makes me a child again, ' she exclaimed. 'I have never ridden sinceI was a little girl, when my father--'

Her voice died away; her look was averted, and Marcian, remembering theshame that mingled with her memories, began to talk of other things. 

By a path that circled the villa, they came to a little wood of ilex, which shadowed the brink of the larger cataract. Marcian had biddenVeranilda's woman follow them, but as they entered the wood, hiscompanion looking eagerly before her, he turned and made a gesture ofdismissal, which the servant at once obeyed. In the shadiest spot whichoffered a view of the plunging river, he asked Veranilda if she wouldalight. 

'Willingly, I would spend an hour here, ' she replied. 'The leafage andthe water make such a delightful freshness. '

'I have anticipated your thought, ' said Marcian. 'The woman is gone tobid them bring seats. '

Veranilda glanced back in surprise and saw that they were alone. Shethanked him winsomely, and then, simply as before, accepted his help. Again Marcian held her an instant, her slim, light body trembling whenhe set her down, as if from a burden which strained his utmost force. She stepped forward to gaze at the fall. He, with an exclamation ofalarm, caught her hand and held it. 

'You are too rash, ' he said in a thick voice. 'The depth, the roar ofthe waters, will daze you. '

Against his burning palm, her hand was cool as a lily leaf. He did notrelease it, though he knew that _his_ peril from that maidenly touchwas greater far than hers from the gulf before them. Veranilda, accepting his protection with the thoughtlessness of a child, leanedforward, uttering her wonder and her admiration. He, the while, watchedher lips, fed his eyes upon her cheek, her neck, the golden ripples ofher hair. At length she gently offered to draw her hand away. A frenzyurged him to resist, but madness yielded to cunning, and he releasedher. 

'Of course Basil has been here, ' she was saying. 

'Never. '

'Never? Oh, the joy of showing him this when he comes! Lord Marcian, you do not think it will be long?'

Her eyes seemed as though they would read in the depth of his; againthe look of troubled wonder rose to her countenance. 

'It will not be more than a few days?' she added, in a timid undertone, scarce audible upon the water's deeper note. 

'I fear it may be longer, ' replied Marcian. 

He heard his own accents as those of another man. He, his very self, willed the utterance of certain words, kind, hopeful, honest; butsomething else within him commanded his tongue, and, ere he knew it, hehad added:

'You have never thought that Basil might forget you?'

Veranilda quivered as though she had been struck. 

'Why do you again ask me that question?' she said gently, but no longertimidly. 'Why do you look at me so? Surely, ' her voice sank, 'you couldnot have let me feel so happy if Basil were dead?'

'He lives. '

'Then why do you look so strangely at me? Ah, he is a prisoner?'

'Not so. No man's liberty is less in danger. '

She clasped her hands before her. 'You make me suffer. I was so lightof heart, and now--your eyes, your silence. Oh, speak, lord Marcian!'

'I have hidden the truth so long because I knew not how to utter it. Veranilda, Basil is false to you. '

Her hands fell; her eyes grew wider in wonder. She seemed not tounderstand what she had heard, and to be troubled by incomprehensionrather than by a shock of pain. 

'False to me?' she murmured. 'How false?'

'He loves another woman, and for her sake has turned to the Greeks. '

Still Veranilda gazed wonderingly. 

'Things have come to pass of which you know nothing, ' pursued Marcian, forcing his voice to a subdued evenness, a sad gravity. 'Listen whilstI tell you all. Had you remained but a few days longer at Cumae, youwould have been seized by the Greeks and sent to Constantinople; forthe Emperor Justinian himself had given this command. You came toSurrentum; you plighted troth with Basil; he would have wedded you, and--not only for safety's sake, but because he wished well to theGoths--would have sought the friendship of Totila. But you were carriedaway; vainly we searched for you; we feared you had been delivered tothe Greeks. In Rome, Basil was tempted by a woman, whom he had lovedbefore ever he saw you, a woman beautiful, but evil hearted, her nameHeliodora. She won him back to her; she made him faithless to you andto the cause of the Goths. Little by little, I learnt how far he hadgone in treachery. He had discovered where you were, but no longerdesired to release you that you might become his wife. To satisfy thejealousy of Heliodora, and at the same time to please the Greekcommander in Rome, he plotted to convey you to Constantinople. I havingdiscovered this plot, found a way to defeat it. You escaped butnarrowly. When I carried you away from Praeneste, pursuers were closebehind us, therefore it was that we travelled through the night. Hereyou are in safety, for King Totila is close at hand, and will guard youagainst your enemies. '

Veranilda pressed her hands upon her forehead, and stood mute. As hiseyes shifted furtively about her, Marcian caught sight of somethingblack and undulant stirring among stones near her feet; at once hegrasped her by the arm, and drew her towards him. 

'A viper!' he exclaimed, pointing. 

'What of that?' was her reply, with a careless glance. 'I would notstir a step to escape its fangs. '

And, burying her face in her hands, she wept. 

These tears, this attitude of bewildered grief, were Marcian'sencouragement. He had dreaded the innocence of her eyes lest it shouldturn to distrust and rejection. Had she refused to believe him, he knewnot how he would have persisted in his villainy; for, even inconcluding his story, it seemed to him that he must betray himself; soperfidious sounded to him the voice which he could hardly believe hisown, and so slinking-knavish did he feel the posture of his body, themovements of his limbs. The distress which should have smitten him tothe heart restored his baser courage. Again he spoke with the sadgravity of a sympathetic friend. 

'Dearest lady, I cannot bid you be comforted, but I entreat you topardon me, the hapless revealer of your misfortune. Say only that youforgive me. '

'What is there to forgive?' she answered, checking her all but silentsobs. 'You have told what it behoved you to tell. And it may be'--herlook changed of a sudden--'that I am too hasty in embracing sorrow. Howcan I believe that Basil has done this? Are you not misled by somefalse suspicion? Has not some enemy slandered him to you? What can yousay to make me credit a thing so evil?'

'Alas! It were but too easy for me to lengthen a tale which all butchoked me in the telling; I could name others who know, but to you theywould be only names. That of Heliodora, had you lived in Rome, weremore than enough. '

'You say he loved her before?'

'He did, dear lady, and when her husband was yet living. Now that he isdead--'

'Have you yet told me all?' asked Veranilda, gazing fixedly at him. 'Has he married her?'

'Not yet--I think. '

Again she bowed her head. For a moment her tears fell silently, thenshe looked up once more fighting against her anguish. 

'It cannot be true that he would have given me to the Greeks; that hemay have forgotten me, that he may have turned to another love, I canperhaps believe--for what am I that Basil should love me? But to schememy injury, to deliver me to our enemies--Oh, you are deceived, you aredeceived!'

Marcian was silent, with eyes cast down. In the branches, cicadastrilled their monotone. The viper, which had been startled away, againshowed its lithe blackness among the stones behind Veranilda, andMarcian, catching sight of it, again touched her arm. 

'The snake! Come away from this place. '

Veranilda drew her arm back as if his touch stung her. 

'I will go, ' she said. 'I must be alone--my thoughts are in suchconfusion I know not what I say. '

'Say but one word, ' he pleaded. 'Having rescued you, I knew not how toprovide for your security save under ward of the king. Totila is nobleand merciful; all Italy will soon be his, and the Gothic rule bere-established. Assure me that I have done well and wisely. '

'I hope you have, ' answered Veranilda, regarding him for an instant. 'But I know nothing; I must bear what befalls. Let me go to my chamber, lord Marcian, and sit alone and think. '

He led her back into the villa, and they parted without another word. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE BETRAYER BETRAYED

Sagaris, making his best speed, soon arrived at Aquinum. He and hishorse were bathed in sweat; the shelter of an inn, where he had dinner, tempted him to linger more than he need have done, and the fierce sunwas already declining when he rode forth along the Latin Way. As yet hehad seen no Goths. Every one talked of Totila, but he had a difficultyin ascertaining where at this moment the king was to be found; somedeclared he was as near as Venafrum, others that he lay much furtherdown the valley of the Vulturnus. Arrived at Venafrum, the messengerlearnt that he could not have less than another whole day's journeybefore him, so here be harboured for the night. 

His wily and unscrupulous mind had all day long been busy withspeculations as to the errand on which he was sent. Knowing that hismaster wrote to Goths in the Gothic tongue, he was spared temptation tobreak open the letter he carried; otherwise he would assuredly havedone so, for the hatred which Sagaris naturally felt for any one inauthority over him was now envenomed by jealousy, and for the lastmonth or two he had only waited an opportunity of injuring Marcian andof advancing, by the same stroke, his own fortunes. 

Having started from Rome in ignorance of his master's purpose, theevents of the night at Praeneste at once suggested to him the name ofthe person who was being so cautiously and hurriedly conveyed underMarcian's guard, and by the end of the journey he had no doubt left. Here, at last, was the Gothic maiden who had been sought sopersistently by Marcian, by Basil, by Bessas, by Heliodora, anddoubtless by many others, since her disappearance from Surrentum. Whither was she now being conducted? Sagaris did not know that amongher seekers was King Totila himself; on the other hand, he had muchreason for suspecting that Marcian pursued Veranilda with a lover'spassion, and when the journey ended at the island villa, when theconvoy of horsemen was dismissed, when he himself was sent off to adistance, he saw his suspicion confirmed. By some supreme subtlety, Marcian had got the beautiful maiden into his power, and doubtless theletter he was sending to Totila contained some device for theconcealing of what had happened. 

Now to the Syrian this would have been a matter of indifference, butfor his secret communications with Heliodora and all that had resultedtherefrom. Heliodora's talk was of three persons--of Marcian, of Basil, of Veranilda--and Sagaris, reasoning from all the gossip he had heard, and from all he certainly knew, concluded that the Greek lady had onceloved Basil, but did so no more, that her love had turned to Marcian, and that she either knew or suspected Marcian to be a rival of Basilfor the love of Veranilda. Thus had matters stood (he persuadedhimself) until his own entrance on the scene. That a woman might lookwith ardent eyes on more than one man in the same moment, seemed toSagaris the simplest of facts; he consequently found it easy to believethat, even whilst loving Marcian, Heliodora should have conceived atenderness for Marcian's slave. That Heliodora's professions might bemere trickery, he never imagined; his vanity forbade it; at eachsuccessive meeting he seemed to himself to have strengthened his holdupon the luxurious woman; each time he came away with a fiercer hatredof Marcian, and a deeper resolve to ruin him. True, as yet, he had fedonly on promises, but being the man he was, he could attribute toHeliodora a selfish interest in combination with a lover's desire; whatmore intelligible than that she should use him to the utmost againstthose she hated, postponing his reward until he had rendered hersubstantial service? Thus did Sagaris feel and reason, whilst ridingalong the Latin Way. His difficulty was to decide how he should act atthis juncture; how, with greatest profit to himself, he could do mostscathe to Marcian. 

Was his master serving the Greeks or the Goths? Uncertainty on thispoint had long troubled his meditations, and was now a cause of graveembarrassment. Eager to betray, he could not be sure to which sidebetrayal should direct itself. On the whole he himself favoured Totila, feeling sure that the Goth would bring the war to a triumphant end; andon this account he was disposed to do his errand faithfully. If theking interrogated him, he could draw conclusions from the questionsasked, and could answer as seemed best for his own ends. So he decidedto push on, and, despite the storm which broke on this second morning, he rode out from Venafrum. 

A few hours' travel, and, drenched with the furious rain, he came toAesernia. This town stood in a strong position on an isolated hill; itsmassive walls yet compassed it about. On arriving at the gate he foundhimself unexpectedly challenged by armed men, who, though Italians, heat once suspected to be in the Gothic service. A moment's hesitancy inreplying to the questions, 'Whence?' and 'Whither?' sufficed to put himunder arrest. He was led to the captain, in whom with relief herecognised Venantius of Nuceria. His doubts being at an end, for heknew that this Roman noble had long since openly joined Totila, hebegged that Venantius would hear him in private, and this beinggranted, began by telling in whose service he was. 

'I thought I somehow remembered your face, ' said the captain, whoselook seemed to add that the face did not particularly please him. 'Andwhere is the lord Marcian?'

'In Rome, Illustrious. '

'You have come straight from Rome, then?'

The answer was affirmative and boldly given. 

'And whither are you bound? On what business?'

Sagaris, still obeying his master's injunctions, declared that hecarried a verbal message to the King of the Goths, and for him alone. Having reflected for a moment, Venantius called the soldier who stoodwithout the door. 

'See to the wants of this messenger. Treat him hospitably, and bringhim hither again in an hour's time. '

The captain then walked to a house close by, where, admitted to theatrium, he was at once met by an elderly lady, who bent respectfullybefore him. 

'Has the traveller yet risen?' he began by asking. 

'Not yet, my lord. A little while ago his servant told me that he wasstill sleeping. '

'Good; he will recover from his fatigue. But pray inquire whether he isnow awake, for I would speak with him as soon as may be. '

The lady was absent for a minute or two, then brought word that thetraveller had just awoke. 

'I will go to his bedside, ' said Venantius. 

He was led to an upper chamber, a small, bare, tiled-floored room, lighted by a foot-square window, on which the shutter was half closedagainst the rays of the sun. Some aromatic odour hung in the air. 

'Do you feel able to talk?' asked the captain as he entered. 

'I am quite restored, ' was the reply of a man sitting up in the bed. 'The fever has passed. '

'So much for the wisdom of physicians!' exclaimed Venantius with alaugh. 'That owl-eyed Aesernian who swears by Aesculapius that he hasstudied at Constantinople, Antioch, and I know not where else, whispered to me that you would never behold to-day's sunset. Iwhispered to _him_ that he was an ass, and that if he uttered the word_plague_ to any one in the house, I would cut his ears off. Nevertheless, I had you put into this out-of-the-way room, that youmight not be disturbed by noises. Who'--he sniffed--'has been burningperfumes?'

'My good fellow Felix. Though travel-worn and wounded, he has sat by meall the time, and would only go to bed when I woke up with a coolforehead. '

'A good fellow, indeed. His face spells honesty. I can't say so muchfor that of a man I have just been talking with--a messenger of yourfriend Marcian. '

The listener started as though he would leap out of bed. A rush ofcolour to his cheeks banished the heavy, wan aspect which had partlydisguised him, and restored the comely visage of Basil. A messengerfrom Marcian? he exclaimed. With news for _him_? And, as if expecting aletter, he stretched forth his hand eagerly. 

'He has nothing, that I know of, for you, ' said the captain. 'If hetells the truth, he is charged with a message for the king. '

'Is it Sagaris--a Syrian slave?'

'A Syrian, by his looks; one I remember to have seen with Marcian ayear ago. '

'Sagaris, to be sure. Then you can trust him. He has the eye of hisrace, and is a prating braggart, but Marcian has found him honest. Imust see him, Venantius. Will you send him to me, dear lord?'

Venantius had seated himself on a chair that was beside the bed; hewore a dubious look, and, before speaking again, glanced keenly atBasil. 

'Did you not expect, ' he asked, 'to meet Marcian in the king's camp?'

'My last news from him bade me go thither as fast as I could, as hehimself was leaving Rome to join the king. I should have gone a littleout of my road to visit his villa near Arpinum, on the chance ofhearing news of him there; but our encounter with the marauders droveme too far away. '

'So much, ' said Venantius, 'I gathered from your talk last night, whenyou were not quite so clear-headed as you are now. What I want todiscover is whether this Syrian has lied to me. He declares that heleft Marcian in Rome. Now it happens that some of our men, who weresent for a certain purpose, yesterday, along the Latin Way, came acrosshalf a dozen horsemen, riding westward, and as their duty was, learntall they could from them. These six fellows declared themselvesservants of the bishop of Praeneste, and said that they had just beenconvoying a Roman noble and a lady to a villa not far from Arpinum. Andthe noble's name--they had it, said they, from his own servants at thevilla, where they had passed a night--was Marcian. '

Basil stared; he had gone pale again and haggard. 

'What lady was with him?' he asked, under his breath. 

'That I cannot tell you. The bishop's men knew nothing about her, andhad not seen her face. But'--Venantius smiled--'they left her safelyhoused with our friend Marcian. How comes this Syrian to say that hismaster is at Rome? Does he lie? Or did the horsemen lie? Or are there, perchance, two Marcians?'

'I must speak with him, ' said Basil. 'Leave me to find out the truthfor you. Send Sagaris here, Venantius, I entreat you. '

The captain appeared to hesitate, but, on Basil's beseeching him not todelay, he agreed and left the room. As soon as he was alone, Basilsprang up and dressed. He was aching from head to foot, and a parchedmouth, a hot hand, told of fever in his blood. On receipt of Marcian'slast letter, he had not delayed a day before setting forth; all was inreadiness for such a summons, and thirty well-mounted, well-armed men, chosen from the slaves and freedmen on his Asculan estate in Picenum, rode after him to join the King of the Goths. The journey was rapidlyperformed; already they were descending the lower slopes of thewestward Apennine, when they had the ill-luck to fall in with that sameband of marauders which Marcian so narrowly escaped. Basil's firstthought was that the mounted troop coming towards him might hem theGothic service, but this hope was soon dispelled. Advancing with fiercethreats, the robbers commanded him and his men to alight, their chiefdesire being no doubt to seize the horses and arms. Though outnumbered, Basil shouted defiance; a conflict began, and so stout was theresistance they met that, after several had fallen on either side, thebrigands drew off. Not, however, in final retreat; galloping on in hopeof succour, Basil found himself pursued, again lost two or three men, and only with the utmost difficulty got clear away. 

It was the young Roman's first experience of combat. For this he hadbeen preparing himself during the past months, exercising his body andstriving to invigorate his mind, little apt for warlike enterprise. When the trial came, his courage did not fail, but the violent emotionsof that day left him so exhausted, so shaken in nerve, that he couldscarce continue his journey. He had come out of the fight unwounded, but at nightfall fever fell upon him, and he found no rest. The loss ofsome half dozen men grieved him to the heart; had the brave fellowsfallen in battle with the Greeks, he would have thought less of it; tosee them slain, or captured, by mere brigands was more than he couldbear. When at length he reached Aesernia, and there unexpectedly metwith Venantius, he fell from his horse like a dying man. A draughtgiven by the physician sent him to sleep, and from the second hourafter sunset until nearly noon of to-day he had lain unconscious. 

What he now learnt from Venantius swept into oblivion all that he hadundergone. If it were true that Marcian had travelled in this directionwith a lady under his guard, Basil could not doubt for a moment whothat lady was. The jest of Venantius did not touch him, for Venantiusspoke, it was evident, without a thought of Veranilda, perhaps hadforgotten her existence; not the faintest tremor of uneasiness stirredin Basil's mind when he imagined Veranilda at his friend's house;Marcian had discovered her, had rescued her, had brought her thither torest in safety till her lover could join them--brave Marcian, truest offriends! For this had he sent the summons southward, perhaps not daringto speak more plainly in a letter, perhaps not being yet quite sure ofsuccess. This had he so often promised--O gallant Marcian!

Quivering with eagerness, he stood at the door of his chamber. Footsteps sounded; there appeared a slave of the house, and behind himthat dark, handsome visage which he was expecting. 

'Sagaris! My good Sagaris!' he cried joyously. 

The Syrian knelt before him and kissed his hand, but uttered no word. At sight of Basil, for which he was not at all prepared, Sagaris felt ahappy shock; he now saw his way before him, and had no more anxiety. But, on rising from the obeisance, he let his head drop; his eyeswandered: one would have said that he shrank from observation. 

'Speak low, ' said Basil, standing by the open door so as to guardagainst eavesdropping. 'What message have you for me?'

Sagaris replied that he had none. 

'None? Your lord charged you with nothing for me in case you shouldmeet me on your way?'

Again Sagaris murmured a negative, and this time with so manifest anair of confusion that Basil stared at him, suspicious, angry. 

'What do you mean? What are you keeping from me?'

The man appeared to stammer incoherencies. 

'Listen, ' said Basil in a low, friendly voice. 'You know very well thatthe lord Marcian has no secrets from me. With me you can speak inentire confidence. What has come to you, man? Tell me--did your lordleave Rome before or after you?'

'At the same time. '

No sooner had this reply fallen from his lips than Sagaris seemedstricken with alarm. He entreated pardon, declared he knew not what hewas saying, that he was dazed by the weariness of travel. 

'I should have said--neither before nor after. My lord remains in thecity. I was to return with all speed. '

'He remains in the city?'

Basil reflected. It was possible that Marcian had either purposelyconcealed his journey from this slave, and had suddenly found himselfable to set forth just after Sagaris had started. 

'You bear a letter for the king?' he asked. 

'A letter, Illustrious, ' answered the slave, speaking very low. 

'Ah, a letter?'

Sagaris went on to say that he had kept this a secret from Venantius, his master having bidden him speak of it to no one and deliver it intothe king's own hand. 

'It is in the Gothic tongue, ' he added, his head bent, his look morefurtive than ever; 'and so urgent that I have scarce rested an hoursince leaving the villa. '

A terrible light flashed into Basil's eyes. Then he sprang at thespeaker, caught him by the throat, forced him to his knees. 

'Scoundrel, you dare to lie to me! So you started from the villa andnot from Rome?'

Sagaris cried out for mercy, grovelled on the floor. He would telleverything; but he implored Basil to keep the secret, for, did hismaster learn what had happened, his punishment would be terrible. 

'Fool!' cried Basil fiercely. 'How come you to have forgotten all atonce that I am your lord's chosen friend, and that everythingconcerning him is safe with me. In very deed, I think you have riddentoo hard in the sun; your brains must have frizzled. Blockhead! If inhaste, the lord Marcian did not speak of me, he took it for grantedthat, should you meet me--'

Something so like a malicious smile flitted over the slave'scountenance that in extremity of wrath he became mute. 

'Your Nobility is deceived, ' said Sagaris, in the same moment. 'My lordexpressly forbade me to tell you the truth, should I see you on myjourney. '

Basil stared at him. 

'I swear by the holy Cross, ' exclaimed the other, 'that this is true. And if I did not dread your anger, I could tell you the reason. I darenot. By all the saints I dare not!'

A strange quiet fell upon Basil. It seemed as if he would ask no morequestions; he half turned away, and stood musing. Indeed, it was asthough he had already heard all the slave had to tell, and so overcomewas he by the revelation that speech, even connected thought, was atfirst impossible. As he recovered from the stupefying blow, the bloodbegan to boil in his veins. He felt as when, in the fight of two daysago, he saw the first of his men pierced by a javelin. Turning again toSagaris, he plied him with brief and rapid questions, till he hadlearnt every detail of Marcian's journey from Rome to the villa. TheSyrian spoke of the veiled lady without hesitation as Veranilda, andpretended to have known for some time that she was in a convent atPraeneste; but, when interrogated as to her life at the villa, heaffected an affectation of doubt, murmuring that he had beheld nothingwith his own eyes, that perhaps the female slaves gossiped idly. 

'What do they say?' asked Basil with unnatural self-control. 

'They speak of her happy mien and gay talk, of her walking with my lordin private. But I know nothing. '

Basil kept his eyes down for a long minute, then moved like one who hastaken a resolve. 

'Show me the letter you bear, ' he commanded. 

Sagaris produced it, and having looked at the seal, Basil silentlyhanded it back again. 

'Thrice noble, ' pleaded the slave, 'you will not deliver me to mylord's wrath?'

'Have no fear; unless in anything you have lied to me. Follow. '

They descended the stairs, and Basil had himself conducted to the housewhere Venantius sate at dinner. He spoke with the captain in private. 

'This slave has a letter, not merely a message, for the king. He saysit is urgent, and so it may be; but, from what I have learnt I doubtwhether he is wholly to be trusted. Can you send some one with him?'

'Nothing easier. '

'I, ' continued Basil, 'ride straightway for Arpinum. Ask me noquestions, Venantius. When I return, if I do return, you shall knowwhat sent me there. I may be back speedily. '

He took food, and in an hour's time was ready to start. Of hisfollowers, he chose ten to accompany him. The rest remained atAesernia. Felix, worn out by watching and with a slight wound in theside which began to be troublesome, he was reluctantly obliged toleave. Having inquired as to the road over the mountains by which hemight reach Arpinum more quickly than by the Latin Way, he rode forthfrom the town, and was soon spurring at headlong speed in a cloud ofdust. 

His thoughts far outstripped him; he raged at the prospect of longhours to elapse ere he could reach Marcian's villa. With good luck hemight arrive before nightfall. If disappointed in that, a whole nightmust pass, an eternity of torment, before he came face to face with himhe had called his dearest friend, now his abhorred enemy. 

What if he did not find him at the villa? Marcian had perhaps nointention of remaining there. Perhaps he had already carried off hisvictim to some other place. 

Seeing their lord post so furiously, the men looked in wonder at eachother. Some of them were soon left far behind, and Basil, thoughmerciless in his frenzy, saw at length that his horse was seriouslydistressed; he slackened pace, allowed his followers to rejoin him, androde, perforce, at what seemed to him a mere crawl. The sun was aflaming furnace; the earth seemed to be overspread with white fire-ash, which dazed the eyes and choked. But Basil felt only the fire in hisheart and brain. Forgetful of all about him, he had not ridden morethan a few miles, when he missed the road; his men, ignorant of thecountry, followed him without hesitation, and so it happened that, onstopping at one of the few farms on their way, to ask how far it stillwas to Arpinum, he learnt that he must ride back for nearly a couple ofhours to regain the track he should have taken. He broke into franticrage, cursed the countrymen who directed him, and as he spurred hisbeast, cursed it too because of its stumbling at a stone. 

There was now no hope of finishing the journey to-day. His head on hisbreast, Basil rode more and more slowly. The sun declined, and ere longit would be necessary to seek harbourage. But here among the hills noplace of human habitation came in view. Luckily for themselves some ofthe horsemen had brought provender. Their lord had given thought to nosuch thing. The sun set; the hills cast a thickening shadow, even Basilbegan to gaze uneasily ahead. At length there appeared a building, looking in the dusky distance like a solitary country house. It provedto be the ruin of a temple. 

'Here we must stop, ' said Basil. 'My horse can go no further. Indeed, the darkness would stay us in any case. We must shelter in these walls. '

The men peered at each other, and a whisper went among them. For theirpart, said one and all, they would rest under the open sky. Basilunderstood. 

'What! you are afraid? Fools, do as you will. These walls shall shelterme though all the devils in hell were my bedfellows. '

What had come to him? asked his followers. Never had Basil been knownto speak thus. Spite of their horror of a forsaken temple, two or threeentered, and respectfully made offer of such food as they had withthem. Basil accepted a piece of bread, bade them see to his horse, andcrept into a corner of the building. He desired to be alone and tothink; for it seemed to him that he had not yet been able to reflectupon the story told by Sagaris. What was it that lurked there at theback of his mind? A memory, a suggestion of some sort, which would havehelped him to understand could he but grasp it. As he munched his breadhe tried desperately to think, to remember; but all within him was apassionate misery, capable only of groans and curses. An intolerableweariness possessed his limbs. After sitting for a while with his backagainst the wall, he could not longer hold himself in this position, but sank down and lay at full length; and even so he ached, ached, fromhead to foot. 

Perhaps an hour had passed, and it was now quite dark within thetemple, when two of the men appeared with blazing torches, for they, bymeans of flint and iron, had lit a fire in a hollow hard by, and meantto keep it up through the night as a protection against wolves. Theybrought Basil a draught of water in a leather bottle, from a littlestream they had found; and he drank gratefully, but without a word. Thetorchlight showed bare walls and a shattered roof. Having searched allround and discovered neither reptile nor beast, the men made a bed ofleaves and bracken, with a folded cloak for a pillow, and invited theirmaster to lie upon it. Basil did so, turned his face away, and badethem leave him alone. 

What was that memory at the back of his mind? In the effort to draw itforth he ground his teeth together, dug his nails into his hands. Atmoments he forgot why he was wretched, and, starting up, strained hiseyes into the darkness, until he saw the face of Sagaris and heard himspeaking. 

For a while he slept; but dreadful dreams soon awoke him, and, remembering where he was, he shook with horror. Low sounds fell uponhis ear, movements, he thought, in the black night. He would haveshouted to his men, but shame kept him mute. He crossed himself andprayed to the Virgin; then, raising his eyes, he saw through the brokenroof a space of sky in which a star shone brilliantly. It brought himcomfort; but the next moment he remembered Sagaris, and mental anguishblended with his fears of the invisible. 

Again sleep overcame him. He dreamt that an evil spirit, with a face heknew but could not name, was pursuing him over trackless mountains. Hefled like the wind; but the spirit was close behind him, and whereverhe turned his head, he saw the familiar face grinning a devilishmockery. A precipice lay before him. He leapt wildly, and knew at oncethat he had leapt into fire, into hell. But the red gleam was that of atorch, and before him, as he opened his eyes, stood one of his faithfulattendants who had come to see if all was well with him. He asked forwater, and the man fetched him a draught. It was yet long till dawn. 

Now he could not lie still, for fever burned him. Though awake, he sawvisions, and once sent forth what seemed to him a yell of terror; butin truth it was only a moan, and no one heard. He relived through thefight with the marauders; sickened with dread at the gleam of weapons;flamed into fury, and shouted with savage exultation as he felt hissword cut the neck of an enemy. He was trying to think of Veranilda, but all through the night her image eluded him, and her name left himcold. He was capable only of hatred. At daybreak he slept heavily; themen, approaching him and looking at his haggard face, thought better tolet him rest, and only after sunrise did he awake. He was angry thatthey had not aroused him sooner, got speedily to horse, and rode offalmost at the same speed as yesterday. Now, at all events, he drew nearto his goal; for a ride of an hour or two he needed not to spare hisbeast; sternly he called to his men to follow him close. 

And all at once, as though his brain were restored by the freshness ofthe morning, he grasped the thought which had eluded him. Marcian'streachery was no new thing: twice he had been warned against hisseeming friend, by Petronilla and by Bessas, and in his folly he hadscorned the accusation which time had now so bitterly justified. Forgotten, utterly forgotten, until this moment; yet how blinded hemust have been by his faith in Marcian's loyalty not to have reflectedupon many circumstances prompting suspicion. Marcian had perhaps beenfalse to him from the very day of Veranilda's disappearance, and howfar did his perfidy extend? Had he merely known where she wasconcealed, or had he seen her, spoken with her, wooed her all along? Hehad won her; so much was plain; and he could scarce have done so duringthe brief journey to his villa. O villainous Marcian! O fickle, wantonVeranilda!

So distinct before his fiery imagination shone the image of those twolaughing together, walking alone (as Sagaris had reported), that allreasoning, such as a calmer man might have entertained, was utterlyforbidden. Not a doubt crossed his mind. And in his heart was no desirebut of vengeance. 

At length he drew near to Arpinum. Avoiding the town, he questioned apeasant at work in the fields, and learnt his way to the island. Justas he came within view of the eastward waterfall, a girl was crossingthe bridge, away from the villa. Basil drew rein, bidding his men dolikewise, and let the girl, who had a bundle on her head, draw near. Atsight of the horsemen, of whom she was not aware till close by them, the maid uttered a cry of alarm, and would have run back but Basilintercepted her, jumped from his horse, and bade her have no fear, ashe only wished to ask a harmless question. Easily he learnt thatMarcian was at the villa, that he had arrived a few days ago, and thatwith him had come a lady. 

'What is that lady's name?' he inquired. 

The girl did not know. Only one or two of the slaves, she said, hadseen her; she was said to be beautiful, with long yellow hair. 

'She never goes out?' asked Basil. 

The reply was that, only this morning, she had walked in the wood--thewood just across the bridge--with Marcian. 

Basil sprang on to his horse, beckoned his troop, and rode forward. 

CHAPTER XXII

DOOM

When Marcian parted from Veranilda in the peristyle, and watched her asshe ascended to her chamber, he knew that sombre exultation whichfollows upon triumph in evil. Hesitancies were now at end; no longercould he be distracted between two desires. In his eye, as it pursuedthe beauty for which he had damned himself, glowed the fire of anunholy joy. Not without inner detriment had Marcian accustomed himselffor years to wear a double face; though his purpose had been pure, thehabit of assiduous perfidy, of elaborate falsehood, could not leave hissoul untainted. A traitor now for his own ends, he found himself movingin no unfamiliar element, and, the irrevocable words once uttered, hethrilled with defiance of rebuke. All the persistency of the mancentred itself upon the achievement of this crime, to him a crime nolonger from the instant that he had irreversibly willed it. 

On fire to his finger-tips, he could yet reason with the coldestclarity of thought. Having betrayed his friend thus far, he must needsbetray him to the extremity of traitorhood; must stand face to facewith him in the presence of the noble Totila, and accuse him even as hehad done to Veranilda. Only thus, as things had come about, could heassure himself against the fear that Totila, in generosity, or policy, or both, might give the Amal-descended maid to Basil. To defeat Basil'slove was his prime end, jealousy being more instant with him thanfleshly impulse. Yet so strong had this second motive now become, thathe all but regretted his message to the king: to hold Veranilda in hispower, to gratify his passion sooner or later, by this means or bythat, he would perhaps have risked all the danger to which suchaudacity exposed him. But Marcian was not lust-bitten quite to madness. For the present, enough to ruin the hopes of Basil. This done, thefield for his own attempt lay open. By skilful use of his advantages, he might bring it to pass that Totila would grant him a supremereward--the hand of Veranilda. 

Unless, indeed, the young king, young and warm-blooded however noble ofmind, should himself look upon Veranilda with a lover's eyes. It wasnot the first time that Marcian had thought of this. It made him wince. But he reminded himself that herein lay another safeguard against thehappiness of Basil, and so was able to disregard the fear. 

He would let his victim repose during the heat of the day, and then, towards evening, would summon her to another interview. Not much longercould he hope to be with her in privacy; to-morrow, or the next day atlatest, emissaries of the Gothic king would come in response to hisletter. But this evening he should speak with her, gaze upon her, for along, long hour. She was gentle, meek, pious; in everything theexquisite antithesis of such a woman as Heliodora. Out of very humilityshe allowed herself to believe that Basil had ceased to love her. Howpersuade her, against the pure loyalty of her heart, that he had evenplotted her surrender to an unknown fate? What proof of that could hedevise? Did he succeed in overcoming her doubts, would he not have gonefar towards winning her gratitude?

She would shed tears again; it gave him a nameless pleasure to seeVeranilda weep. 

Thinking thus, he strayed aimlessly and unconsciously in courts andcorridors. Night would come again, and could he trust himself throughthe long, still night after long speech with Veranilda? A blackerthought than any he had yet nurtured began to stir in his mind, raisingits head like the viper of an hour ago. Were she but his--hisirredeemably? He tried to see beyond that, but his vision blurred. 

Her nature was gentle, timid; the kind of nature, he thought, whichsubdues itself to the irreparable. So soft, so sweet, so utterly woman, might she not, thinking herself abandoned by Basil, yield heart andsoul to a man whom she saw helpless to resist a passionate love of her?Or, if this hope deceived him, was there no artifice with which tocover his ill-doing, no piece of guile subtle enough to cloak suchdaring infamy?

He was in the atrium, standing on the spot where first he had talkedwith her. As then, he gazed at the bronze group of the candelabrum; hiseyes were fixed on those of Proserpine. 

A slave entered and announced to him a visit from one of the priestswhom he was going to see when the meeting at the bridge changed hispurpose. The name startled him. Was this man sent by God? He badeintroduce the visitor, and in a moment there entered a white-bearded, shoulder-bowed ecclesiastic, perspiring from the sunshine, who greetedhim with pleasant cordiality. This priest it was--he bore the nameGaudiosus--who had baptized Marcian, and had given him in childhoodreligious teaching; a good, but timid man, at all times readier topraise than to reprove, a well-meaning utterer of smooth things, closing his eyes to evil, which confused rather than offended him. Fromthe same newsbearer, who told him of Marcian's arrival at the villa, Gaudiosus had heard of a mysterious lady; but it was far from histhought to meddle with the morals of one whose noble birth andhereditary position of patron inspired him with respect; he came onlyto gossip about the affairs of the time. They sat down together, Marcian glad of the distraction. But scarce had they been talking forfive minutes, when again the servant presented himself. 

'What now?' asked his master impatiently. 

'My lord, at the gate is the lord Basil. '

Marcian started up. 

'Basil? How equipped and attended?'

'Armed, on horseback, and with a number of armed horsemen. '

'Withdraw, and wait outside till I call you. '

Marcian turned to the presbyter. His cheeks were flushed, his eyesstrangely bright. 

'Here, ' he said, in low, hurried tones, 'comes an evil man, a deep-dyedtraitor, with the aspect of friendliest integrity. I am glad you arewith me. I have no leisure now to tell you the story; you shall hear itafterwards. What I ask of you, reverend father, is to bear me out inall I say, to corroborate, if asked to do so, all I state to him. Youmay rely upon the truth of every word I shall utter; and may be assuredthat, in doing this, you serve only the cause of good. Let it notsurprise you that I receive the man with open arms. He was my dearfriend; I have only of late discovered his infamy, and for the gravestreasons, which you shall learn, I am obliged to mask my knowledge. Beloved father, you will give me your countenance?'

'I will, I will, ' replied Gaudiosus nervously. 'You would not deceiveme, I well know, dear son. '

'God forbid!'

Marcian summoned the waiting servant, and ordered that the travellershould be straightway admitted. A few minutes passed in absolutesilence, then, as the two stood gazing towards the entrance, they sawthe gleam of a casque and of a breastplate, and before them stoodBasil. His arms extended, Marcian stepped forward. 

'So soon, O brave Basil!' he exclaimed. 'What speed you must have made!How long is it since my letter reached you?'

There passed the semblance of an embrace between them. Basil was deathpale; he spoke in hollow tones, as though his tongue were parched, andlooked with bloodshot eyes from Marcian to the ecclesiastic. 

'I am travel-worn. Your hospitality must restore me. '

'That it shall, ' replied Marcian. 'Or, better still, ' he added, 'thehospitality of my father Gaudiosus. ' He touched the priest's arm, as ifaffectionately. 'For here there is little solace; barely one chamberhabitable. You have often heard me describe, O Basil, my poor, ruinousisland villa, and now at length you behold it. I did not think youwould pass this way, or I would have prepared for your fittingreception. By the greatest chance you find me here; and to-morrow Imust be gone. But scarce two thousand paces from here is the dwellingof this reverend man, who will entertain you fittingly, and give youthe care you need; for it seems to me, dear Basil, that you are morethan wearied. '

The listener nodded, and let himself drop upon a seat near to whereMarcian was standing. 

'What have you to tell me?' he asked under his breath. 

'Nothing good, alas!' was the murmured reply. 

'Shall we speak in private?'

'Nay, it is needless. All my secrets lie open to Gaudiosus. '

Again Basil cast a glance at the presbyter, who had seated himself andappeared to be absorbed in thought. 

'Do you mean, ' he asked, 'that something new has befallen?'

His eyes were upon Marcian, and Marcian's upon those of Proserpine. 

'Yes, something new. The deacon of whom you know has left Rome, accompanying the Pope on his journey eastward. And with him he hastaken--'

A name was shaped upon the speaker's lips, but whether of purpose, orbecause his voice failed him, it found no utterance. 

'Veranilda?'

As Basil spoke, his eye was caught by the movement of a curtain at theback of the room. The curtain was pushed aside, and there appeared thefigure of a maiden, pale, beautiful. Marcian did not see her, nor yetdid the priest. 

'Veranilda?' repeated Basil, in the same questioning tone. He leanedforward, his hand upon his wrist. 

'She--alas!' was Marcian's reply. 

'Liar! traitor! devil!'

At each word, Basil's dagger drank blood up to the hilt. With hisfurious voice blended a yell of terror, of agony, a faint cry of horrorfrom Gaudiosus, and a woman's scream. Then came silence. 

The priest dropped to his knees by Marcian's prostrate form. Basil, thestained weapon in his crimson hand, stared at Veranilda, who also hadfallen. 

'Man! What hast thou done?' gasped Gaudiosus. 

The trembling, senile tones wakened Basil as if from a trance. Hethrust his dagger into its sheath, stepped to the back of the room, andbent over the white loveliness that lay still. 

'Is it death?' he murmured. 

'Death! death!' answered the priest, who had just heard Marcian's lastsob. 

'I speak not of that perjured wretch, ' said Basil. 'Come hither. '

Gaudiosus obeyed, and looked with wonder at the unconscious face. 

'Who is this?' he asked. 

'No matter who. Does she live?'

Basil had knelt, and taken one of the little hands in both his own, staining it with the blood of Marcian. 

'I can feel no throb of life, ' he said, speaking coldly, mechanically. 

The priest bent, and put his cheek to her lips. 

'She lives. This is but a swoon. Help me to bear her to the couch. '

But Basil took the slender body in his arms, and carried it like thatof a child. When he had laid it down, he looked at Gaudiosus sternly. 

'Have you authority in this house?'

'Some little, perhaps. I know not. What is your will?'

Utterly confounded, his eyes dropping moisture, his limbs shaken as ifwith palsy, the priest babbled his reply. 

'Use any power you have, ' continued Basil, 'to prevent more bloodshed. Outside the gates are men of mine. Bid the porter admit them to theouter court. Then call thither two servants, and let them bear away_that_--whither you will. After, you shall hear more. '

Like an obedient slave, Gaudiosus sped on his errand. Basil the whilestood gazing at Veranilda; but he did not go very near to her, and hislook had nothing of tenderness. He saw the priest return, followed bytwo men, heard him whisper to them, saw them take up and carry awaytheir master's corpse; all this as if it did not regard him. Again heturned his gaze upon Veranilda. It seemed to him that her lips, hereyelids moved. He bent forward, heard a sigh. Then the blue eyesopened, but as yet saw nothing. 

Gaudiosus reappeared, and Basil beckoned him. 

'You do not know her?' he asked in a low voice. 

'I never looked upon her face till now, ' was the reply. 

At the sound of their voices Veranilda stirred, tried to rouse herself, uttered a sound of distress. 

'Speak to her, ' said Basil. 

Gaudiosus approached the couch, and spoke soothing words. 

'What dreadful thought is this?' said Veranilda. 'What have I seen?'

The priest whispered an adjuration to prayer. But she, raising herhead, cast terrified glances about the hall. Basil had moved furtheraway, and she did not seem to be aware of his presence. 

'How long is it, ' he asked, with his eyes upon Gaudiosus, 'sinceMarcian came from Rome?'

'This is the fourth day. So I have been told. I myself saw him for thefirst time not an hour--nay, not half an hour ago. '

'You knew not that he brought _her_ with him?'

Basil, without looking in that direction, signalled with his headtowards Veranilda. 

'I had heard of some companion unnamed. '

'He had not spoken of her to you?'

'Not a word. '

On the tesselated floor where Marcian had fallen was a pool of blood. Basil only now perceived it, and all at once a violent shudder wentover him. 

'Man of God!' he exclaimed in a voice of sudden passion, terriblyresonant after the dull, hard accents of his questioning. 'You lookupon me with abhorrence, and, perhaps, with fear. Hearken to myvindication. He whom I have slain was the man I held in dearestfriendship. I believed him true to the heart's core. Yesterday--was itbut yesterday?--O blessed Christ!--it seems to me so long ago--Ilearned that his heart was foul with treachery. Long, long, he has liedto me, pretending to seek with me for one I had lost, my plighted love. In secret he robbed me of her. Heard you not his answer when, to catchthe lie on his very lips, I asked what news he could give me of her. Iknew that she was here; his own servant had secretly avowed the truthto me. And you heard him say that she was gone on far travel. Thereforeit was that he would not harbour me in his house--me, his friend. Inthe name of the Crucified, did I not well to lay him low?'

Somewhat recovered from the emotions which had enfeebled him, Gaudiosusheld up his head, and made solemn answer. 

'Not yours was it to take vengeance. The God to whom you appeal hassaid: "Thou shalt do no murder. "'

'Consider his crime, ' returned the other. 'In the moment when he sworefalsely I lifted up my eyes, and behold, she herself stood before me. She whom I loved, who had pledged herself to me, who long ago wouldhave been my wife but for the enemy who came between us--she, hiddenhere with him, become a wanton in his embraces--'

A low cry of anguish interrupted him. He turned. Veranilda had risenand drawn near. 

'Basil! You know not what you say. '

'Nor what I _could_ say, ' he replied, his eyes blazing with scorn. 'You, who were truth itself have you so well learned to lie? Talk on. Tell me that he held you here perforce, and that you passed the daysand the nights in weeping. Have I not heard of your smiles and yourcontentment? Whither did you stray this morning? Did you go into thewood to say your orisons?'

Veranilda turned to the priest. 

'Servant of God I Hear me, unhappy that I am!'

With a gesture of entreaty she flung out her hands, and, in doing so, saw that one of them was red. Her woebegone look changed to terror. 

'What is this? His blood is upon me--on my hand, my garment. When did Itouch him? Holy father, whither has he gone? Does he live? Oh, tell meif he lives!'

'Come hence with me, ' said Gaudiosus. 'Come where I may hear you utterthe truth before God. '

But Veranilda was as one distraught. She threw herself on to her knees. 

'Tell me he lives. He is but sorely hurt? He can speak? Whither havethey carried him?'

Confirmed in his damning thought by every syllable she uttered, Basilstrode away. 

'Lead her where you will, ' he shouted. 'I stay under this abhorred roofonly till my men have eaten and taken rest. '

Without knowing it, he had stepped into the pool of blood, and a redtrack was left behind him as he went forth from the hall. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE RED HAND

Resting at length from desire and intrigue, Marcian lay cold upon thebed where he had passed his haunted nights. About his corpse weregathered all the servants of the house; men, with anger on their brows, muttering together, and women wailing low because of fear. The girl whohad met the horsemen by the bridge told her story, whence it becameevident that Marcian's death was the result of private quarrel; butsome of the slaves declared that this armed company came in advance ofthe Gothic host; and presently the loss of their master was all butforgotten in anxiety as to their own fate at the hands of the Emperor. 

This talk was interrupted by the approach of Basil's men, who came toseek a meal for themselves and forage for their horses. Having nochoice but to obey, the servants went about the work required of them. A quiet fell upon the house. The strangers talked little, and, whenthey spoke, subdued their voices. In still chambers and corridors washeard now and then a sound of weeping. 

Basil, though he had given orders for departure as soon as the meal wasdone, knew not whither his journey should be directed. A paralysis ofthought and will kept him pacing alone in the courtyard; food he couldnot touch; of repose he was incapable; and though he constantly liftedup his bloodstained hand, to gaze at it as if in bewildered horror, hedid not even think of washing the blood away. At moments he lostconsciousness of what he had done, his mind straying to things remote;then the present came back upon him with a shock, seeming, however, tostrike on numbed senses, so that he had to say to himself, 'I haveslain Marcian, ' before he could fully understand his suffering. 

Veranilda was now scarce present to his mind at all. Something vaguelyoutlined hovered in the background; something he durst not look at orthink about; the sole thing in the world that had reality for him wasthe image of Marcian--stabbed, shrieking, falling, dead. Every minutewas the fearful scene re-enacted. More than once he checked himself inhis walk, seeming to be about to step on Marcian's body. 

At length, seeing a shadow draw near, he raised his eyes and beheldGaudiosus. He tried to speak, but found that his tongue clave to theroof of his mouth. Automatically he crossed himself, then caught thepriest's hand, and knelt and kissed it. 

'Rise, my son, ' said Gaudiosus, 'for I would talk with you. '

On one side of the courtyard was a portico with seats, and thither theold man led. 

'Unless, ' he began gravely, 'unless the author of all falsehood--who isso powerful over women--has entered into this maiden to baffle andmislead me utterly, I feel assured that she is chaste; not merelyunsullied in the flesh, but as pure of heart as her fallen nature maypermit a woman to be. '

Basil gazed at him darkly. 

'My father, how can you believe it? Did you not hear her lament becausethe man was dead? It is indeed the devil that beguiles you. '

Gaudiosus bent his head, and pondered anxiously. 

'Tell me, ' he said at length, 'all her story, that I may compare itwith what I have heard from her own lips. '

Slowly at first, and confusedly, with hesitations, repetitions, longpauses, Basil recited the history of Veranilda, so far as he knew it. The priest listened and nodded, and when silence came, continued thenarrative. If Veranilda spoke truth she had never seen Marcian until hetook her from the convent at Praeneste. Moreover, Marcian had neveruttered to her a word of love; in his house she had lived as chastelyas among the holy sisters. 

'What did she here, then?' asked Basil bitterly. 'Why did he bring herhere? You know, O father, that it was not in fulfilment of his promiseto me, for you heard his shameless lie when I questioned him. '

'He told her, ' replied the priest, 'that she sojourned here only untilhe could put her under the protection of the Gothic King. '

'Of Totila?' cried Basil. 'Nay, for all I know, he may have thought ofthat--his passion being appeased. '

Even as he spoke be remembered Sagaris and the letter written inGothic. Some motive of interest might, indeed, have prompted Marcian tothis step. None the less was he Veranilda's lover. Would he otherwisehave kept her here with him, alone, and not rather have continued thejourney, with all speed, till he reached Totila's camp?

'When I left her, ' pursued Gaudiosus, whose confidence in his ownjudgment was already shaken by the young man's vehemence, 'I spoke inprivate with certain of the bondswomen, who declared to me that theycould avouch the maiden's innocence since her coming hither--untilto-day's sunrise. '

Basil laughed with scorn. 

'Until to-day's sunrise? And pray, good father, what befell her at thatmoment? What whisper the Argus-eyed bondswomen?'

'They tell me, ' replied the priest, 'that she went forth and metMarcian, and walked with him in a wood, her own woman having been sentback to the villa. This troubled me; but her voice, her countenance--'

'Helped by the devil, ' broke in Basil. 'Reverend man, do not seek todeceive yourself, or to solace me with a vain hope. I pray you, didMarcian, when you came to visit him, speak of a lady whose virtue hewas sworn to guard? Plainly, not a word fell from him. Yet assuredly hewould have spoken had things been as you pretend. '

Gaudiosus, bent double, a hand propping his white-bearded chin, musedfor a little with sadded air. 

'Lord Basil, ' he resumed at length, 'somewhat more have I to say toyou. I live far from the world, and hear little of its rumour. Untilthis day your name was unknown to me, and of good concerning you I haveto this hour heard nothing save from your own lips. May I credit thisreport you make of yourself? Or should I rather believe what Marcian, in brief words, declared to me when he heard that you were at his gate?'

The speaker paused, as if to collect courage. 

'He spoke ill of me?' asked Basil. 

'He spoke much ill. He accused you of disloyalty in friendship, sayingthat he had but newly learnt how you had deceived him. More than thishe had not time to tell. '

Basil looked into the old man's rheumy eyes. 

'You do well to utter this, good father. Tell me one thing more. Yondermaiden, does she breathe the same charge against me?'

'Not so, ' replied Gaudiosus. 'Of you she said no evil. '

'Yet I scarce think'--he smiled coldly--'that she made profession oflove for me?'

'My son, her speech was maidenly. She spoke of herself as erstwhileyour betrothed; no more than that. '

As he uttered these words, the priest rose. He had an uneasy look, asif he feared that infirmity of will and fondness for gossip hadbetrayed him into some neglect of spiritual obligation. 

'It is better, ' he said, 'that we should converse no more. I know notwhat your purposes may be, nor do they concern me I remain here to prayby the dead, and I shall despatch a messenger to my brother presbyter, that we may prepare for the burial. Remember, ' he raised his head, andhis voice struck a deeper note, 'that the guilt of blood is upon you, and that no plea of earthly passion will avail before the AlmightyJudge. Behold your hand--even so, but far more deeply have you stainedyour soul. '

Basil scarce heard. Numbness had crept over him again; he stared at thedoorway by which the priest re-entered the house, and only after someminutes recalled enough of the old man's last words to look upon hisdefiled hand. Then he called aloud, summoning any slave who might hearhim, and when the doorkeeper came timidly from a recess where he hadbeen skulking, bade him bring water. Having cleansed himself, he walkedby an outer way to the rear of the villa; for he durst not pass throughthe atrium. 

Here his men were busy over their meal, sitting or sprawling in ashadowed place, the slaves waiting upon them. With a reminder that theymust hold themselves ready to ride at any moment, he passed on througha large, wild garden, and at length, where a grove of box-treessurrounded the ruins of a little summer-house, cast himself to theground. 

His breast heaved, his eyes swelled and smarted, but he could not shedtears. Face downwards, like a man who bites the earth in his lastagony, he lay quivering. So did an hour or more pass by. 

He was roused by the voices of his men, who were searching and callingfor him. With an effort, he rose to his feet, and stepped out into thesunshine, when he learnt that a troop of soldiers had just ridden up tothe villa, and that their captain, who had already entered, was askingfor him by name. Careless what might await him, Basil followed the menas far as the inner court, and there stood Venantius. 

'I surprise you, ' cried out the genial voice with a cheery laugh. Youhad five hours start of me. Pray, dear lord, when did you get here?'

Basil could make no reply, and the other, closely observing his strangecountenance, went on to explain that, scarcely started from Aesernia onhis way to the king, Marcian's messenger had met with Totila himself, who was nearer than had been thought. After reading the letter, Totilahad come on rapidly to Aesernia, and had forthwith despatched Venantiusto the villa by Arpinum. 

'You guess my mission, lord Basil, ' he pursued, with bluff good-humour. 'Dullard that I was, the talk of a fair lady travelling in Marcian'scharge never brought to my mind that old story of Surrentum. Here isour royal Totila all eagerness to see this maiden--if maiden still shebe. What say you on that point, dear lord? Nay, look not so fiercely atme. I am not here to call any one to account, but only to see that theGothic beauty comes safe to Aesernia as soon as may be. '

'You will find her within, ' muttered Basil. 

'And Marcian? I might have thought I came inopportunely to thisdwelling, but that he himself wrote to the king that the lady was here. '

'You are assured of that?' Basil asked, under his breath. 

'I have Totila's word for it, at all events. But you seem indisposedfor talk, lord Basil, and my business is with Marcian. The slaves alllook scared, and can't or won't answer a plain question. I have no timeto waste. Tell me, I pray you, where the lord of the villa may befound. '

Basil summoned one of his followers. 

'Conduct the lord Venantius to Marcian's chamber. '

It was done. Basil remained standing in the same spot, his eyes castdown, till a quick step announced the captain's return. Venantius cameclose up to him, and spoke in a grave but not unfriendly voice:

'The priest has told me what he saw, but will not say more. I ask younothing, lord Basil. You will make your defence to the king. '

'Be it so. '

'My men must rest for an hour, ' continued Venantius. 'We shall ridethis afternoon as far as Aquinum, and there pass the night. I go now tospeak with Veranilda. '

'As you will. '

Basil withdrew into the portico, sat down, and covered his face withhis hands. Fever consumed him, and a dreadful melancholy weighed uponhis spirit. At a respectful distance from him, his followers hadassembled, ready for departure. The soldiers who had come withVenantius, a score in number, were eating and drinking outside thegates. Within, all was quiet. Half an hour elapsed, and Venantius againcame forward. Seeing Basil in the shadow of the portico, he went andsat beside him, and began to speak with rough but well-meaning solace. Why this heaviness? If he surmised aright, Basil had but avengedhimself as any man would have done. For his own part, he had neverthought enough of any woman to kill a man on her account; but suchlittle troubles were of everyday occurrence, and must not be taken toomuch to heart. He had seen this Gothic damsel of whom there had been somuch rumour, and, by Diana I (if the oath were not inappropriate) herface deserved all that was said of it. His rival being out of the way, why should not Basil pluck up cheer? Totila would not deal harshly insuch a matter as this, and more likely than not he would be disposed togive the maiden to a Roman of noble race, his great desire being to winall Romans by generosity. 

'Yonder priest tells me, ' he added, 'that you were over hasty; that youstruck on a mere suspicion. And methinks he may be right. By the HolyCross, I could well believe this maiden a maiden in very deed. I neverlooked upon a purer brow, an eye that spoke more innocently. Hark ye, my good Basil, I am told that you have not spoken with her. If youwould fain do so before we set forth, I will be no hinderer. Go, if youwill, into yonder room'--he pointed to a door near by--' and when shedescends (I have but to call), you shall see her undisturbed. '

For a moment Basil sat motionless; then, without a word, he rose andwent whither Venantius directed him. But a few minutes passed before hesaw Veranilda enter. She was clad for travel, a veil over her face;this, and the shadow in which Basil stood, made her at first unaware ofhis presence, for Venantius had only requested her to enter this roomuntil the carriage was ready. Standing with bowed head, she sobbed. 

'Why do you weep?' demanded an abrupt voice, which made her draw backtrembling. 

Basil moved a little towards her. 

'You weep for _him_?' he added in the same pitiless tone. 

'For him, for you, and for myself, alas! alas!'

The subdued anguish of her voice did not touch Basil. He burned withhatred of her and of the dead man. 

'Shed no tears for me. I am cured of a long folly. And for youconsolation will not be slow in coming. Who knows but you may throwyour spell upon Totila himself. '

'You know not what you say, ' replied Veranilda; not, as when she usedthe words before, in accents quivering from a stricken heart, but withsorrowful dignity and self-command. 'Is it Basil who speaks thus? Wereit only the wrong done me that I had to bear, I could keep silence, waiting until God restored your justice and your gentleness. But, though in nothing blameworthy, I am the cause of what has come about;for had I not entered that room when I did, you would not have struckthe fatal blow. Listen then, O Basil, whilst I make known to you whathappened before you came. '

She paused to control herself. 

'I must go back to the night when I left the convent. No one had toldme I was to go away. In the middle of the night I was aroused and ledforth, with me the woman who served me. We had travelled an hour ortwo, perhaps, when some one standing by the carriage spoke to me, someone who said he was Marcian the friend of Basil, and bade me have nofears, for Basil awaited me at the end of the journey. The next day hespoke to me again, this time face to face, but only a few words. Wecame to this villa. You have been told, by I know not whom, that I waslight of heart. It is true, for I believed what Marcian had said to me, and nothing had befallen to disturb my gladness. I lived with myserving woman privately, in quiet and hope. This morning, yielding, alas! to a wish which I thought harmless, I went forth with myattendant to the waterfall. As I stood gazing at it, the lord Marciancame forth on horseback. He alighted to speak with me, and presentlyasked if I would go to see another fall of the river, across theisland. I consented. As we went, he dismissed my servant, and I did notknow what he had done (thinking she still followed), until, when wewere in a wood at the water's edge, I could no longer see the woman, and Marcian told me he had bidden her go to fetch seats for us. Then hebegan to speak, and what he said, how shall I tell you?'

There was another brief silence. Basil did not stir; his eyes were bentsternly upon the veiled visage. 

'Was it evil in his heart that shaped such words? Or had he beendeceived by some other? He said that Basil had forgotten me; that Basilloved, and would soon wed, a lady in Rome. More than that, he said thatBasil was plotting to get me into his power, his purpose being todeliver me to the Greeks, who would take me to Constantinople. ButMarcian, so he declared, had rescued me in time, and I was to beguarded by the King of the Goths. '

The listener moved, raising his arm and letting it fall again. But hebreathed no word. 

'This did he tell me, ' she added. 'I went back to the villa to mychamber. I sat thinking, I know not how long; I know not how long. Then, unable to remain any longer alone, driven by my dreadful doubt, Icame forth to seek Marcian. I descended the stairs to the atrium. Yousaw me--alas! alas!'

Basil drew nearer to her. 

'He had spoken no word of love?'

'No word. I had no fear of _that_. '

'Why, then, did he frame these lies, these hellish lies?'

'Alas!' cried Veranilda, clasping her hands above her head. 'Did hestill live, the truth might be discovered. His first words to me, inthe night when he stood beside the carriage, sounded so kind and true;he named himself the friend of Basil, said that Basil awaited me at thejourney's end. How could he speak so, if he indeed then thought youwhat he afterwards said? Oh, were he alive, to stand face to face withme again!'

'It is not enough, ' asked Basil harshly, 'that I tell you he lied?'

She did not on the instant reply, and he, possessed with unreasoningbitterness, talked wildly on. 

'No! You believed him, and believe him still. I can well fancy that hespoke honestly at first; but when he had looked into your face, when hehad talked with you, something tempted him to villainy. Go! Your tearsand your lamentations betray you. It is not of me that you think, butof him, him, only him! "Oh, were he alive!" Ay, keep your face bidden;you know too well it could not bear my eyes upon it. '

Veranilda threw back the long veil, and stood looking at him. 

'Eyes red with weeping, ' he exclaimed, 'and for whom? If you were trueto me, would you not rejoice that I had slain my enemy? You say youwere joyful in the thought of seeing me again? You see me--and withwhat countenance?'

'I see not Basil, ' she murmured, her hands upon her breast. 

'You see a false lover, an ignoble traitor--the Basil shown you byMarcian. What would it avail me to speak in my own defence? His voiceis in your ears, its lightest tone outweighing my most solemn oath. "Oh, that he were alive!" That is all you find to say to me. '

'I know you not, ' sobbed Veranilda. 'Alas, I know you not!'

'Nor I you. I dreamt of a Veranilda who loved so purely and soconstantly that not a thousand slanderers could have touched her heartwith a shadow of mistrust. But who are you--you whom the first grosslie of a man lusting for your beauty utterly estranges from your faith?Who are you--who wail for the liar's death, and shrink in horror fromthe hand that slew him? I ever heard that the daughters of the Gothswere chaste and true and fearless. So they may be--all but one, whosebirth marked her for faithlessness. '

As though smitten by a brutal blow, Veranilda bowed her head, shuddering. Once more she looked at Basil, for an instant, with wideeyes of fear; then hid herself beneath the veil, and was gone. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE MOUNT OF THE MONK

Basil rode with his own man apart from Venantius and the soldiers whoguarded the conveyance in which sat Veranilda. Venantius, for his part, would fain have lightened the way with friendly talk, but finding Basilirresponsive, he left him to his gloomy meditations. And so they cameto Aquinum, where they passed the night. 

By way of precaution, the captain set a guard before the house in whichhis fellow-traveller slept, and at daybreak, as soon as he had risen, one of the soldiers thus employed reported to him that the young Romanhad fallen into such distemper that it seemed doubtful whether he couldcontinue the journey; a servant who had slept at Basil's door declaredthat all through the night his master had talked wildly, like onefever-frenzied. Venantius visited the sick man, and found him risen, but plainly in poor case for travel. 

'Why, you will never mount your horse, ' he opined, after touchingBasil's hand, and finding it on fire. 'This is what comes of a queasyconscience. Take heart, man! Are you the first that stuck a falsefriend between the ribs, or the first to have your love kissed againsther will? That it _was_ against her will, I take upon myself to swear. You are too fretful, my good lord. Come, now! What are we to do withyou?'

'I can ride on, ' answered Basil. 'Pay no heed to me, and leave me inpeace, I pray you. '

He was helped to horseback, and the cavalcade went forth again alongthe Latin Way. This morning, no beam of sunrise shone above themountains; the heavens were sullen, and a hot wind blew from the south. Even Venantius, though he hummed a song to himself, felt the sombreinfluence of the air, and kept glancing uneasily backwards at thedeath-pale man, who rode with head upon his breast. Scarcely had theyridden for an hour at foot-pace, when a shout caught the captain's ear;he turned, just in time to see Basil dropping to the ground. 

'God's thunder!' he growled. 'I have been expecting this. Well if hedies, it may save the king some trouble. '

He jumped down, and went to Basil's side. At first the sufferer couldnot speak, but when water had been given him, he gazed at Venantiuswith a strange smile, and, pointing before him, said faintly:

'Is not yonder Casinum?'

'It is. We will bear you thither for harbourage. Courage, friend!'

'Above, on the mountain, ' continued Basil painfully, 'dwells my kinsmanBenedict, with his holy men. Could I but reach the monastery!'

'Why, perchance you may, ' replied the captain. 'And in truth you wouldbe better cared for there. '

'Help me, good Venantius!' panted Basil, with eyes of entreaty. 'Let medie in the monastery. '

In those days of pestilence, every fever-stricken person was an objectof dread to all but the most loving or the most courageous. Thestalwart Venantius thought for a moment of carrying Basil before him onhis horse, but prudence overcame this humane impulse. Into thecarriage, for the same reason (had there been no other), he could notbe put; but there was a vacant place beside the driver, and here, supported with cords, he managed to keep his seat until they arrived atCasinum. 

Owing to its position on the highroad, trodden by so many barbaricarmies, this city had suffered repeated devastation. Its greatbuildings stood desolate, or had fallen to utter ruin, and the countryaround, once famous for its fertility, showed but a few poor farms. What inhabitants remained dwelt at the foot of the great hill on whosesummit rose the citadel, still united with the town by two great walls. After passing between the tombs on the Latin Way, memorials of citizenslong dead, the travellers entered by an unprotected gateway, and hereVenantius called a halt. Wishing to make no longer pause than wasneedful to put the sick man in safety, he despatched a few soldiersthrough the silent town to seek for means of conveying Basil up to themonastery on the height. By good luck these emissaries came upon acouple of monks, who lost no time in arranging for the conveyance ofthe sufferer. A light cart drawn by two mules speedily appeared, and onthis Basil was laid. One only of his men did Venantius allow toaccompany him, the others were bidden ride on with the captain's ownsoldiers to Aesernia. 

'There you will find us all when you are on your legs again, ' saidVenantius, 'unless by that time we have marched Romewards, in whichcase you shall have a message. Trust me to look after all you leftthere; I answer for its safety and for that of your good fellows. Keepup heart, and God make you sound. '

Basil, couched on a bed of dry leaves, raised himself so as to watchthe troop as it rode forth again from the ruined gate. Whether she whosat hidden within the carriage had heard of his evil plight he knewnot, and could not have brought himself to ask. The last of his ownhorsemen (some of whom had taken leave of him with tears) havingvanished from sight, he fell back, and for a while knew nothing but theburning torment in his brain. 

The ascent of the mountain began. It was a rough, narrow road, windingthrough a thick forest of oak and beech trees, here and there so steepas to try the firm footing of the mules, and in places dangerousbecause of broken ground on the edge of precipitous declivities. Thecart was driven by its owner, a peasant of Casinum, who at times satsideways on one of the beasts, at times walked by them; behind came thetwo religious men, cowled, bare-footed; and last Basil's attendant onhorseback. 

From Venantius the monks had learned who their charge was. His nobleorigin, and still more the fact of his kindred with their beloved AbbotBenedict, inspired in them a special interest. They spoke of him inwhispers together, compassionated his sufferings, remarked on thecomeliness of his features, and assured each other that they detectedin him no symptom of the plague. It being now the third hour, theyceased from worldly talk and together recited their office, whereto thepeasant and the horseman gave pious ear. 

Basil lay with closed eyes, but at a certain moment he seemed to becomeaware of what was passing, crossed himself, and then folded his handsupon his breast in the attitude of prayer. Having observed this, one ofthe monks, his orisons finished, went up to the cart and spokecomfortable words. He was a man in the prime of life, with cheek asfresh as a maid's, and a step that seemed incapable of weariness; hisvoice sounded a note of gentle kindness which caused the sufferer tosmile at him in gratitude. 

'This tree, ' he said presently, pointing to a noble beech, its boleengraven with a cross, 'marks the middle point of the ascent. A wearyclimb for the weak, but not without profit to him who thinks as hewalks--for, as our dear brother Marcus has said, in those verses we arenever tired of repeating:--

 "Semper difficili quaeruntur summa labore, Arctam semper habet vita beata viam. "'

The other monk, an older man, who walked less vigorously, echoed thecouplet with slow emphasis, as if savouring every word. Then bothtogether, bowing their cowled heads, exclaimed fervently:

'Thanks be to God for the precious gifts of our brother Marcus!'

Basil endeavoured to utter a few words, but he was now so feeble thathe could scarce make his voice heard above the creak of the wheels. Again he closed his eyes, and his companions pursued their way insilence. When at length they issued from the forest they overlooked avast landscape of hill and valley, with heads of greater mountains highabove them. Here rose the walls of the citadel, within which Benedicthad built his monastery. For some distance around these ancientramparts the ground was tilled, and flourishing with various crops. Atthe closed gateway of the old Arx, flanked by a tower, the monks rang, and were at once admitted into the courtyard, where, in a few moments, the prior and all his brethren came forward to greet the strangers. Because of Basil's condition the ceremony usual on such arrivals was inhis case curtailed: the prior uttered a brief prayer, gave the kiss ofpeace, and ordered forthwith the removal of the sick man to aguest-chamber, where he was laid in bed and ministered to by thebrother Marcus, whose gifts as a healer were not less notable than hisskill in poesy. The horseman, meanwhile, as custom was with allvisitors, had been led to the oratory to hear a passage of HolyScripture; after which the prior poured water upon his hands, andcertain of the monks washed his feet. 

Before sunset Basil lost consciousness of present things; and many dayswent by before he again spoke as a sane man. When at length the feverdeclined, and his head turned upon the pillow in search of a humancountenance, he saw standing beside him a venerable figure in themonastic garb, whose visage, though wrinkled with age and thought, hadsuch noble vividness in its look, and wore a smile so like that ofyouth in its half-playful sweetness, that Basil could but gazewonderingly, awestruck at once, and charmed by this unexpectedapparition. 

'My son, ' sounded in a voice grave and tender, 'be your first syllablesuttered to Him by whose omnipotent will you are restored to the life ofthis world. '

With the obedience of a child he clasped his thin hands, and murmuredthe prayer of childhood. Then the gracious figure bent over him. Hefelt the touch of lips upon his forehead, and in the same moment fellasleep. 

It was night when he again woke. A little lamp revealed bare walls ofstone, a low, timbered ceiling, a floor of red tiles. Basil's eyes, assoon as they were open, looked for the venerable figure which heremembered. Finding no one, he thought the memory was but of a dream. Feeling wonderfully at ease in body and calm in mind, he lay musing onthat vision of the noble countenance, doubting after all whether adream could have left so distinct an impression, when all at once therefell upon his ear a far sound of chanting, a harmony so sweetly solemnthat it melted his heart and filled his eyes with tears. Not longafter, when all was silent again, he heard the sound of soft footstepswithout, and in the same moment the door of his cell opened. The facewhich looked in seemed not quite unknown to him, though he could notrecall where he had seen it. 

'You have slept long, dear brother, ' said Marcus, with a happy smile. 'Is all well with you?'

'Well, God be thanked, ' was the clear but faint reply. 

The poet-physician, a small, nervous, bright-eyed man of some fortyyears, sat down on a stool by the bedside and began talking cheerfully. He had just come from matins, and was this morning excused from laudsbecause it behoved him to gather certain herbs, to be used medicinallyin the case of a brother who had fallen sick yesterday. Touching alittle gold locket which Basil wore round his neck on a gold thread heasked what this contained, and being told that it was a morsel of theCrown of Thorns, he nodded with satisfaction. 

'We questioned whether to leave it on you or not, for we could not openit, and there was a fear lest it might contain something'--he smiledand shook his bead and sighed--'much less sacred. The lord abbot, doubtless'--here his voice sank--'after a vision, though of this hespoke not, decided that it should be left. There was no harm, for allthat'--his eyes twinked merrily--'in tying this upon the place whereyou suffered so grievously. '

From amid Basil's long hair he detached what looked like a tiny skeinof hemp, which, with an air singularly blended of shrewdness andreverence, he declared to be a portion of a garb of penitence worn bythe Holy Martin, to whom the oratory here was dedicated. PresentlyBasil found strength to ask whether the abbot had been beside him. 

'Many times, ' was the answer. 'The last, no longer ago than yestereve, ere he went to compline. You would have seen him on the day of yourarrival, ere yet you became distraught, but that a heaviness lay uponhim because of the loss of a precious manuscript on its way hither fromRome--a manuscript which had been procured for him after muchsearching, only to be lost by the folly of one to whom it wasintrusted; if, indeed, it was not rather whisked away by the Evil One, who, powerless for graver ill against our holy father, at times seeksto discomfort him by small practice of spite. Sorrow for this lossbrought on a distemper to which his age is subject. '

Reminded all at once that he had no time to lose, Marcus threw open theshutter, extinguished the lamp, and slipped away, leaving his patientwith eyes turned to the pale glimmer of dawn at the tiny window. Nowonly did there stir in Basil clear recollection of the events which hadpreceded his coming hither. Marcus's sly word in regard to the lockethad awakened his mind, and in a few moments he thought connectedly. Butwithout emotion, unless it were a vague, tender sadness. All seemed tohave happened so long ago. It was like a story he had heard in daysgone by. He thought of it until his brain began to weary, then againcame sleep. 

A day or two passed. He had begun to eat with keen appetite, and hisstrength increased hour by hour. On a Sunday, after the office of thethird hour, Marcus cheerily gave him permission to rise. This promptedBasil to inquire whether his man, who had come with him, was still inthe monastery. Marcus, with eyes averted, gave a nod. Might he speakwith him, Basil asked. Presently, presently, was the answer. Marcushimself aided the convalescent to dress; then having seated him in agreat chair of rude wickerwork, used only on occasions such as this, left him to bask in a beam of sunshine. Before long, his meal wasbrought him, and with it a book, bound in polished wood and metal, which he found to be a Psalter. Herein, when he had eaten, he read foran hour or so, not, however, without much wandering of the thoughts. Hehad fallen into reverie, when his door opened, and there appearedbefore him the Abbot Benedict. 

Basil started up, stood for a moment in agitation, then sank upon hisknees, with head reverently bowed. 

'Rise, rise, my son, ' spoke the voice which had so moved him in hisvision of a week ago, a voice subdued by years, but perfectly steadyand distinct. 'Our good brother Marcus assures me that I may talk withyou a little while without fear of overtasking your strength--nay, sitwhere you were, I pray you. Thanks be to God, I need not support for myback. '

So saying, the abbot seated himself on the stool, and gazed at Basilwith a smile of infinite benevolence. 

'Your face, ' he continued, 'speaks to me of a time very far away. I seein it the presentment of your father's father, with whom, when he wasmuch of your age, I often talked. His mother had a villa at Nursia, thehome of my youth. Once he turned aside from a journey to visit me whenI dwelt at Sublaqueum. '

The reminiscence checked his tongue he kept silence for a moment, musing gravely. 

'But these are old stories, my Basil, and you are young. Tell mesomewhat of your parents, and of your own life. Did not your goodfather pass away whilst at Constantinople?'

Thus, with perfect simplicity, with kindliest interest in things human, did Benedict draw the young man into converse. He put no question thattouched on the inner life, and Basil uttered not a word concerning hislate distress, but they touched for a moment upon public affairs, andBasil learnt, without show of special interest, that Totila stilllingered in Campania. 

'Your follower, Deodatus, ' said the abbot presently, 'begs each day forpermission to see you. The good fellow has not lived in idleness; he isa brave worker in wood, and by chance we much needed one of his craft. Not many things of this world give me more pleasure than to watch acunning craftsman as he smooths timber, and fits the pieces together, and makes of them something that shall serve the needs of men. Is itnot, in some sort, to imitate the great Artificer? Would, O Basil, thatour country had more makers and fewer who live but to destroy. '

'Would it were so, indeed!' sighed Basil, in a low, fervent voice. 

'But the end is not yet, ' pursued Benedict, his eyes gazing straightbefore him, as if they beheld the future. 'Men shall pray for peace, but it will not be granted them, so great are the iniquities of theworld which utters the name of Christ, yet knows Him not. '

He paused with troubled brow. Then, as if reminding himself that hishearer had need of more encouraging words, he said cheerfully:

'To-morrow, perchance, you will have strength to leave your room. Deodatus shall come to you in the morning. When you can walk so far, Iwill pray you to visit me in my tower. You knew not that I inhabit atower? Even as the watchman who keeps guard over a city. And, ' he addedmore gravely, as if to himself rather than to the listener, 'God grantthat my watch be found faithful. '

Thereupon the abbot rose, and gently took his leave; and Basil, throughall the rest of the day, thought of him and of every word he haduttered. 

Not long after sunrise on the morrow, Deodatus was allowed to enter. This man, whose age was something more than thirty, was the son of aserf on Basil's land, and being of very peaceful disposition, had withsome reluctance answered the summons to arm himself and follow his lordto the wars. Life in the monastery thoroughly suited his temper; whenBasil encouraged him to talk, he gave a delighted account of the way inwhich his days were spent; spoke with simple joy of the many religiousservices he attended, and had no words in which to express his devotionto the abbot. 

'Why, Deodatus, ' exclaimed his master, smiling, 'you lack but the cowlto be a very monk. '

'My duty is to my lord, ' answered the man, bending his head. 

'Tell me now whether any news has reached you, in all this time, ofthose from whom my sickness parted us. '

But Deodatus had heard nothing of his fellows, and nothing of Venantius. 

'It may be, ' said Basil, 'that I shall send you to tell them how Ifare, and to bring back tidings. Your horse is at hand?'

As he spoke he detected a sadness on the man's countenance. Withoutmore words, he dismissed him. 

That day he sat in the open air, in a gallery whence he could survey agreat part of the monastic buildings, and much of the mountain summiton its western side. For an hour he had the companionship of Marcus, who, pointing to this spot and to that, instructed Basil in the historyof what he saw, now and then reciting his own verses on the subject. Hetold how Benedict, seeking with a little company of pious followers fora retreat from the evil of the world, came to ruined Casinum, and foundits few wretched inhabitants fallen away from Christ, worshipping theold gods in groves and high places. Here, on the mountain top, stoodtemples of Jupiter, of Apollo, and of Venus. The house of Apollo hepurified for Christian service, and set under the invocation of theHoly Martin. The other temples he laid low, and having cut down thegrove sacred to Apollo, on that spot he raised an oratory in the nameof the Baptist. Not without much spiritual strife was all thisachieved; for--the good Marcus subdued his voice--Satan himself morethan once overthrew what the monks had built, and, together with thedemons whom Benedict had driven forth, often assailed the holy bandwith terrors and torments. Had not the narrator, who gently boasted apart in these beginnings, been once all but killed by a falling column, which indeed must have crushed him, but that he stretched out a hand inwhich, by happy chance, he was holding a hammer, and this--for a hammeris cruciform--touching the great pillar, turned its fall in anotherdirection. Where stood the temple of Venus was now a vineyard, yieldingexcellent wine. 

'Whereof, surely, you must not drink?' interposed Basil, with a smile. 

'Therein, good brother, ' replied Marcus, 'you show but little knowledgeof our dear lord abbot. He indeed abstains from wine, for such has beenthe habit of his life, but to us he permits it, for the stomach's sake;being of opinion that labour is a form of worship, and wellunderstanding that labour, whether of body or of mind, can only beperformed by one in health. This very day you shall taste of ourvintage, which I have hitherto withheld from you, lest it shouldoverheat your languid blood. '

Many other questions did Basil ask concerning the rule of themonastery. He learned that the day was equitably portioned out (worshipapart) between manual and mental work. During summer, the cooler hoursof morning and afternoon were spent in the field, and the middle of theday in study; winter saw this order reversed. On Sunday the monkslaboured not with their hands, and thought only of the Word of God. Thehours of the divine office suffered, of course, no change all the yearround: their number in the daytime was dictated by that verse of thePsalmist: 'Septies in die laudem dixi tibi'; therefore did thecommunity assemble at lauds, at prime, at the third hour, at mid-day, at the ninth hour, at vespers, and at compline. They arose, moreover, for prayer at midnight, and for matins before dawn. On all this thehearer mused when he was left alone, and with his musing blended asense of peace such as had never before entered into his heart. 

He had returned to his chamber, and was reposing on the bed, when thereentered one of the two monks by whom he was conveyed up the mountain. With happy face, this visitor presented to him a new volume, which, hedeclared with modest pride, was from beginning to end the work of hisown hand. 

'But an hour ago I finished the binding, ' he added, stroking thecalf-skin affectionately. 'And when I laid it before the venerablefather, who is always indulgent to those who do their best, he waspleased to speak kind things. "Take it to our noble guest, " he said, "that he may see how we use the hours God grants us. And it may be thathe would like to read therein. "'

The book was a beautiful copy of Augustine's _De Civitate Dei_. Basildid indeed peruse a page or two, but again his thoughts began towander. He turned the leaves, looking with pleasure at the fine initialletters in red ink. They reminded him of his cousin Decius, whom anoble manuscript would transport with joy. And thought of Decius tookhim back to Surrentum. He fell into a dream. 

On the morrow, at noon, he was well enough to descend to the refectory, where he had a seat at the abbot's table. His meal consisted of a roastpigeon, a plate of vegetables, honey and grapes, with bread whichseemed to him better than he had ever tasted, and wine whereof hisstill weak head bade him partake very modestly. The abbot's dinner, hesaw, was much simpler: a bowl of milk, a slice of bread, and a coupleof figs. After the kindly greeting with which he was received, therewas no conversation, for a monk read aloud during the repast. Basilsurveyed with interest the assembly before him. Most of the facesglowed with health, and on all was manifest a simple contentment suchas he had hitherto seen only in the eyes of children. Representativeswere here of every social rank, but the majority belonged to honourablefamilies: high intelligence marked many countenances, but not oneshowed the shadow of anxious or weary thought. 

These are men, said Basil to himself, who either have never known theburden of life, or have utterly cast it off; they live without a care, without a passion. And then there suddenly flashed upon his mind whatseemed an all-sufficient explanation of this calm, this happiness. Hereentered no woman. Woman's existence was forgotten, alike by young andold; or, if not forgotten, had lost all its earthly taint, as in theholy affection (of which Marcus had spoken to him) cherished by theabbot for his pious sister Scholastica. Here, he clearly saw, was thesupreme triumph of the religious life. But, instead of quieting, thethought disturbed him. He went away thinking thoughts which he wouldfain have kept at a distance. 

The ninth hour found him in the oratory, and later he attended vespers, at which office the monks sang an evening hymn of the holy Ambrosius:--

 'O lux, beata Trinitas, et principalis Uuitas, Jam sol recedit igneus; infunde lumen cordibus. 

 Te mane laudum carmine, te deprecemur vesperi, Te nostra supplex gloria per cuncta laudet saecula. '

The long sweet notes lingered in Basil's mind when he lay down to rest. And, as he crossed himself before sleeping, the only prayer he breathedwas: '_Infunde lumen cordi meo_. '

CHAPTER XXV

THE ABBOT'S TOWER

On the morrow he rose earlier, talking the while with his servantDeodatus. This good fellow continued to exhibit so deep an affectionfor the life of the monastery that Basil was at length moved to ask himwhether, if he had the choice, he would veritably become a monk. Deodatus looked at his master with eyes of pathetic earnestness, triedin vain to speak, and burst into tears. Instructed by a vocation somanifest, Basil began to read more clearly in his own heart, where, inspite of the sorrows he had borne and of the troublous uncertaintiesthat lay before him, he found no such readiness to quit the world. Hecould approve the wisdom of those who renounced the flesh, to berewarded with tranquillity on earth and eternal happiness hereafter;but his will did not ally itself with his intellect. Moreover, was itcertain, he asked himself, that all who embraced the religious lifewere so rewarded? In turning the pages of Augustine's work, he had comeupon a passage which arrested his eye and perturbed his thought, apassage which seemed clearly to intimate that the soul's eternaldestiny had from the beginning of things been decided by God, some menbeing created for bliss, more for damnation. Basil did not dwellprofoundly on this doubt; his nature inclined not at all to theologicalscrutiny, nor to spiritual brooding; but it helped to revive in him theenergies which sickness had abated, and to throw him back on thatsimple faith, that Christianity of everyday, in which he had grown up. 

Going forth in the mellow sunshine, he turned his steps to a garden ofvegetables where he saw monks at work. They gave him gentle greeting, and one, he who had brought the volume yesterday, announced that theabbot invited Basil to visit him after the office of the third hour. Thereupon all worked in silence, he watching them. 

When the time came, he was conducted to the abbot's dwelling, which wasthe tower beside the ancient gateway of the Arx. It contained but tworooms, one above the other; below, the founder of the monastery studiedand transacted business; in the upper chamber he prayed and slept. When, in reply to his knock at the study door, the voice, now familiar, but for that no less impressive, bade him come forward, Basil felt hisheart beat quickly; and when he stood alone in that venerable presence, all his new-born self-confidence fell away from him. Beholding the agedman seated at a table on which lay books, amid perfect stillness, inthe light from a large window; before him a golden cross, and, oneither side of it, a bowl of sweet-scented flowers; he seemed only nowto remember that this was that Benedict whose fame had gone forth intomany lands, whose holiness already numbered him with the blessed saintsrather than with mortal men, of whom were recounted things miraculous. Looking upon that face, which time touched only to enhance its calm, only to make yet purer its sweet humanity, he felt himself an idle andwanton child, and his entrance hither a profanation. 

'Come and sit by me, son Basil, ' said the abbot. 'I am at leisure, andshall be glad to hear you speak of many things. Tell me first, do youlove reading?'

Basil answered with simple truth, that of late years he had scarce readat all, his inclination being rather to the active life. 

'So I should have surmised. But chancing to look from my upper windownot long after sunrise, I saw you walking with a book in your hand. What was it?'

Basil murmured that it was the Book of Psalms. 

'Look, then, ' said Benedict, 'at what lies before me. Here is acommentary on that book, written by the learned and pious Cassiodorus;written in the religious house which he himself has founded, upon theshore of "ship-wrecking Scylaceum, " as saith Virgilius. Not a week agoit came into my hands, a precious gift from the writer, and I have readmuch in it. On the last of his many journeys, travelling from Ravennato the south, he climbed hither, and sojourned with us for certaindays, and great was my solace in the communing we had together. Perchance you knew him in the world?'

Gladly Basil recounted his memories of the great counsellor. And theabbot listened with an attentive smile. 

'I marvel not that you loved him. Reading in these pages, I amdelighted by the graces of his mind, and taught by the sanctity of hisspirit. At the very beginning, how sweetly does his voice sound. Listen. "Trusting in the Lord's command, I knock at the doors of theheavenly mystery, that He may open to my understanding His floweryabodes, and that, permitted to enter the celestial garden, I may pluckspiritual fruit without the sin of the first man. Verily this bookshines like a lamp; it is the salve of a wounded spirit, sweet as honeyto the inner man. So much hath it of beauty for the senses, suchhealing in its balmy words, that to it may be applied the words ofSolomon: 'A closed garden, and a fountain sealed, a paradise aboundingin all fruits. ' For if Paradise be deemed desirable because it iswatered by the delightful flow of four rivers, how much more blessed isthe mind which is refreshed by the founts of one hundred and fiftypsalms!"'

Basil scarce heeded the sense of the passage read to him. He could hearonly the soft music of the aged voice, which lulled him into a calmfull of faith and trust. 

'Is not this better, ' asked Benedict gently, whilst his eyes searchedthe young man's countenance, 'than to live for the service of kings, and to utter worldly counsel?'

'Better far, I cannot doubt, ' Basil replied with humility. 

'Utter the rest of your thought, ' said the abbot, smiling. 'You cannotdoubt--and yet? Utter your mind to me, dear son. '

'My father, I obey you, desiring indeed with all my soul to seek yourguidance. My heart has been too much in this world, and for one thoughtgiven to things eternal, I have bestowed a hundred upon my own sorrows, and on those of Italy. '

His voice faltered, his head drooped. 

'I say not, ' murmured the listener, 'that you do wrong to love yourcountry. '

'Holy father, I were a hypocrite if I spoke of my country first of all. For all but a year gone by, another love has possessed me. Forgive methat I dare to speak such a word before you. '

The abbot turned his eyes to the window. Upon the sill had settled twodoves, which seemed to regard him curiously. He made a soft gesturewith his hand, and the birds flew away. 

'Speak on, ' he said after brief reflection, and with the sameindulgence. 'He who tells all speaks not to man but to God. '

And Basil told all; told it with humble simplicity, with entiretruthfulness, recounting his history from the day when he first beheldVeranilda to the dreadful hour when Marcian's blood stained his hands. He began in calm, but the revival of emotions which had slept duringhis sickness and his convalescence soon troubled him profoundly. Notonly did the dormant feelings wake up again, but things which he hadforgotten rushed into his memory. So, when he came to the lastinterview with Veranilda, he remembered, for the first time since thatday, what he had said to her, and the recollection dismayed him. Heburst into tears, overwhelmed at once with misery and shame. 

'It may be, ' he sobbed, 'that she was innocent. Suffering had driven memad, and I uttered words such as never should have passed my lips. Ifshe is guiltless, there lives no baser man than I. For I reproachedher--my father, how you will scorn me!--I cast at her in reproach herfather's treachery. '

The abbot's brow rested upon his hand. It was thus he had listened, unmoving, throughout the story; nor did he now stir, until Basil, having ceased alike from speaking and from tears, had sat for a littlewhile in stillness and reflection. Then at length he turned his eyesupon the young man, and spoke with sad gravity. 

'Even so, even so. You gave your heart to a woman, and worshipped ather feet, and behold there has come upon you the guilt of blood. Not, you would protest, through your own fault; your friend was false toyou, and in just wrath you slew him. Who made you, O Basil, his judgeand his executioner?'

'Father, I seek not to excuse my sin. '

'It is well. And what penance will you lay upon yourself?'

Utterly subdued by awe, oblivious of his own will in the presence ofone so much more powerful, Basil murmured that whatever penance the manof God saw fit to impose that would he perform. 

'Nay, ' said Benedict gently, 'that is too like presumption. Say rather, you would endeavour to perform it. I will believe that if I bade youfast long, or repeat many prayers, you would punctually obey me. Butwhat if I demanded of you that against which not only your flesh, butall the motive of your life, rebelled? It were not too much; yet dareyou promise to achieve it?'

Basil looked up fearfully, and answered with tremulous lips:

'Not in my own strength; but perchance with the help of God. '

A grave smile passed over Benedict's countenance. 

'It is well, my son; again, it is well. Come now, and let us reason ofthis your sin. You avow to me that God and His commands have ever beenlittle in your mind, whereas you have thought much of this world andits governance. I might ask you how it is possible to reflect on theweal and woe of human kind without taking count of Him who made theworld and rules it; but let me approach you with a narrower inquiry. You tell me that you love your country, and desire its peace. How comesit, then, that you are numbered with the violent, the lawless, withthose who renounce their citizenship and dishonour the State? Could notall your worldly meditations preserve you from so gross an incoherenceof thought and action?'

'Indeed, it should have done. '

'And would, perchance, had not your spleen overcome your reason. Why, that is the case, O Basil, of all but every man who this day callshimself a Roman citizen. Therefore is it that Italy lies under thewrath of the Most High. Therefore is it that Rome has fallen, and thatthe breath of pestilence, the sword of the destroyer, yea, earthquakeand flood and famine, desolate the land. Yet you here find little time, my son, to meditate the laws of God, being so busied for the welfare ofmen. Methinks your story has aimed a little wide. '

Basil bent low before this gentle irony, which softened his heart. Theabbot mused a moment, gazing upon the golden cross. 

'In the days of old, ' he continued, 'Romans knew how to subdue theirown desires to the good of their country. He who, in self-seeking, wronged the State, was cast forth from its bosom. Therefore was it thatRome grew mighty, the Omnipotent fostering her for ends which thefulness of time should disclose. Such virtue had our ancestors, eventhough they worshipped darkly at the altars of daemons. But from thatpride they fell, for their hearts were hardened; and, at length, whenheathendom had wellnigh destroyed the principle whereby they waxed, Godrevealed Himself unto His chosen, that ancient virtue and new faithmight restore the world. To turn your thought upon these things, I sentyou the book written long ago by the holy father Augustine, concerningthe Divine State. Have you read in it?'

'Some little, ' answered Basil, 'but with wandering mind. '

'Therein you will discover, largely expounded, these reasonings I dobut touch upon. I would have you trace God's working in the past, and, by musing upon what now is, ripen yourself in that citizenship whereonyou have prided yourself, though you neither understood its truemeaning nor had the strength to perform its duties. Losing sight of theHeavenly City for that which is on earth, not even in your earthlyservice were you worthy of the name of Roman; and, inasmuch as youwronged the earthly Rome, even so did you sin against that EternalState of the Supreme Lord whereof by baptism you were made a citizen. By such as you, O Basil, is the anger of our God prolonged, and lestyou should think that, amid a long and bloody war, amid the tramplingof armies, the fall of cities, one death more is of no account, I sayto you that, in the eyes of the All-seeing, this deed of yours may beof heavier moment than the slaughter of a battlefield. From your ownlips it is manifest that you had not even sound assurance of the guiltyou professed to punish. It may be that the man had not wronged you asyou supposed. A little patience, a little of the calm which becomes areasoning soul, and you might not only have saved yourself from crime, but have resolved what must now ever be a doubt to your harassedthoughts. '

'Such words did Veranilda herself speak, ' exclaimed Basil. 'And I, inmy frenzy, thought them only a lamentation for the death of her lover. '

'Call it frenzy; but remember, O my son, that no less a frenzy wasevery act of your life, and every thought, which led you on the path tothat ultimate sin. Frenzy it is to live only for the flesh; frenzy, toimagine that any good can come of aught you purpose without beseechingthe divine guidance. '

Much else did the abbot utter in this vein of holy admonition. AndBasil would have listened with the acquiescence of a perfect faith, butthat there stirred within him the memory of what he had read inAugustine's pages, darkening his spirit. At length he found courage tospeak of this, and asked in trembling tones:

'Am I one of those born to sin and to condemnation? Am I of thoseunhappy beings who strive in vain against a doom predetermined by theAlmighty?'

Benedict's countenance fell; not as if in admission of a dreadpossibility, but rather as in painful surprise. 

'You ask me, ' he answered solemnly, after a pause, 'what no man shouldask even when he communes with his own soul in the stillness of night. The Gospel is preached to all; nowhere in the word of God are anyforbidden to hear it, or, hearing, to accept its solace. Think not uponthat dark mystery, which even to the understandings God has mostenlightened shows but as a formless dread. The sinner shall not broodupon his sin, save to abhor it. Shall he who repents darken repentancewith a questioning of God's mercy? Then indeed were there no such thingas turning from wrong to righteousness. '

'When I sent you that book, ' he resumed, after observing the reliefthat came to Basil's face, 'I had in mind only its salutary teachingfor such as live too much in man's world, and especially for those who, priding themselves upon the name of Roman, are little given toreflection upon all the evil Rome has wrought. Had I known what layupon your conscience, I should have withheld from you everything butHoly Writ. '

'My man, Deodatus, had not spoken?' asked Basil. 

'Concerning you, not a word. I did not permit him to be questioned, andhis talk has been only of his own sins. '

Basil wondered at this discretion in a simple rustic; yet, on a secondthought, found it consistent with the character of Deodatus, as latelyrevealed to him. 

'He has been long your faithful attendant?' inquired the abbot. 

'Not so. Only by chance was he chosen from my horsemen to accompany mehither. My own servant, Felix, being wounded, lay behind at Aesernia. '

'If he be as honest and God-fearing as this man, ' said Benedict, 'whosename, indeed, seems well to become him, then are you fortunate in thosewho tend upon you. But of this and other such things we will conversehereafter. Listen now, son Basil, to my bidding. You have abstainedfrom the Table of the Lord, and it is well. Today, and every day untilI again summon you, you will read aloud in privacy the SevenPenitential Psalms, slowly and with meditation; and may they gravethemselves in your heart, to remain there, a purification and a hope, whilst you live. '

Basil bowed his head, and whispered obedience. 

'Moreover, so far as your strength will suffer it, you shall go dailyinto the garden or the field, and there work with the brethren. Alikefor soul and for body it is good to labour under God's sky, and aboveall to till God's earth and make it fruitful. For though upon Adam, inwhom we all died, was laid as a punishment that he should eat only thatwhich he had planted in the sweat of his brow, yet mark, O Basil, thatthe Creator inflicts no earthly punishment which does not in the endbear fruit of healing and of gladness. What perfume is so sweet as thatof the new-turned soil? And what so profitable to health? When theRomans of old time began to fall from virtue--such virtue as waspermitted to those who knew not God--the first sign of their evil statewas the forgotten plough. And never again can Italy be blessed--if itbe the will of the Almighty that peace be granted her--until valley andmountain side and many-watered plain are rich with her children'slabour. I do not bid you live in silence, for silence is not always agood counsellor; but refrain from merely idle speech, and strive, OBasil, strive with all the force that is in you, that your thoughts beturned upward. Go now, my son. It shall not be long before I again callyou to my tower. '

So, with a look of kindness which did not soften to a smile, Benedictdismissed his penitent. When the door had closed, he sat for a fewminutes with head bent, then roused himself, glanced at the clepsydrawhich stood in a corner of the room, and turned a page or two of thevolume lying before him. Presently his attention was caught by thesound of fluttering wings; on the window sill had again alighted thetwo doves, and again they seemed to regard him curiously. The aged facebrightened with tenderness. 

'Welcome, ' he murmured, 'ye whose love is innocent. '

From a little bag that lay on the table he drew grains, and scatteredthem on the floor. The doves flew down and ate, and, as he watchedthem, Benedict seemed to forget all the sorrows of the world. 

CHAPTER XXVI

VIVAS IN DEO

The telling of his story was to Basil like waking from a state ofimperfect consciousness in which dream and reality hadindistinguishably mingled. Since the fight with the brigands he hadnever been himself; the fever in his blood made him incapable of wontedthought or action; restored to health, he looked back upon those dayswith such an alien sense that he could scarce believe he had done thethings he related. Only now did their move in him a natural horror whenhe thought of the death of Marcian, a natural distress when heremembered his bearing to Veranilda. Only now could he see in the lightof reason all that had happened between his talk with Sagaris atAesernia and his riding away with Venantius from the villa on theisland. As he unfolded the story, he marvelled at himself, and wasovercome with woe. 

There needed not the words of the holy abbot to show him how blindly hehad acted. He could see now that, however it might appear, the guilt ofMarcian was quite unproved. The Syrian slave might have lied, or elsehave uttered a mistaken suspicion. It might be true that Marcian hadbeen misled by some calumniator into thinking evil of his friend. Andhad he not heard the declaration of Veranilda, that she had suffered nowrong at his hands? Basil saw the face of his beloved. Only a manpossessed by the Evil Spirit could have answered her as he had done. Was not the fact that Marcian had brought Veranilda to his villa inorder to give her into the hands of Totila sufficient proof that he hadneither wronged her nor meditated wrong? Ay, but Basil reminded himselfthat he had accused Veranilda of amorous complicity with Marcian. Andat this recollection his brain whirled. 

Even were it permitted him ever to behold her again, how could he standbefore her? Must she not abhor him, as one whose baseness surpassed allshe had thought possible in the vilest slave? Jealousy was pardonable;in its rage, a man might slay and be forgiven. But for the reproachwith which he had smitten her--her, pure and innocent--there could beno forgiveness. It was an act of infamy, branding him for ever. 

Thoughts such as these intermingled with his reading of the Psalms ofpenitence. Ever and again grief overwhelmed him, and he wept bitterly. At the hour of the evening meal, he would willingly have remained inhis cell, to fast and mourn alone; but this, he felt, would have beento shirk part of his penance; for, though the brothers knew not of hissin, he could not meet their eyes for shame, and such humiliation mustneeds be salutary. This evening other guests sat at the abbot's table, and he shrank from their notice, for though they were but men of humbleestate, pilgrims from Lucania, he felt debased before them. Thereading, to which all listened during their meal, was selected fromthat new volume of Cassiodorus so esteemed by the abbot; it closed witha prayer in which Basil found the very utterance his soul needed. 

'O Lord, our Teacher and Guide, our Advocate and Judge, Thou theBestower and the Admonitor, terrible and clement, Rebuker and Consoler, who givest sight to the blind, who makest possible to the weak thatwhich Thou commandest, who art so good that Thou desirest to be forever petitioned, so merciful that Thou sufferest no one to despair;grant us that which we ask with Thy approval, and yet more that whichin our ignorance we fail to beseech. How weak we are, Thou indeedknowest; by what a foe we are beset, Thou art aware. In the unequalcontest, in our mortal infirmity, we turn to Thee, for it is the gloryof Thy Majesty when the meek sheep overcomes the roaring lion, when theEvil Spirit is repulsed by feeble flesh. Grant that our enemy, whorejoices in our offending, may be saddened by the sight of humanhappiness. Amen. '

He rose, for the first time, to attend the midnight office, Deodatus, who was punctual as a monk at all the hours, awaking him from sleep. But Marcus whispered an admonishing word. 

'I praise your zeal, good brother; nevertheless, as your physician, Icannot suffer your night's rest to be broken. Descend for lauds, if youwill, but not earlier. '

Basil bowed in obedience. Lauds again saw him at prayer. Hitherto, whenthey were together in the oratory, it had been the habit of Deodatus tokneel behind his master; this morning Basil placed himself by hisservant's side. They walked away together in the pearly light of dawn, and Basil led the way to a sequestered spot, whence there was a viewover the broad valley of the Liris. Several times of late he had comehere, to gaze across the mountainous landscape, wondering whereVeranilda might be. Turning to his companion, he laid a hand on theman's shoulder, and addressed him in a voice of much gentleness. 

'Did you leave nothing behind you, Deodatus, which would make thethought of never returning to your home a sorrow?'

'Nothing, my dear lord, ' was the reply. 'In my lifetime I have seenmuch grief and little solace. All I loved are dead. '

'But you are young. Could you without a pang say farewell to the world?'

Deodatus answered timidly:

'Here is peace. '

Continuing to question, Basil learnt that for this man the life of theworld was a weariness and a dread. Hardships of many kinds hadoppressed him from childhood; his was a meek soul, which had no placeamid the rudeness and violence of the times; from the first hour, thecloistered life had cast a spell upon him. 

'Here is peace, ' he repeated. 'Here one can forget everything but toworship God. Could I remain here, I were the happiest of men. '

And Basil mused, understanding, approving, yet unable to utter the samewords for himself. His eyes strayed towards the far valley, shimmeringin earliest daylight. He, too, had he not suffered dread things whilstliving in the world? And could he expect that life in the future wouldbe more kindly to him? None the less did his heart yearn for thatvalley of human tribulation. He struggled to subdue it. 

'Deodatus, pray for me, that I may have strength to do that which I seeto be the best. '

It was no forced humility. Very beautiful in Basil's eyes showed thepiety and calm which here surrounded him, and his reverence for thefounder of this house of peace fell little short of that with which heregarded the Saints in heaven. Never before--unless it were at certainmoments when conversing with the Lady Silvia--had he felt theloveliness of a life in which religion was supreme; and never, assuredly, had there stirred within him a spirit so devout. He longedto attain unto righteousness, that entire purity of will, which, it nowseemed to him, could be enjoyed only in monastic seclusion. All hislife he had heard praise of those who renounced the world; but theirmerit had been to him a far-off, uncomprehended thing, without relationto himself. Now he understood. A man, a sinner, it behoved him beforeall else to chasten his soul that he might be pleasing unto God; andbehold the way! For one who had sinned so grievously, it might well bethat there was no other path of salvation. 

This morning he went forth with the monks to labour. Brother Marcusconducted him to a plot of garden ground where there was light work tobe done, and there left him. Willingly did Basil set about this task, which broke the monotony of the day, and, more than that, was in itselfagreeable to him. He had always found pleasure in the rustic life, andof late, at his Asculan villa, had often wished he could abide in quietfor the rest of his days amid the fields and the vineyards. Working inthe mellow sunlight, above him the soft blue sky of early autumn, andall around the silence of mountain and of forest, he felt his healthrenew itself. When the first drops of sweat stood upon his forehead hewiped them away with earthy fingers, and the mere action--he knew notwhy--gave him pleasure. 

But of a sudden he became aware that he had lost something. From thelittle finger of his left hand had slipped his signet ring. It musthave fallen since he began working, and anxiously he searched for itabout the ground. Whilst he was thus occupied, Marcus came towards him, carrying a great basket of vegetables. Not without diffidence, Basiltold what had happened. 

'You will rebuke me, holy brother, for heeding such a loss. But thering is very old; it has been worn by many of my ancestors, to them itcame, and from one who suffered martyrdom in the times of Diocletian. '

'Then, indeed, I did well, ' replied Marcus, 'to leave it on your fingerduring your sickness. I looked at it and saw that it was a Christianseal. Had it been one of those which are yet seen too often, with thestamp of a daemon, I should have plucked it off, and perhaps havedestroyed it. The ring of a blessed martyr I Let us seek, let us seek!But, brother Basil, ' he added gravely, 'has there passed through yourheart no evil thought? I like not this falling of the ring. '

Basil held up his wasted hand with a smile. 

'True, true; you have lost flesh. Be thankful for it, dear brother; somuch the easier you combat with him whose ally is this body of death. True, the ring may have fallen simply because your finger was so thin. But be warned, O Basil, against that habit of mind which interprets inan earthly sense things of divine meaning. '

'I had indeed let my thoughts dwell upon worldliness, ' Basil admitted. 

The monk smiled a satisfied reproof. 

'Even so, even so! And look you! In the moment of your avowal my handfalls upon the ring. '

Rejoicing together, they inspected it. In the gold was set an onyx, graven with the monogram of Christ, a wreath, and the motto, 'Vivas inDeo. ' Marcus knelt, and pressed the seal to his forehead, murmuringecstatically:

'The ring of a blessed martyr!'

'I am all unworthy to wear it, ' said Basil, sincerely hesitating toreplace it on his finger. 'Indeed, I will not do so until I have spokenwith the holy father. '

This resolve Marcus commended, and, with a kindly word, he went hisway. Basil worked on. To discipline his thoughts he kept murmuring, 'Vivas in Deo, ' and reflecting upon the significance of the words; for, often as he had seen them, he had never till now mused upon theirmeaning. What was the life in God I Did it mean that of the world tocome? Ay, but how attain unto eternal blessedness save by striving toanticipate on earth that perfection of hereafter? And so was he broughtagain to the conclusion that, would he assure life eternal, he mustrenounce all that lured him in mortality. 

The brothers returning from the field at the third hour signalled tohim that for to-day he had worked enough. One of them, in passing, gavehim a smile, and said good-naturedly:

'Thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands; happy shalt thou be, and itshall be well with thee. '

Weary, but with the sense of healthful fatigue, Basil rested for anhour on his bed. He then took the Psalter and opened it at hazard, andthe first words his eyes fell upon were:

'Thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands; happy shalt thou be, and itshall be well with thee. '

'A happy omen, ' he thought. But stay; what was this that followed?

'Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house; thychildren like olive plants round about thy table. 

'Behold, thus shall the man be blessed that feareth the Lord. '

The blood rushed into his cheeks. He sat staring at the open page asthough in astonishment. He read and re-read the short psalm of whichthese verses were part, and if a voice had spoken it to him from abovehe could scarce have felt more moved by the message. Basil had neverbeen studious of the Scriptures, and, if ever he had known that theycontained such matter as this, it had quite faded from his memory. Hethought of the Holy Book as hostile to every form of earthly happiness, its promises only for those who lived to mortify their natural desires. Yet here was the very word of God encouraging him in his heart's hope. Were not men wont to use the Bible as their oracle, opening the pagesat hazard, even as he had done?

It was long before he could subdue his emotions so as to turn to thereading imposed upon him. He brought himself at length into the fittingmind by remembering that this wondrous promise was not for a sinner, amurderer; and that only could he hope to merit such blessing if he hadtruly repented, and won forgiveness. Stricken down by this reflectionhe grew once more humble and sad. 

In the afternoon, as he was pacing alone in a little portico near theabbot's tower, the prior approached him. This reverend man had hithertopaid little or no attention to Basil. He walked ever with eyes castdown as if in deep musing, yet it was well known that he observedkeenly, and that his duties to the community were discharged withadmirable zeal and competence. In the world he would have been a greatadministrator. In the monastery he seemed to find ample scope for hispowers, and never varied from the character of a man who set piety andlearning above all else. Drawing nigh to Basil he greeted him gently, and asked whether it would give him pleasure to see the copyists atwork. Basil gladly accepted this invitation, and was conducted to along, well-lit room, where, at great desks, sat some five or six of thebrothers, each bent over a parchment which would some day form portionof a volume, writing with slow care, with the zeal of devotees and withthe joy of artists. Not a whisper broke upon the silence in which thepen-strokes alone were audible. Stepping softly, the prior led hiscompanion from desk to desk, drawing attention, without a word, to thenature of the book which in each case was being copied. It surprisedBasil to see that the monks busied themselves in reproducing not onlyreligious works but also the writings of authors who had lived in pagantimes, and of this he spoke when the prior had led him forth again. 

'Have you then been taught, ' asked the prior, 'that it is sinful toread Virgil and Statius, Livy and Cicero?'

'Not so, reverend father, ' he replied modestly, his eyes falling beforethe good-humoured gaze. 'But I was so ill instructed as to think thatto those who had withdrawn from the world it might not be permitted. '

'Father Hieronymus had no such misgiving, ' said the prior, 'for hehimself, at Bethlehem, taught children to read the ancient poets; notunmindful that the blessed Paul himself, in those writings which arethe food of our spirit, takes occasion to cite from more than one poetwho knew not Christ. If you would urge the impurity and idolatry whichdeface so many pages of the ancients, let me answer you in full with abrief passage of the holy Augustine. "For, " says he, "as the Egyptianshad not only idols to be detested by Israelites, but also preciousornaments of gold and silver, to be carried off by them in flight, sothe science of the Gentiles is not only composed of superstitions to beabhorred, but of liberal arts to be used in the service of truth. "'

They walked a short distance without further speech, then the priorstopped. 

'Many there are, ' he said, with a gesture indicating the world below, 'who think that we flee the common life only for our souls' salvation. So, indeed, it has been in former times, and God forbid that we shouldspeak otherwise than with reverence of those who abandoned all andbetook themselves to the desert that they might live in purity andholiness. But to us, by the grace bestowed upon our holy father, hasanother guidance been shown. Know, my son, that, in an evil time, weseek humbly to keep clear, not for ourselves only, but for all men, thepaths of righteousness and of understanding. With heaven's blessing westrive to preserve what else might utterly perish, to become not onlyguardians of God's law but of man's learning. '

Therewith did the prior take his leave, and Basil pondered much on whathe had heard. It was a new light to him, for, as his instructorsuspected, he shared the common view of coenobite aims, and still butimperfectly understood the law of Benedict. All at once the life ofthis cloister appeared before him in a wider and nobler aspect. In thesilent monks bent over their desks he saw much more than piety andlearning. They rose to a dignity surpassing that of consul or praefect. With their pens they warred against the powers of darkness, a granderconflict than any in which men drew sword. He wished he could talk ofthis with his cousin Decius, for Decius knew so much more than he, andcould look so much deeper into the sense of things. 

Days passed. Not yet did he receive a summons to the abbot's tower. Rapidly recovering strength, he worked long in the fields, andscrupulously performed his penitential exercises. Only, when he hadfinished his daily reading of the appointed psalms, he turned to thatwhich begins: 'Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord, that walkethin His ways. ' How could he err in dwelling upon the word of God? Oneday, as he closed the book, his heart was so full of a strange, half-hopeful, half-fearful longing, that it overflowed in tears; andamid his weeping came a memory of Marcian, a tender memory of the daysof their friendship: for the first time he bewailed the dead man as onewhom he had dearly loved. 

Then there sounded a knock at the door of his cell. Commanding himself, and turning away so as to hide his face, he bade enter. 

And, looking up, he beheld his servant Felix. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE KING OF THE GOTHS

Transported from grief to joy, Basil sprang forward and clasped Felixin his arms. 

'God be thanked, ' he exclaimed, 'that I see you alive and well! Whencecome you? What is your news?'

With his wonted grave simplicity, Felix told that he had long sincerecovered from the effects of the wound, but had remained at Aesernia, unable to obtain permission to go in search of his master. The Gothicarmy was now advancing along the Via Latina; Basil's followers wereunited with the troop under Venantius; and on their arrival at Casinum, Felix succeeded in getting leave to climb to the monastery. He had beenassured that his lord had recovered health, and was still sojourningwith the holy men; but by whom this news had been brought he could notsay. Doubtless Venantius had held communication with the monastery. 

'And you are here alone?' asked Basil, fearing still to utter thequestion which was foremost in his mind. 

'Alone of my lord's men. I followed those that came with the king. '

'The king? Totila is here?'

'It was rumoured, ' replied Felix, in a reverent voice, 'that he desiredto speak of deep matters with the holy Benedict. They are even nowconversing. '

Basil fell into a great agitation. Absorbed in his private griefs, andin thoughts of eternity, he had all but forgotten the purpose withwhich he crossed the Apennines at the summons of Marcian. The name ofTotila revived his interest in the progress of the war, but at the sametime struck his heart with a chill misgiving. With what eyes would theking regard Marcian's slayer? Was he more likely to pardon the deed ifhe knew (as assuredly he must) that it was done in jealous love ofVeranilda? The words he had not dared to speak leapt to his lips. 

'Felix, know you anything of the Gothic lady--of her whom we lost?'

'The lord Venantius brought her to Aesernia, ' was the grave reply, 'andshe is now among the wives and daughters of the Gothic lords who movewith the army. '

Answering other questions, Felix said that he had not seen Veranilda, and that he knew nothing of her save what he had heard from those ofBasil's men who had been at the island villa, and, subsequently, fromthe gossip of the camp. A story had got abroad that Veranilda was thelost princess of the Amal line surviving in Italy, and it was commonlythought among the Goths that their king intended to espouse her--themarriage to be celebrated in Rome, when Rome once more acknowledged theGothic ruler. This did Felix report unwillingly, and only because hismaster insisted upon knowing all. 

'Very like it is true, ' commented Basil, forcing a smile. 'You know, mygood Felix, that the Emperor would fain have had her adorn his court;and I would rather see her Queen of Italy. But tell me now, last ofall, what talk there has been of me. Or has my name been happilyforgotten?'

'My dear lord's followers, ' replied Felix, 'have not ceased to speak ofhim among themselves, and to pray for his safety. '

'That I gladly believe. But I see there is more to tell. Out with itall, good fellow. I have suffered worse things than any that can liebefore me. '

In sad obedience, the servant made known that he and his fellows hadbeen closely questioned, first by Venantius, later, some two or threeof them, by the king himself, regarding their master's course of lifesince he went into Picenum. They had told the truth, happy in that theycould do so without fear and without shame. 

'And how did the king bear himself to you?' asked Basil eagerly. 

'With that nobleness which became him, ' was the fervid answer. 'It issaid among the Goths that only a lie or an act of cowardice can moveTotila to wrath against one who is in his power; and after speakingface to face with him, I well believe it. He questioned me in fewwords, but not as a tyrant; and when I had replied as best I could, hedismissed me with a smile. '

Basil's head drooped. 

'Yes, Totila is noble, ' fell softly from him. 'Let be what will be. Heis worthier than I. '

A knock sounded again at the door of the cell, and there enteredMarcus. His keen and kindly face betrayed perturbation of spirit, andafter looking from Basil to the new comer and then at Basil again, hesaid in a nervous voice:

'The lord abbot bids you repair at once, my brother, to the prior'sroom. '

'I go, ' was the prompt reply. 

As they left the room, Marcus caught Basil's arm and whispered:

'It is the King of the Goths who awaits you. But have courage, dearbrother; his face is mild. Despite his error, he has borne himselfreverently to our holy father. '

'Know you what has passed between them?' asked Basil, also in a whisper. 

'That none may know. But when Totila came forth from the tower, he hadthe face of one who has heard strange things. Who can say what theAlmighty purposes by the power of his servant Benedict? Not unguided, surely, did the feet of the misbelieving warrior turn to climb thismount. '

Leaving the poet monk to nurse his hopes, Basil betook himself withrapid steps to the prior's room. At the door stood three armed men; twohad the long flaxen hair which proclaimed them Goths, the third wasVenantius. A look of friendly recognition was all that passed betweenBasil and his countryman, who straightway admitted him to the room, announced his name, and retired. Alone--his attitude that of one whomuses--sat the Gothic King. He was bareheaded and wore neither armournor weapon; his apparel a purple tunic, with a loose, gold-broideredbelt, and a white mantle purple seamed. Youth shone in his ruddycountenance, and the vigour of perfect manhood graced his frame. Thelocks that fell to his shoulders had a darker hue than that common inthe Gothic race, being a deep burnished chestnut; but upon his lips andchin the hair gleamed like pale gold. Across his forehead, from templeto temple, ran one deep furrow, and this, together with a slight droopof the eyelids, touched his visage with a cast of melancholy, whereby, perhaps, the comely features became more royal. 

Upon Basil, who paused at a respectful distance, he fixed a gaze ofmeditative intentness, and gazed so long in silence that the Romancould not but at length lift his eyes. Meeting the glance with gravegood nature, Totila spoke firmly and frankly. 

'Lord Basil, they tell me that you crossed Italy to draw your sword inmy cause. Is this the truth?'

'It is the truth, O king. '

'How comes it then that you are laden with the death of one who hadlong proved himself my faithful servant, one who, when you encounteredhim, was bound on a mission of great moment?'

'He whom I slew, ' answered Basil, 'was the man whom of all men I mostloved. I thought him false to me, and struck in a moment of madness. '

'Then you have since learnt that you were deceived?'

Basil paused a moment. 

'Gracious lord, that I accused him falsely, I no longer doubt, havinghad time to reflect upon many things, and to repent of my evil haste. But I am still ignorant of the cause which led him to think ill of me, and so to speak and act in a way which could not but make my heart burnagainst him. '

'Something of this too I have heard, ' said the king, his blue eyesresting upon Basil's countenance with a thoughtful interest. 'Youbelieve, then, that your friend was wholly blameless towards you, inintention and in act?'

'Save inasmuch as credited that strange slander, borne I know not uponwhat lips. '

'May I hear, ' asked Totila, 'what this slander charged upon you?'

Basil raised his head, and put all his courage into a brief reply. 

'That I sought to betray the lady Veranilda into the hands of theGreeks. '

'And you think, ' said the king slowly, meditatively, his eyes stillsearching Basil's face, 'that your friend could believe you capable ofthat?'

'How he could, I know not, ' came the sad reply. 'Yet I must needs thinkit was so. '

'Why?' sounded from the king's lips abruptly, and with a change tounexpected sternness. 'What forbids you the more natural thought thatthis man, this Marcian, was himself your slanderer?'

'Thinking so, O king, I slew him. Thinking so, I defiled my tongue withbase suspicion of Veranilda. Being now again in my right mind, I knowthat my accusation of _her_ was frenzy, and therefore I choose ratherto believe that I wronged Marcian than that he could conceive so base atreachery. '

Totila reflected. All but a smile as of satisfaction lurked within hiseyes. 

'Know you, ' he next inquired, 'by what means Marcian obtained charge ofthe lady Veranilda?'

'Of that I am as ignorant as of how she was first carried intocaptivity. '

'Yet, ' said the king sharply, 'you conversed with her after Marcian'sdeath. '

'Gracious lord, ' answered Basil in low tones, 'it were miscalledconversing. With blood upon my hands, I said I scarce knew what, andwould not give ear to the words which should have filled me withremorse. '

There was again a brief silence. Totila let his eyes stray for amoment, then spoke again meditatively. 

'You sought vainly for this maiden, whilst she was kept in ward. Beingyour friend, did not Marcian lend his aid to discover her for you?'

'He did so, but fruitlessly. And when at length he found her, his mindto me had changed. '

'Strangely, it must be confessed, ' said the king. His eyes were againfixed upon Basil with a look of pleasant interest. 'Some day, perchance, you may learn how that came about; meanwhile, you do well tothink good rather than evil. In truth, it would be difficult to dootherwise in this dwelling of piety and peace. Is there imposed uponyou some term of penance? I scarce think you have it in mind to turnmonk?'

The last words, though not irreverently uttered, marked a change inTotila's demeanour. He seemed to lay aside an unwonted gravity, tobecome the ruler of men, the warrior, the conqueror. His forehead lostits long wrinkle, as, with eyebrows bent and lips compressed into arallying half smile, he seemed to challenge all the manhood in him headdressed. 

'For that, ' Basil replied frankly, 'I lack the calling. '

'Well said. And how tends your inclination as regards the things ofthis world? Has it changed in aught since you came hither?'

'In nothing, O king, ' was the firm response 'I honour the Goth, even asI love my country. '

'Spoken like a man. But I hear that you have passed through a longsickness, and your cheek yet lacks something of its native hue. Itmight be well if you took your ease yet a little with these goodbedesmen. '

'It is true that I have not yet all my strength, ' answered Basil. 'Moreover, ' he added, lowering his voice, 'I would fain lighten my soulof the sin that burdens it. It may be that, ere long, the holy fatherwill grant me absolution. '

Totila nodded with a grave smile. 

'Be it so. When you are sound in flesh and spirit, follow me northward. I shall then have more to say to you. '

The look accompanying these words lent them a significance which putconfusion into Basil's mind. He saw the courteous gesture wherewith theking dismissed him; he bowed and withdrew; but when he had left theroom he stood as one bewildered, aware of nothing, his eyes turnedvacantly upon some one who addressed him. Presently he found himselfwalking apart with Venantius, who spoke to him of public affairs, apprised him of the course of the war during these past weeks, anduttered the hope that before the end of the year the liberators wouldenter Rome. It was true that the Emperor had at length chargedBelisarius with the task of reconquering Italy, but months must passbefore an army could be assembled and transported; by the latest newsthe great commander was in Illyria, striving to make a force out offresh-recruited barbarians, and lamenting the avarice of Justinianwhich grudged him needful supplies. And as he listened to all this, Basil felt a new ardour glow within him. He had ever worshipped the manof heroic virtues; once upon a time it was Belisarius who fired hiszeal; now his eyes dazzled with the glory of Totila; he burned todevote a loyal service to this brave and noble king. 

Suddenly there sounded a trumpet. Its note broke strangely upon themonastic stillness, and, in a moment, echoed clear from the mountains. 

'The king goes forth, ' said Venantius. 'I must leave you. Join usspeedily yonder. '

He pointed towards Rome. On Basil's lips quivered a word, a question, but before it could be uttered the soldier had stridden away, hiscasque gleaming in the sun, and his sword clanking beside him. 

Again with mind confused, Basil went to his cell, and sat there head onhand, trying to recover the mood, the thoughts, with which he had risenthis morning. But everything was changed. He could no longer think ofthe past; the future called to him, and its voice was like that of theGothic trumpet, stirring his blood, urging him to activity. At middaysome one knocked, and there entered Deodatus. 

'Where is Felix?' was Basil's first question. 

Felix was gone, but only to the town at the foot of the mountain, wherehe and two of his fellows would abide until their master left themonastery. With this message Deodatus had been charged by Venantius. Headded that Felix had been dismissed, at the abbot's order, duringBasil's interview with the king. 

'I understand, ' said Basil in himself; and during the rest of the dayhe strove with all the force of his will to recover calm and piousthoughts. In the night that followed he slept little; it was now theimage of Veranilda that hovered before him and kept him wakeful, perturbed with a tender longing. God, it might be, would pardon him hisoffence against the Divine law; but could he look for forgiveness fromVeranilda? When he thought of the king's last words he was lured withhope; when he reasoned upon this hope, it turned to a mockingemptiness. And through the next day, and the next again, his strugglestill went on. He worked and prayed as usual, and read the Psalms ofpenitence not once only, but several times in the four-and-twentyhours; that other psalm, to which he had turned for strengthening ofthe spirit, he no longer dared to open. And all this time he scarcespoke with any one; not that the brethren looked upon him with lesskindness, or held him at a distance, but the rebuke of his ownconscience kept him mute. He felt that his communion with these holymen was in seeming only, and it shamed him to contrast their quietservice of the Eternal with the turbid worldliness of his own thoughts. 

During these days the abbot was not seen. Venturing, at length, when hehappened to find himself alone with Marcus, to speak of this, he learntthat the holy father was not in his wonted health; Marcus added thatthe disorder had resulted from the visit of the king. After Totila'sdeparture, Benedict had passed hours in solitary prayer, until afaintness came upon him, from which he could not yet recover. Basil wasturning away sadly, when the monk touched his arm, and said in atroubled voice:

'Many times he has spoken of you, dear brother. '

'Would, ' replied Basil, 'that I were worthy of his thoughts. '

'Did he think you unworthy, ' said Marcus, 'he would not grieve that youmust so soon go from among us. '

'The holy father has said that I must soon leave you?'

Marcus nodded gravely, and walked away. 

Another week passed. By stern self-discipline, Basil had fixed histhoughts once more on things spiritual, and the result appeared in aquiet contentment. He waited upon the will of Benedict, which he hadcome to regard as one with the will of God. And at length the expectedsummons came. It was on the evening of Saturday, after vespers; theabbot had been present at the office, and, as he went forth from theoratory, he bade Basil follow him. They entered the tower, andBenedict, who walked feebly, sat for some moments silent in his chair, as if he had need of repose before the effort of speaking. Through thewindow streamed a warm light, illumining the aged face turned thitherwith eyes which dreamt upon the vanishing day. 

'So you are no longer impatient to be gone?' were the abbot's firstwords, spoken in a voice which had not lost its music, though weaknessmade it low. 

'My father, ' answered Basil, 'I have striven with myself and God hashelped me. '

He knew that it was needless to say more. The eyes bent upon him readall his thoughts; the confessions, the pleadings, he might haveuttered, all lay open before that calm intelligence. '

'It is true, dear son, ' said Benedict, 'that you have fought bravely, and your countenance declares that, in some measure, victory has beengranted you. That it is not the complete victory of those who put theworld for ever beneath their feet, shall not move me to murmur. TheLord of the vineyard biddeth whom He will; not all are called to thesame labour; it may be--for in this matter I see but darkly--it may bethat the earthly strife to which your heart impels you shall serve theglory of the Highest. As indeed doth every act of man, for how can itbe otherwise? But I speak of the thought, the purpose, whereby 'in theend of all things, all must be judged. '

Basil heard these sentences with a deep joy. There was silence, andwhen the aged voice again spoke, it was in a tone yet more solemn. Benedict had risen. 

'Answer me, my son, and speak as in the presence of God, whom I humblyserve. Do you truly repent of the sin whereof you made confession tome?'

Kneeling, Basil declared his penitence. Thereupon, Benedict, lookingupwards, opened his lips in prayer. 

'Receive, O Lord, our humble supplications, and to me, who above allhave need of Thy compassion, graciously give ear. Spare Thou thispenitent, that, by Thy mercy, he may escape condemnation in thejudgment to come. Let him not know the dread of darkness, nor the pangof fire. Having turned from his way of error into the path ofrighteousness, be he not again stricken with the wounds of sin, butgrant Thou that there abide with him for ever that soul's health whichThy grace hath bestowed and Thy mercy hath established. '

As he listened, Basil's eyes filled with tears, and when bidden to risehe felt as one who has thrown off a burden; rejoicing in his recoveredstrength of body and soul, he gazed into that venerable face withgratitude too great for words. 

'Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth. ' It was with aparent's tenderness that Benedict now spoke. 'I am old, O Basil, andhave but a few more steps to take upon this earth. Looking upon me, yousee long promise of life before you. And yet--'

The soft accents were suspended. For a moment Benedict gazed as thoughinto the future; then, with a wave of his hand, passed to anotherthought. 

'To-morrow you will join with us in the Holy Communion. You will passthe day in sober joy among the brethren, not one of whom but sharesyour gladness and desires your welfare. And at sunrise on the dayafter, you will go forth from our gates. Whether to return, I know not;be that with the Ruler of All. If again you climb this mount, I shallnot be here to bid you welcome. Pray humbly, even as I do, that we maymeet in the life eternal. '

After Mass on the morrow, when he had joyfully partaken of theEucharist, Basil was bidden to the priest's room. This time it was theprior himself who received him, and with an address which indicated thechange in the position of the penitent, now become an ordinary guest. 

'Lord Basil, your follower, Deodatus, is minded to fulfil the prophecyof his name, and tells me that it would be with your good will. Are youcontent to deprive yourself of his service, that he may continue toabide with us, and after due preparation, take the vows of ourcommunity?'

'Content, ' was the reply, 'and more than content. If ever man seemedborn for the holy life, it is he. I entreat you, reverend father, tofavour his desire. '

'Be it so. I have spoken of this matter with the lord abbot, who hasgraciously given his consent. Let me now make known to you that, atsunrise to-morrow, your attendants who have been sojourning at Casinum, will await you by the gate of the monastery. I wish you, dear lord, afair journey. Let your thoughts sometimes turn to us; by us you willever be remembered. '

Long before the morrow's sunrise, Basil was stirring. By the light ofhis little lamp, he and Deodatus conversed together, no longer asmaster and servant, but as loving friends, until the bell called themto matins. The night was chill; under a glistening moon all the valleyland was seen to be deep covered with far-spreading mist, whereamid themount of the monastery and the dark summits round about rose likeislands in a still, white sea. When matins and lauds were over, many ofthe monks embraced and tenderly took leave of the departing guest. Thelast to do so was Marcus, who led him aside and whispered:

'I see you have again put on your ring, as was right. Let me, I beg ofyou, once more touch it with my lips. '

Having done so with the utmost reverence, he clasped Basil in his arms, kissed him on either cheek, and said, amid tears:

'Lest we should never meet again, take and keep this; not for itsworth, for God knows it has little, but in memory of my love. '

The gift was a little book, a beautifully written copy of all theverses composed by the good Marcus in honour of Benedict and of theSacred Mount of Casinum. 

Holding it against his heart, Basil rode down into the mist. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

AT HADRIAN'S VILLA

Rome waited. It was not long to the setting of the Pleiades, and therecould be no hope that the new army from the East would enter Italy thisyear. Belisarius lay on the other side of Hadria; in Italy the Imperialcommanders scarce moved from the walls where each had found safety. Already suffering dearth (for Totila now had ships upon the TyrrheneSea, hindering the corn vessels that made for Portus), such of hercitizens as had hope elsewhere and could escape, making haste to flee, watching the slow advance of the Gothic conqueror, and fearful of theleaguer which must presently begin, Rome waited. 

One morning the attention of those who went about the streets wascaught by certain written papers which had been fixed during the nighton the entrance of public buildings and at other such conspicuouspoints; they bore a proclamation of the King of the Goths. Remindingthe Roman people that nearly the whole of Italy was now his, and urgingthem to avoid the useless sufferings of a siege, Totila made promisethat, were the city surrendered to him, neither hurt nor loss shouldbefall one of the inhabitants; and that under his rule Rome should havethe same liberty, the same honour, as in the time of the gloriousTheodoric. Before these papers had been torn down, their purport becameuniversally known; everywhere men whispered together; but those whowould have welcomed the coming of Totila could not act upon their wish, and the Greeks were confident of relief long ere the city could betaken by storm or brought to extremities. Bessas well knew the numbersof Totila's army; he himself commanded a garrison of three thousandmen, and not much larger than this was the force with which, afterleaving soldiers to maintain his conquest throughout the land, the kingnow drew towards Rome. At the proclamation Bessas laughed, for he sawin it a device dictated by weakness. 

And now, in these days of late autumn, the Gothic army lay all but insight. Watchers from the walls pointed eastward, to where on itsheight, encircled by the foaming Anio, stood the little town of Tibur;this, a stronghold overlooking the Ager Romanus, Totila had turnedaside to besiege. The place must soon yield to him. How long before hishorsemen came riding along the Tiburtine Way?

Close by Tibur, on a gently rising slope, sheltered by mountains alikefrom northern winds and from the unwholesome breathing of the south, stood the vast pleasure-house built by the Emperor Hadrian, with itspresentment in little of the scenes and architecture which had mostimpressed him in his travels throughout the Roman world. The lapse offour hundred years had restored to nature his artificial landscape: theVale of Tempe had forgotten its name; Peneus and Alpheus flowedunnoticed through tracts of wood or wilderness; but upon the multitudeof edifices, the dwellings, theatres, hippodromes, galleries, lecturehalls, no destroyer's hand had yet fallen. They abounded in thingsbeautiful, in carving and mosaic, in wall-painting and tapestries, instatues which had been the glory of Greece, and in marble portraiturewhich was the boast of Rome. Here, amid the decay of ancient splendourand the luxuriance of the triumphing earth, King Totila made hismomentary abode; with him, in Hadrian's palace, housed the Gothicwarrior-nobles, and a number of ladies, their wives and relatives, whomade, as it were, a wandering court. Honour, pride, and cheerfulcourage were the notable characteristics of these Gothic women. Whatgraces they had they owed to nature, not to any cultivation of themind. Their health Buffered in a nomadic life from the ills of thecountry, the dangers of the climate, and the children by whom a fewwere accompanied, showed a degeneracy of blood which threatened therace with extinction. 

Foremost in rank among them was Athalfrida, sister to the king, andwife of a brawny lord named Osuin. Though not yet five and twenty yearsold, Athalfrida had borne seven children, of whom five died inbabyhood. A creature of magnificent form, and in earlier life of superbvigour, her paling cheek told of decline that had begun; neverthelessher spirits were undaunted; and her voice, in gay talk, in song or inlaughter, sounded constantly about the halls and wild gardens. Merry bychoice, she had in her a vein of tenderness which now and then(possibly due to failing health) became excessive, causing her to shedabundant tears with little or no cause, and to be over lavish ofendearments with those she loved or merely liked. Athalfrida worshippedher husband; in her brother saw the ideal hero. She was ardent inracial feeling, thought nothing good but what was Gothic, and hated theItalians for their lack of gratitude to the people of Theodoric. 

To her the king had intrusted Veranilda. Knowing her origin andhistory, Athalfrida, in the beginning, could not but look coldly uponher charge. The daughter of a Gothic renegade, the betrothed of a Romannoble, and finally an apostate from the creed of her race-how couldsuch an one expect more than the barest civility from Totila's sister?Yet in a little time it had come to pass that Athalfrida felt her heartsoften to the sad and beautiful maiden, who never spoke but gently, whohad compassion for all suffering, and willing aid for any one she couldserve, whom little children loved as soon as they looked into her eyes, and heard her voice. Though a daughter of the abhorred Ebrimut, Veranilda was of Amal blood, and, despite what seemed her weakness andher errors, it soon appeared that she cherished fervidly the glory ofthe Gothic name. This contradiction puzzled the wife of Osuin, whosethoughts could follow only the plainest track. She suspected that hercharge must be the victim of some enchantment, of some evil spell; andin their talk she questioned her with infinite curiosity concerning heracquaintance with Basil, her life in the convent at Praeneste, herrelease and the journey with Marcian. Veranilda spoke as one who hasnothing to conceal; only, when pressed for the story of that last dayat the island villa, she turned away her face, and entreated thequestioner's forbearance. All else she told with a sad simplicity. Herreligious conversion was the result of teaching she had received fromthe abbess, a Roman lady of great learning, who spoke of things tillthen unknown to her, and made so manifest the truth of the Catholiccreed that her reason was constrained to accept it. Obeying the king'scommand, Athalfrida refrained from argument and condemnation, and, asVeranilda herself, when once she had told her story, never againreturned to it, the subject was almost forgotten. They lived togetheron terms as friendly as might be between persons so different. Theother ladies, their curiosity once satisfied, scarce paid any heed toher at all; and Veranilda was never more content than when left quitealone, to ply her needle and commune with her thoughts. 

Against all expectation, the gates of Tibur remained obstinatelyclosed; three weeks went by, and those who came on to the walls toparley had only words of scorn for the Gothic king, whom they badebeware of the Greek force which would shortly march to their succour. Only a small guard of Isaurians held the town, but it was abundantlyprovisioned, and strong enough to defy attack for an indefinite time. The Goths had no skill in taking fortresses by assault; when walls heldfirm against them, they seldom overcame except by blockade; and this itwas which, despite his conquest of the greater part of Italy, madeTotila thus slow and cautious in his approach to Rome. He rememberedthat Vitiges, who laid siege to the city with a hundred thousand men, had retreated at last with his troops diminished by more than half, soworn and dispirited that they scarce struck another blow againstBelisarius. The Greek commander, Totila well knew, would not sallyforth and risk an engagement: to storm the battlements would be anidle, if not a fatal, attempt; and how, with so small an army, could heencompass so vast a wall? To guard the entrance to the river with hisships, and to isolate Rome from every inland district of Italy, seemedto the Gothic king the only sure way of preparing his final triumph. But time pressed; however beset with difficulties, Belisarius would notlinger for ever beyond Hadria. The resistance of Tibur excited Totila'simpatience, and at length stirred his wrath. Osuin heard a terriblethreat fall from his lips, and the same evening whispered it toAthalfrida. 

'He will do well, ' answered his wife, with brows knit. 

On the morrow, Athalfrida and Veranilda sat together in the gardens, orwhat once had been the gardens, of Hadrian's palace, and looked forthover the vast brown landscape, with that gleam upon its limit, thatsomething pale between earth and air, which was the Tyrrhene Sea. Overthe sky hung thin grey clouds, broken with strips of hazy blue, andsoftly suffused with warmth from the invisible sun. 

'O that this weary war would end!' exclaimed the elder lady in thelanguage of the Goths. 'I am sick of wandering, sick of this south, where winter is the same as summer, sick of the name of Rome. I would Iwere back in Mediolanum. There, when you look from the walls, you seethe great white mountains, and a wind blows from them, cold, keen; awind that sets you running and leaping, and makes you hungry. Here Ihave no gust for food, and indeed there is none worth eating. '

As she spoke, she raised her hand to the branch of an arbutus justabove her head, plucked one of the strawberry-like fruits, bit into itwith her white teeth, and threw the half away contemptuously. 

'You!' She turned to her companion abruptly. 'Where would you like tolive when the war is over?'

Veranilda's eyes rested upon something in the far distance, but lessfar than the shining horizon. 

'Surely not _there_!' pursued the other, watching her. 'I was but oncein Rome, and I had not been there a week when I fell sick of fever. King Theodoric knew better than to make his dwelling at Rome, andTotila will never live there. The houses are so big and so closetogether they scarce leave air to breathe; so old, too, they look as ifthey would tumble upon your head. I have small liking for Ravenna, where there is hardly dry land to walk upon, and you can't sleep forthe frogs. Verona is better. But, best of all, Mediolanum. There, if hewill listen to me, my brother shall have his palace and his court--asthey say some of the emperors did, I know not how long ago. '

Still gazing at the far distance, Veranilda murmured:

'I never saw the city nearer than this. '

'I would no one might ever look upon it again!' cried Athalfrida, herblue eyes dark with anger and her cheeks hot. 'I would that thepestilence, which haunts its streets, might make it desolate, and thatthe muddy river, which ever and again turns it into a swamp, would hideits highest palace under an eternal flood. '

Veranilda averted her face and kept silence. Thereupon the other seemedto repent of having spoken so vehemently. 

'Well, that's how I feel sometimes, ' she said, in a voice suddenlygentle. 'But I forgot--or I wouldn't have said it. '

'I well understand, dear lady, ' replied her companion. 'Rome has neverbeen loyal to the Goths. And yet some Romans have. '

'How many? To be sure, you know one, and in your thought he stands fora multitude. Come, you must not be angry with me, child. Nay, vexed, then. Nay then, hurt and sad. I am not myself to-day. I dreamt lastnight of the snowy mountains, and this warmth oppresses me. In truth, Ioften fear I shall fall sick. Feel my hand, how hot it is. Where arethe children? Let us walk. '

Not far away she discovered three little boys, two of them her own, whowere playing at battles and sieges upon stairs which descended fromthis terrace to the hippodrome below. After watching them awhile, withlaughter and applause, she threw an arm round Veranilda's waist, anddrew her on to a curved portico where, in a niche, stood a statue ofAntinous. 

'Is that one of their gods, or an emperor?' asked Athalfrida. 'I haveseen his face again and again since we came here. '

'Indeed, I know not, ' answered her companion. 'But surely he is toobeautiful for a man. '

'Beautiful? Never say that, child; for if it be as you think, it is thebeauty of a devil, and has led who knows how many into the eternalfire. Had I a hammer here, I would splinter the evil face. I would nothave my boys look at it and think it beautiful. '

A heavy footstep sounded on the terrace. Turning, they saw Osuin, anarmed giant, with flowing locks, and thick, tawny beard. 

'Wife, a word with you, ' he shouted, beckoning from some twenty pacesaway. 

They talked together; then the lady returned, a troubled smile on herface, and said softly to Veranilda:

'Some one wishes to speak with you--some one who comes with the king'sgood-will. '

Veranilda looked towards Osuin. 

'You cannot mean--?' she faltered. 

'No other, ' replied Athalfrida, nodding gaily. 'Are you at leisure?Some other day, perhaps? I will say you would be private--that youcannot now give audience. '

This pleasantry brought only the faintest smile to the listener's face. 

'Is it hither that he would come?' she asked, again looking anxiouslytowards the ruddy giant, who stamped with a beginning of impatience. 

'If so it please you, little one, ' answered Athalfrida, changing all atonce to her softest mood. 'The king leaves all to my discretion, and Iask nothing better than to do you kindness. Shall it be here, orwithin?'

Veranilda whispered 'Here'; whereupon Osuin received a sign, andstalked off. A few minutes passed, and Athalfrida, who, after caressesand tender words, had drawn apart, as if to watch her children playing, beheld the expected visitor. Her curiosity was not indiscreet; shewould have glimpsed the graceful figure, the comely visage, and thenhave turned away; but at this moment the new comer paused, looked abouthim in hesitation, and at length advanced towards her. She had everyexcuse for looking him straight in the face, and it needed not thepleasant note of his speech to dispose her kindly towards him. 

'Gracious lady, I seek the lady Veranilda, and was bidden come hitheralong the terrace. '

Totila's sister had but little of the Latin tongue; now, for perhapsthe first time in her life, she regretted this deficiency. Smiling, shepointed to a group of cypresses which hid part of the portico, and herquestioner, with a courtly bow, went on. He wore the ordinary dress ofa Roman noble, and had not even a dagger at his waist. As soon as hehad passed the cypresses, he saw, within the shadow of the portico, thefigure his eyes had sought; then he stood still, and spoke with manlysubmissiveness. 

'It is much that you suffer me to come into your presence, for of allmen, O Veranilda, I am least worthy to do so. '

'How shall I answer you?' she replied, with a sad, simple dignity. 'Iknow not of what unworthiness you accuse yourself. That you are mostunhappy, I know too well. '

She dared not raise her eyes to him; but in the moment of hisappearance before her, it had gladdened her to see him attired as whenshe first knew him. Had he worn the soldierly garb in which hepresented himself at Marcian's villa, the revival of a dread memorywould have pierced her heart. Even as in outward man he was the Basilshe had loved, so did his voice recall that brighter day. 

'Unhappy most of all, ' he continued, 'in what I least dare speak of. Ihave no ground to plead for pardon. What I did, and still more what Iuttered, judge it at the worst. I should but add to my baseness if Iurged excuses. '

'Let us not remember that, I entreat you, ' said Veranilda. 'But tellme, if you will, what has befallen you since?'

'You know nothing of me since then?'

'Nothing. '

'And I nothing of you, save that you were with the Gothic army, andhonourably entertained. The king himself spoke to me of you, when, after long sickness, I came to his camp. He asked if it was my wish tosee you; but I could not yet dare to stand before your face, and so Ianswered him. "It is well, " said Totila. "Prove yourself in someservice to the Goths and to your country, then I will speak with youagain. " And straightway he charged me with a duty which I the moregladly undertook because it had some taste of danger. He bade me enterRome, and spread through the city a proclamation to the Roman people--'

'It was you who did that?' interrupted the listener. 'We heard of itsbeing done, but not by what hand. '

'With a servant whom I can trust, disguised, he and I, as peasantsbringing food to market, I entered Rome, and remained for two dayswithin the gates; then returned to Totila. He next sent me to learn thestrength of the Greek garrisons in Spoletium and Assisium, and howthose cities were provisioned; this task also, by good hap, Idischarged so as to win some praise. Then the king again spoke to me ofyou. And as, before, I had not dared to approach you, so now I did notdare to wait longer before making known to you my shame and myrepentance. '

'Of what sickness did you speak just now?' asked Veranilda, after asilence. 

He narrated to her his sojourn at the monastery, told of the penance hehad done, of the absolution granted him by Benedict; whereupon a lightcame into Veranilda's eyes. 

'There lives, ' she exclaimed, 'no holier man!'

'None holier lived, ' was Basil's grave answer. 'Returning fromAssisium, I met a wandering anchorite, who told me of Benedict's death. '

'Alas!'

'But is he reverenced by those of your creed?' asked Basil in surprise. 

'Of my creed? My faith is that of the Catholic Church. '

For the first time their eyes met. Basil drew a step nearer; his faceshone with joy, which for a moment held him mute. 

'It was in the convent, ' added Veranilda, 'that I learnt the truth. They whom I called my enemies wrought this good to me. '

Basil besought her to tell him how she had been carried away fromSurrentum, and all that had befallen her whilst she was a prisoner; hedeclared his ignorance of everything between their last meeting in theAnician villa and the dreadful day which next brought them face toface. As he said this, it seemed to him that Veranilda's countenancebetrayed surprise. 

'I forget, ' he added, his head again falling, 'that your mind has beenfilled with doubt of me. How can I convince you that I speak truly? OVeranilda!' he exclaimed passionately, 'can you look at me, can youhear me speak, and still believe that I was ever capable of betrayingyou?'

'That I never believed, ' she answered in a subdued voice. 

'Yet I saw in your eyes some doubt, some hesitation. '

'Then it was despite myself. The thought that you planned evil againstme I have ever cast out and abhorred. Why it was said of you, alas, Iknow not. '

'What proof was given?' asked Basil, gazing fixedly at her. 

'None. '

Her accent did not satisfy him; it seemed to falter. 

'Was nothing said, ' he urged, 'to make credible so black an untruth?'

Veranilda stood motionless and silent. 

'Speak, I beseech you!' cried Basil, his hands clasped upon his breast. 'Something there is which shadows your faith in my sincerity. Godknows, I have no right to question you thus--I, who let my heart bepoisoned against you by a breath, a nothing. Rebuke me as you will;call me by the name I merit; utter all the disdain you must needs feelfor a man so weak and false--'

His speech was checked upon that word. Veranilda had arrested him witha sudden look, a look of pain, of fear. 

'False?' fell from her lips. 

'Can _you_ forget it, O Veranilda? Would that I could!'

'In your anger, ' she said, 'as when perchance you were alreadydistraught with fever, you spoke I know not what. Therein you were notfalse to me. '

'False to myself; I should have said. To you, never, never! False to myfaith in you, false to my own heart which knew you faithful; but falseas men are called who--'

Again his voice sank. A memory flashed across him, troubling his brow. 

'What else were you told?' he asked abruptly. 'Can it be a woman's namewas spoken? You are silent. Will you not say that this thought, also, you abhorred and rejected?'

The simple honesty of Veranilda's nature would not allow her todisguise what she thought. Urging question after question, with ardourirresistible, Basil learnt all she had been told by Marcian concerningHeliodora, and, having learnt it, confessed the whole truth in utterfrankness, in the plain, blunt words dictated by his loathing of theGreek woman with whom he had once played at love. And, as she listened, Veranilda's heart grew light; for the time before her meeting withBasil seemed very far away, and the tremulous passion in his voiceassured her of all she cared to know, that his troth pledged to her hadnever suffered wrong. Basil spoke on and on, told of his misery in Romewhilst vainly seeking her; how he was baffled and misled; how atlength, in despair, he left the city and went to his estate by Asculum. Then of the message received from Marcian, and how eagerly he set forthto cross the Apennines, resolved that, if he could not find Veranilda, at least he would join himself with her people and fight for theirking; of his encounter with the marauding troop, his arrival, worn andfevered, at Aesernia, his meeting with Sagaris, their interview, andwhat followed upon it. 

'To this hour I know not whether the man told me what he believed, orcoldly lied to me. He has the face of a villain and may well havebehaved as one--who knows with what end in view? Could I but lay handsupon him, I would have the truth out of his tongue by torture. He is inRome. I saw him come forth from Marcian's house, when I was there onthe king's service; but, of course, I could not speak with him. '

Veranilda had seated herself within the portico. Basil stood beforeher, ever and again meeting her eyes as she looked up. 

'Just as little, ' he resumed after a pause of troubled thought, 'can Iknow whether Marcian believed me a traitor, or himself had a traitorousmind. The more I think, the less do I understand him. I hope, I hopewith all my heart, that he was innocent, and daily I pray for hiseternal welfare. '

'That is well done, O Basil, ' said the listener, for the first timeuttering his name. 'My prayers, too, he shall have. That he was sowilling to credit ill of you, I marvel; and therein he proved himselfno staunch friend. But of all else, he was guiltless. '

'So shall he ever live in my memory, ' said Basil. 'Of him I alwaysfound it easier to believe good than evil, for many were the proofs hehad given me of his affection. Had it been otherwise, I should longbefore have doubted him; for, when I was seeking you in Rome, more thanonce did a finger point to Marcian, as to one who knew more than hewould say. I heard the accusation with scorn, knowing well that theywho breathed it desired to confound me. '

This turned his thoughts again to the beginning of their sorrows; andagain he gently asked of Veranilda that she would relate that part ofher story which remained unknown to him. She, no longer saddened by thepast, looked frankly up into his face, and smiled as she began. Nowfirst did Basil hear of the anchoret Sisinnius, and how Aurelia wasbeguiled into the wood, where capture awaited her. Of the embarkment atSurrentum, Veranilda had only a confused recollection: fear anddistress re-awoke in her as she tried to describe the setting forth tosea, and the voyage that followed. Sisinnius and his monkish followerwere in the ship, but held no speech with their captives. After a dayor two of sailing, they landed at nightfall, but in what place she hadnever learnt. Still conducted by the anchorets, they were taken to passthe night in a large house, where they had good entertainment, but sawonly the female slaves who waited upon them. The next day began ajourney by road; and thus, after more than one weary day, they arrivedat the house of religious women which was to be Veranilda's home fornearly a twelvemonth. 

'I knew not where I was, and no one would answer me that question, though otherwise I had gentle and kindly usage. Aurelia I saw no more;we had not even taken leave of each other, for we did not dream onentering the house that we were to be parted. Whether she remainedunder that roof I never learnt. During our journey, she suffered much, often weeping bitterly, often all but distraught with anger anddespair. Before leaving the ship we were told that, if either of ustried to escape, we should be fettered, and only the fear of thatindignity kept Aurelia still. Her face, as I remember its last look, was dreadful, so white and anguished. I have often feared that, if shewere long kept prisoner, she would lose her senses. '

Basil having heard the story to an end without speaking, made known thethoughts it stirred in him. They talked of Petronilla and of the deaconLeander, and sought explanations of Veranilda's release. And, as thusthey conversed, they forgot all that had come between them; theirconstraint insensibly passed away; till at length Basil was sitting byVeranilda's side, and holding her hand, and their eyes met in a longgaze of love and trust and hope. 

'Can you forgive?' murmured Basil, upon whom, in the fulness of hisjoy, came the memory of what he deemed his least pardonable sin. 

'How can I talk of forgiveness, ' she returned, 'when not yours was theblame, but mine? For I believed--or all but believed--that you hadforgotten me. '

'Beloved, I was guilty of worse than faithlessness. I dread to think, and still more to speak, of it; yet if I am silent, I spare myself; andseem, perhaps, to make light of baseness for which there are no wordsof fitting scorn. That too, be assured, O Veranilda, I confessed to theholy Benedict. '

Her bowed head and flushing cheek told him that she understood. 

'Basil, ' she whispered, 'it was not you, not you. '

'Gladly would I give myself that comfort. When I think, indeed, thatthis hand was raised to take my friend's life, I shake with horror andsay, "Not _I_ did that!" Even so would I refuse to charge my very selfwith those words that my lips uttered. But to you they were spoken; youheard them; you fled before them--'

'Basil! Basil!'

She had hidden her face with her hands. Basil threw himself upon hisknees beside her. 

'Though I spoke in madness, can you ever forget? God Himself, I know, will sooner blot out my sin of murder than this wound I inflicted uponyour pure and gentle heart!'

Veranilda caught his hand and pressed her lips upon it, whilst hertears fell softly. 

'Listen, dearest Basil, ' she said. 'To think that I guard this in mymemory against you would be to do me wrong. Remember how first I spoketo you about it, when we first knew that we loved each other. Did I nottell you that this was a thing which could never be quite forgotten?Did I not know that, if ever I sinned, or seemed to sin, _this_ wouldbe the first rebuke upon the lips of those I angered? Believing mefaithless--nay, not you, beloved, but your fevered brain--how could youbut think that thought? And, even had you not spoken it, must I nothave read it in your face? Never ask me to forgive what you could nothelp. Rather, O Basil, will I entreat you, even as I did before, tobear with the shame inseparable from my being. If it lessen not yourlove, have I not cause enough for thankfulness?'

Hearing such words as these, in the sweetest, tenderest voice that evercaressed a lover's senses, Basil knew not how to word all that was inhis heart. Passion spoke for him, and not in vain; for in a few momentsVeranilda's tears were dry, or lingered only to glisten amid the happylight which beamed from her eyes. Side by side, forgetful of all buttheir recovered peace, they talked sweet nothings, until there soundedfrom far a woman's voice, calling the name of Veranilda. 

'That is Athalfrida, ' she said, starting up. 'I must not delay. '

One whisper, one kiss, and she was gone. When Basil, after briefdespondency came forth on to the open terrace, he saw her at adistance, standing with Athalfrida and Osuin. Their looks invited himto approach, and, when he was near, Veranilda stepped towards him. 

'It will not be long, ' she said calmly, 'before we again meet. The lordOsuin promises, and he speaks for the king. '

Basil bowed in silence. The great-limbed warrior and his fair wife hadtheir eyes upon him, and were smiling good-naturedly. Then Osuin spokein thick-throated Latin. 

'Shall we be gone, lord Basil?'

From the end of the terrace, Basil looked back. Athalfrida stood withher arm about the maiden's waist; both gazed towards him, and Veranildawaved her hand. 

CHAPTER XXIX

ROME BELEAGUERED

A few days later the guards at the Tiburtine Gate of Rome were hailed, before dawn, by a number of Greek soldiers in the disarray of flight. It was a portion of the garrison of Tibur: the town had been betrayedat sunset, by certain of its inhabitants who watched at one of thegates. The soldiers fought their way through and most of them escaped, and had fled hither through the darkness. Before the end of the daycame news more terrible. A peasant from a neighbouring farm declaredthat all the people of Tibur, men, women, and children, had perishedunder the Gothic sword, not even ministers of religion having foundmercy. And very soon this report, at first doubted, was fullyconfirmed. The event excited no less astonishment than horror, contrasting as it did with Totila's humanity throughout the war. Someoffered as explanation the fact that many Goths lived at Tibur, whoseindifference or hostility had angered the king; others surmised thatthis was Totila's warning after the failure of his proclamation to theRomans. Whatever the meaning of such unwonted severity, its effect uponthe Romans was unfavourable to the Gothic cause. Just about this timethere happened to arrive two captains, sent by Belisarius with a smalltroop for the reinforcement of Bessas. The addition to the strength ofthe garrison was inconsiderable, but it served to put the city in heartonce more. The Patricius himself would not be long in coming, and whendid the name of Belisarius sound anything but victory?

This confidence increased when Totila, instead of marching upon Rome, as all had expected, turned in the opposite direction, and led hisforces across the Apennines. The gates were thrown open; the citizensresumed their ordinary life, saying to each other that all fear of asiege was at an end; and when certain ships from Sicily, having by goodluck escaped the Gothic galleys, landed a good supply of corn, therewas great exultation. True, only a scanty measure of this food reachedthe populace, and that chiefly by the good offices of the archdeaconPelagius, now become as dear to the people as Pope Vigilius washateful; the granaries were held by Bessas, who first of all fed hissoldiers, and then sold at a great price. As winter went on, the Romanssuffered much. And with the spring came disquieting news of Totila'ssuccesses northwards: the towns of Picenum had yielded to him; he wasmoving once more in this direction; he captured Spoletium, Assisium, and still came on. 

Belisarius, meanwhile, had crossed to Italy, and was encamped atRavenna. Why, asked the Romans, impatiently, anxiously, did he notmarch to meet the Gothic king? But the better informed knew that hisarmy was miserably insufficient; they heard of his ceaseless appeals toByzantium, of his all but despair in finding himself without money, without men, in the land which but a few years ago had seen his glory. Would the Emperor take no thought for Italy, for Rome? Bessas, withgranaries well stored, and his palace heaped with Roman riches, shrugged when the nobles spoke disrespectfully of Justinian; his onlyloyalty was to himself. 

At high summertide, the Gothic camp was pitched before Rome, and thesiege anticipated for so many months had at length begun. For whateverreason, Totila had never attempted to possess himself of Portus, whichguarded the mouth of the river Tiber on the north bank and alone madepossible the provisioning of the city. Fearing that this strongholdwould now be attacked, Bessas despatched a body of soldiers tostrengthen its garrison; but they fell into a Gothic ambush, and werecut to pieces. Opposite Portus, and separated from it by a desertisland, on either side of which Tiber flowed to the sea, lay theancient town of Ostia, once the port of the world's traffic, nowruinous and scarce inhabited. Here Totila established an outpost; buthe did not otherwise threaten the harbour on the other side. Hispurpose evidently was to avoid all conflict which would risk areduction of the Gothic army, and by patient blockade to starve theRomans into surrender. 

He could not surround the city, with its circuit of twelve miles; hecould not keep ceaseless watch upon the sixteen gates and the numerousposterns. King Vitiges, in his attempt to do so, had suffered terriblelosses. It was inevitable that folk should pass in and out of Rome. Butfrom inland no supplies could be expected by the besieged, and any shipsailing up to Portus would have little chance of landing its cargosafely. Before long, indeed, this was put to proof. The Pope, whoseindecision still kept him lingering in Sicily, nearly a twelvemonthafter his departure from Rome for Constantinople, freighted a vesselwith corn for the relief of the city, and its voyage was uninterruptedas far as the Tiber's mouth. There it became an object of interest, notonly to the Greeks on the walls of Portus, but to the Gothic soldiersat. Ostia, who forthwith crossed in little boats, and lay awaiting theship at the entrance to the haven. Observant of this stratagem, thegarrison, by all manner of signalling, tried to warn the sailors of thedanger awaiting them; but their signals were misunderstood, being takenfor gestures of eager welcome; and the ship came on. With that lack ofcourage which characterised them, the Greeks did nothing more than wavearms and shout: under their very eyes, the corn-ship was boarded by theGoths, and taken into Ostia. 

Of courage, indeed, as of all other soldierly virtues, little enoughwas exhibited, at this stage of the war, on either side. The Imperialtroops scattered about Italy, ill-paid, and often starving mercenariesfrom a score of Oriental countries, saw no one ready to lead them tobattle, and the one Byzantine general capable of commanding calledvainly for an army. Wearied by marchings and counter-marchings, theGothic warriors were more disposed to rest awhile after their easyconquests than to make a vigorous effort for the capture of Rome. Totila himself, heroic redeemer of his nation, turned anxious glancestowards Ravenna, hoping, rather than resolving, to hold his state uponthe Palatine before Belisarius could advance against him. He felt thefatigue of those about him, and it was doubtless under the stress ofsuch a situation, bearing himself the whole burden of the war, that hehad ordered, or permitted, barbarous revenge upon the city of Tibur. For this reason he would not, even now, centre all his attention uponthe great siege; he knew what a long, dispiriting business it waslikely to be, and feared to fall into that comparative idleness. Soonafter the incident of the Sicilian corn-ship, he was once morecommanding in the north, where a few cities yet held out against him. Dreadful stories were told concerning the siege of Placentia, whoseinhabitants were said to have eaten the bodies of their dead ere theyyielded to the Goth. So stern a spirit of resistance was found only inplaces where religious zeal and national sentiment both existed intheir utmost vigour, and Totila well knew that, of these two forcesever threatening to make his conquests vain, it was from religion thathe had most to fear. In vain was the history of Gothic tolerance knownthroughout Italy; it created no corresponding virtue in the bosom ofCatholicism; the barbaric origin of the Goths might be forgotten orforgiven, their heresy--never. 

Totila, whose qualities of heart and mind would have made him, could hebut have ruled in peace, a worthy successor of the great Theodoric, hadreflected much on this question of the hostile creeds; he had talked ofit with ministers of his own faith and with those of the orthodoxchurch; and it was on this account that he had sought an interview withthe far-famed monk of Casinum. Understanding the futility of any hopethat the Italians might be won to Arianism, and having sufficientlargeness of intellect to perceive how idle was a debate concerning the'substance' of the Father and of the Son, Totila must at times havefelt willing enough to renounce the heretical name, and so win favourof the Italians, the greater part of whom would assuredly havepreferred his rule to that of the Emperor Justinian. But he knew thereligious obstinacy of his own people; to imagine their following himin a conversion to Catholicism was but to dream. Pondering thus, henaturally regarded with indulgence the beautiful and gentle Gothicmaiden delivered into his power by a scheming Roman ecclesiastic. Afterhis conversations with Veranilda, he had a pensive air; and certainpersons who observed him remarked on it to each other, whence arose therumour that Totila purposed taking to wife this last descendant of theAmals. Whatever his temptations, he quickly overcame them. If ever hethought of marriage, policy and ambition turned his mind towards theroyal Franks; but the time for that had not yet come. Meanwhile, havingspoken with the young Roman whom Veranilda loved, he saw in Basil auseful instrument, and resolved, if his loyalty to the Goths bore everytest, to reward him with Veranilda's hand. The marriage would be ofgood example, and might, if the Gothic arms remained triumphant, leadto other such. 

After the meeting at Hadrian's villa which he granted to the lovers, Totila summoned Basil to his presence. Regarding him with agood-natured smile, he said pleasantly:

'Your face has a less doleful cast than when I first saw it. '

'That, ' answered Basil, 'is due in no small degree to the graciousfavour of my king. '

'Continue to merit my esteem, lord Basil, and proof of my good-willshall not be wanting. But the time for repose and solace is not yet. To-morrow you will go with Venantius to Capua, and thence, it may be, into Apulia. '

Basil bowed in silence. He had hoped that the siege of Rome was now tobe undertaken, and that this would ensure his remaining near toVeranilda. But the loyalty he professed to Totila was no less in hisheart than on his lips, and after a moment's struggle he looked up withcalm countenance. 

'Have you aught to ask of me?' added Totila, after observing his face. 

'This only, O king: that if occasion offer, I may send written news ofmyself to her I love. '

'That is a little thing, ' was the answer, 'and I grant it willingly. '

Totila paused a moment; then, his blue eyes shining with a vehementthought, added gravely:

'When we speak together within the walls of Rome, ask more, and itshall not be refused. '

So Basil rode southward, and happily was far away when Tibur opened itsgates to the Goth. For more than half a year he and Venantius were busyin maintaining the Gothic rule throughout Lucania and Apulia, wherecertain Roman nobles endeavoured to raise an army of the peasantry inaid of the Greek invasion constantly expected upon the Adriatic shore. When at length he was recalled, the siege of Rome had begun. The Gothicladies now resided at Tibur, where a garrison was established; thereBasil and Veranilda again met, and again only for an hour. But theirhopes were high, and scarce could they repine at the necessity ofparting so soon. Already in a letter, Basil had spoken of the king'spromise; he now repeated it, whilst Veranilda flushed with happiness. 

'And you remain before Rome?' she asked. 

'Alas, no! I am sent to Ravenna, to spy out the strength of Belisarius. '

But Rome was besieged, and so hateful had Bessas made himself to theRoman people that it could not be long ere some plot among themdelivered the city. 

'Then, ' cried Basil exultantly, 'I shall ask my reward. '

CHAPTER XXX

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On a winter's day, at the hour of sundown, Heliodora sat in her greathouse on the Quirinal, musing sullenly. Beside her a brazier ofcharcoal glowed in the dusk, casting a warm glimmer upon the sculpturedforms which were her only companions; she was wrapped in a scarletcloak, with a hood which shadowed her face. All day the sun had shonebrilliantly, but it glistened afar on snowy summits, and scarcesoftened the mountain wind which blew through the streets of Rome. 

To divert a hungry populace, now six months besieged, Bessas wasoffering entertainments such as suited the Saturnalian season. To-dayhe had invited Rome to the Circus Maximus, where, because no spectaclecould be provided imposing enough to fill the whole vast space, half adozen shows were presented simultaneously; the spectators grouped hereand there, in number not a fiftieth part of that assembly whichthundered at the chariots in olden time. Here they sat along thecrumbling, grass-grown, and, as their nature was, gladly forgot theircountry's ruin, their own sufferings, and the doom which menaced them. Equestrians, contortionists, mimes, singers, were readily found in thecity, where a brave or an honest man had become rare indeed. What aperformance lacked in art, he supplied by shamelessness; and nowherewas laughter so hearty, or the crowd so dense, as in that part of thecircus where comic singers and dancers vied with the grossesttraditions of the pagan theatre. 

Heliodora could not miss such an opportunity of enjoyment and ofdisplay. She sat amid her like, the feline ladies and the young nobles, half brute, half fop, who though already most of them fasted withoutthe merit of piety, still prided themselves on being the flower ofRoman fashion. During one of the pauses of the festival, when placeswere changed, and limbs stretched, some one whispered to her that shewas invited to step towards that place of honour where sat theEmperor's representative. An invitation of Bessas could not lightly bedeclined, nor had Heliodora any reluctance to obey such a summons. Morethan a year had gone by since her vain attempt, on Marcian'ssuggestion, to enslave the avaricious Thracian, and, since then, thehapless Muscula had had more than one successor. Roman gossip, alwaysbusy with the fair Greek, told many a strange story to account for herrigour towards the master of Rome, who was well known to have madeadvances to her. So when to-day they were seen sitting side by side, conversing vivaciously, curiosity went on tiptoe. The entertainmentover, Heliodora was carried home in her litter, no friend accompanyingher. Few nowadays were the persons in Rome who bade guests to theirtable; even the richest had no great superfluity of viands. Aftersunset, the city became a dark and silent desert, save when watch-firesglared and soldiers guarded the walls. 

As was the case with all Romans who not long ago had commanded amultitude of slaves and freedmen, Heliodora's household was muchreduced. Even before the siege began, many of the serving class stoleaway to the Goths, who always received them with a welcome; and sincethe closing of the gates this desertion had been of daily occurrence, the fugitives having little difficulty in making their escape from sovast a city so sparsely populated. No longer did the child from far-offAnglia ride about on his mistress's errands; a female slave, punishedfor boxing his ears, had stifled him as he slept, and fled that nightwith five or six others who were tired of the lady's caprices andfeared her cruelty. Her aviary was empty. Having wearied of that whim, she had let the birds loose; a generosity she regretted now thattoothsome morsels were rare. In her strong box there remained littlemoney, and the estate she owned in a distant part of Italy might aswell have been sunk in the sea for all the profit it could yield her. True, she had objects of value, such as were daily accepted by Bessasin exchange for corn and pork; but, if it came to that extremity, couldnot better use be made of the tough-skinned commander? Heliodora had nomind to support herself on bread and pork whilst food more appetisingmight still be got. 

It was all but dark. She rang a hand-bell and was answered by amaidservant. 

'Has Sagaris returned yet?' she asked impatiently. 

'Lady, not yet. '

Heliodora kept silence for a moment, then bade the girl bring her alamp. A very small lamp was set upon the table, and as she glanced atits poor flame, Heliodora remembered that the store of oil was nearlyat an end. 

Again she had sat alone for nearly half an hour, scarcely stirring, sointent was she on the subject of her thoughts, when a light footfallsounded without, and the curtain at the door was raised. She turned andsaw a dark countenance, which smiled upon her coldly. 

'Where have you been?' broke angrily from her lips. 

'Hither and thither, ' was the softly insolent reply, as Sagaris let thecurtain fall behind him and stepped forward to the brazier, over whichhe held out his hands to warm them. 

By his apparel, he might have been mistaken for a noble. 

Nominally he had for a year held the office of steward to Heliodora. That his functions were not, as a matter of fact, all comprised underthat name was well known to all in the house, and to some beyond itswalls. 

'Were you at the Circus?' she next inquired, using the large hood toavoid his gaze without seeming to do so. 

'I was there, gracious lady. Not, of course, in such an exalted placeas that in which I saw _you_. '

'I did not choose that place, ' said Heliodora, her voice almostconciliatory. 'Being sent for, I could not refuse to go. '

Sagaris set a stool near to his mistress, seated himself, and looked upinto her face. She, for an instant, bore it impatiently, but of asudden her countenance changed, and she met the gaze with ahalf-mocking smile. 

'Is this one of your jealous days?' she asked, with what was meant forplayfulness, though the shining of her eyes and teeth in the lamplightgave the words rather an effect of menace. 

'Perhaps it is, ' answered the Syrian. 'What did Bessas say to you?'

'Many things. He ended by asking me to sup at the palace. You will ownthat the invitation was tempting. '

Sagaris glared fiercely at her, and drew upon himself a look no lessfierce. 

'Fool!' she exclaimed, once more speaking in a natural voice. 'Howshall we live a month hence? Have you a mind to steal away to theGoths? If you do so, you can't expect me to starve here alone. Thick-willed slave! Can you see no further than the invitation to supwith that thievish brute?--which I should have accepted, had I notforeseen the necessity of explaining to your dulness all that mightfollow upon it. '

Esteeming himself the shrewdest of mankind, Sagaris deeply resentedthese insults, not for the first time thrown at him by the woman whomhe regarded with an Oriental passion and contempt. 

'Of course I know what you mean, ' he replied disdainfully. 'I know, too, that you will be no match for the Thracian robber. '

Heliodora caught his arm. 

'What if I can make him believe that Belisarius has the Emperor'scommand to send him in chains to Constantinople! Would he not rathercome to terms with Totila, who, as I know well, long ago offered to lethim carry off half his plunder?'

'You know that? How?'

'Clod-pate! Have you forgotten your master whom Basil slew? Did I notworm out of him, love-sick simpleton that he was, all the secrets ofhis traffic with Greeks and Goths?'

Again they glanced at each other like wild creatures before the leap. 

'Choose, ' said Heliodora. 'Leave me free to make your fortune, forTotila is generous to those who serve him well; or stay here and spyupon me till your belly pinches, and the great opportunity of your lifeis lost. '

There was a silence. The Syrian's features showed how his mind wasrocking this way and that. 

'You have not cunning for this, ' he snarled. 'The Thracian will use youand laugh at you. And when you think to come back to me. .. . '

He touched the dagger at his waist. 

In that moment there came confused sounds from without the room. Suddenly the curtain was pulled aside, and there appeared the face of afrightened woman, who exclaimed: 'Soldiers, lady, soldiers are in thehouse!'

Heliodora started up. Sagaris, whose hand was still on the dagger'shilt, grasped her by the mantle, his look and attitude so like that ofa man about to strike that she sprang away from him with a loud cry. Again the curtain was raised, and there entered hurriedly several armedmen. Their leader looked with a meaning grin at the lady and hercompanion, who now stood apart from each other. 

'Pardon our hasty entrance, fair Heliodora, ' he said in Greek. 'Thecommander has need of you--on pressing business. '

'The commander must wait my leisure, ' she replied with a note ofindignation over-emphasised. 

'Nay, that he cannot, ' returned the officer, leering at Sagaris. 'He iseven now at supper, and will take it ill if you be not there when herises from table. A litter waits. '

Not without much show of wrath did Heliodora yield. As she left theroom, her eyes turned to Sagaris, who had shrunk into a corner, cowardfear and furious passion distorting his face. The lady having beenborne away, a few soldiers remained in the house, where they passed thenight. On the morrow Bessas himself paid a visit to that famous museumof sculpture, and after an inspection, which left no possiblehiding-place unsearched, sent away to the Palatine everything thatseemed to him worth laying hands upon. 

Meanwhile the domestics had all been held under guard. Sagaris, whoheard his relations with Heliodora jested over by the slaves andsoldiers, passed a night of terror, and when he knew of the commander'sarrival, scarce had strength to stand. To his surprise, nothing illbefell him. During the pillage of the house he was disregarded, andwhen Bessas had gone he only had to bear the scoffs of hisfellow-slaves. These unfortunates lived together as long as the scantprovisions lasted, then scattered in search of sustenance. The greathouse on the Quirinal stood silent, left to its denizens of marble andof bronze. 

Sagaris, who suspected himself to have been tricked by Heliodora in thematter of her removal to the Palatine, and had not the least faith inher power to beguile Bessas, swore by all the saints that the day ofhis revenge should come; but for the present he had to think of how tokeep himself alive. Money he had none; it was idle to hope of attachinghimself to another household, and unless he escaped to the Goths, therewas no resource but to beg from one or other of those few persons who, out of compassion and for their souls' sake, gave alms to the indigent. Wandering in a venomous humour, he chanced to approach the Via Lata, and out of curiosity turned to the house of Marcian. Not knowingwhether it was still inhabited, he knocked at the door, and wassurprised to hear a dog's bark, for nearly all the dogs in Rome hadalready been killed and eaten. The wicket opened, and a voice spokewhich he well remembered. 

'You alive still, old Stephanus? Who feeds you? Open and teach me theart of living on nothing. '

He who opened looked indeed the image of Famine--a fleshless, totteringcreature, with scarce strength left to turn the key in the door. Hisonly companions in the house were his daughter and the dog. Till notlong ago there had been also the daughter's child, whom she had borneto Marcian, but this boy was dead. 

'I'm glad to see you, ' said Stephanus mysteriously, drawing his visitorinto the atrium, and speaking as if the house were full of people whomight overhear him. 'Your coming to-day is a strange thing. Have you, perchance, had a dream?'

'What dream should I have had?' answered Sagaris, his superstition atonce stirring. 

The old man related that last night, for the third time, he had dreamtthat a treasure lay buried in this house. Where he could not say, butin his dream he seemed to descend stairs, and to reach a door which, when he opened it, showed him a pile of gold, shining in so brilliant alight that he fell back blinded, whereupon the door closed in his face. To this the Syrian listened very curiously. Cellars there were belowthe house, as he well knew, and hidden treasure was no uncommon thingin Rome. Having bidden Stephanus light a torch, he went exploring, butthough they searched long, they could find no trace of a door longunopened, or of a walled-up entrance. 

'You should have more wit in your dreaming, old scarecrow, ' saidSagaris. 'If I had had a dream such as that a second time, not to speakof a third, do you think I should not have learnt the way. But you werealways a clod-pate. '

Thus did he revenge himself for the contumely he had suffered fromHeliodora. As he spoke they were joined by the old man's daughter, who, after begging at many houses, returned with a pocketful of lentils. Thegirl had been pretty, but was now emaciated and fever-burnt; she lookedwith ill-will at Sagaris, whom she believed, as did others of hisacquaintance, to have murdered Marcian, and to have invented the storyof his death at the hands of Basil. Well understanding this, Sagarisamused himself with jesting on the loss of her beauty; why did she notgo to the Palatine, where handsome women were always welcome? Havingdriven her away with his brutality, he advised Stephanus to keep silentabout the treasure, and promised to come again ere long. 

He now turned his steps to the other side of Tiber, and, after passingthrough poor streets, where some show of industries was still kept upby a few craftsmen, though for the most part folk sat or lay about insullen idleness, came to those grinding-mills on the slope of theJaniculum which were driven by Trajan's aqueduct. Day and night thewheels made their clapping noise, seeming to clamour for the corn whichdid not come. At the door of one of the mills, a spot warmed by thenoonday sun, sat a middle-aged man, wretchedly garbed, who with a burntstick was drawing what seemed to be diagrams on the stone beside him. At the sound of a footstep, rare in that place, he hastily smeared outhis designs, and looking up showed a visage which bore a racialresemblance to that of Sagaris. Recognising the visitor, he smiled, pointed to the ground in invitation, and when Sagaris had placedhimself near by, began talking in the tongue of their own Eastern land. This man, who called himself Apollonius, had for some years enjoyedreputation in Rome as an astrologer, thereby gaining much money; andeven in these dark days he found people who were willing to pay him, either in coin or food, for his counsel and prophecies. Fearful ofdrawing attention upon himself, as one who had wealth in store, he hadcome to live like a beggar in this out-of-the-way place, where hismoney was securely buried, and with it a provision of corn, peas, andlentils which would keep him alive for a long time. Apollonius was theonly man living whom Sagaris, out of reverence and awe, would havehesitated to rob, and the only man to whom he did not lie. For besidebeing learned in the stars, an interpreter of dreams, a prophet ofhuman fate, Apollonius spoke to those he could trust of a religion, ofsacred mysteries, much older, he said, and vastly more efficacious forthe soul's weal than the faith in Christ. To this religion Sagaris alsoinclined, for it was associated with memories of his childhood in theEast; if he saw the rising of the sun, and was unobserved, he bowedhimself before it, with various other observances of which he hadforgotten the meaning. 

His purpose in coming hither was to speak of Stephanus's dream. Theastrologer listened very attentively, and, after long brooding, consented to use his art for the investigation of the matter. 

* * * *