Volume I Part 1 (2/2)

”Hail, Master Hildebrand, son of Hilding!” cried the advancing torch-bearer, as soon as he reached the row of columns of the p.r.o.naos or antehall, in which time had made some gaps. He spoke in the Gothic tongue, and had a peculiarly melodious voice. He carried his torch in a sort of lantern--beautiful Corinthian bronze-work on the handle, transparent ivory forming the four-sided screen and the arched and ornamentally-perforated lid--and lifting it high, put it into the iron ring that held together the shattered centre column.

The white light fell upon a face beautiful as that of Apollo, with laughing light-blue eyes; his fair hair was parted in the middle of his forehead into two long and flowing tresses, which fell right and left upon his shoulders. His mouth and nose, finely, almost softly chiselled, were of perfect form; the first down of a bright golden beard covered his pleasant lip and gently-dimpled chin. He wore only white garments--a war-mantle of fine wool, held up on the right shoulder by a clasp in the form of a griffin, and a Roman tunic of soft silk, both embroidered with a stripe of gold. White leather straps fastened the sandals to his feet, and reached, laced cross-wise, to his knees. Two broad gold rings encircled his naked and s.h.i.+ning white arms.

And as he stood reposing after his exertion, his right hand clasping a tall lance which served him both for staff and weapon, his left resting on his hip, looking down upon his slower companions, it seemed as if there had again entered the grey old temple some youthful G.o.dlike form of its happiest days.

The second of the new-comers had, in spite of a general family likeness, an expression totally different from that of the torch-bearer.

He was some years older, his form was stouter and broader. Low down upon his bull-neck grew his short, thick, and curly brown hair. He was of almost gigantic height and strength. There were wanting in his face the sunny s.h.i.+mmer, the trusting joy and hope which illumined the features of his younger brother. Instead of these, there was in his whole appearance an expression of bear-like strength and bear-like courage; he wore a s.h.a.ggy wolf-skin, the jaws of which shaded his head like a cowl, a simple woollen doublet beneath, and on his right shoulder he carried a short and heavy club made of the hard root of an oak.

The third comer followed the others with a cautious step; a middle-aged man with a dignified and prudent expression of countenance. He wore the steel helmet, the sword, and the brown war-mantle of the Gothic footmen. His straight light-brown hair was cut square across the forehead--an ancient Germanic mode of wearing the hair, which one often sees represented on Roman triumphal columns, and which has been preserved by the German peasant to this day. The regular features of his open face, his grey and steady eyes, were full of reflective manliness and sober repose.

When he, too, had reached the cella of the temple, and had greeted the old man, the torch-bearer cried in an eager voice:

”Well, old Master Hildebrand, a fine adventure must it be to which thou hast bidden us on such an inhospitable night, and in this wilderness of art and nature! Speak--what is it?”

Instead of replying, the old man turned to the last comer and asked: ”Where is the fourth whom I invited?”

”He wished to go alone. He shunned us all. Thou knowest his manner well.”

”There he comes!” cried the beautiful youth, pointing to another side of the hill. And, in fact, a man of very peculiar appearance now drew near.

The full glare of the torch illumined a ghastly-pale face that seemed almost bloodless. Long and s.h.i.+ning black locks, like dark snakes, hung dishevelled from his uncovered head. Arched black brows and long lashes shaded large and melancholy dark eyes, full of repressed fire. A sharply-cut eagle nose bent towards the fine and smoothly-shaven mouth, around which resigned grief had traced deep lines.

His form and bearing were still young; but pain seemed to have prematurely ripened his soul.

He wore a coat of mail and greaves of black steel, and in his right hand gleamed a battle-axe with a long lance-like shaft. He merely greeted the others with a nod of the head, and placing himself behind the old man, who now bade them all four step close to the pillar on which the torch was fixed, began in a suppressed voice:

”I appointed you to meet me here to listen to earnest words, which must be spoken, unheard, to faithful men. I have sought for months in all the nation, and have chosen you. You are the right men. When you have heard me, you will yourselves feel that you must be silent about this night's meeting.”

The third comer, he with the steel helmet, looked at the old man with earnest eyes.

”Speak,” said he quietly, ”we hear and are silent. Of what wilt thou speak to us?”

”Of our people; of this kingdom of the Goths, which stands close to an abyss!”

”An abyss!” eagerly cried the fair youth. His gigantic brother smiled and lifted his head attentively.

”Yes, an abyss,” repeated the old man; ”and you alone can hold and save it.”

”May Heaven pardon thee thy words!” interrupted the fair youth with vivacity. ”Have we not our King Theodoric, whom even his enemies call the Great; the most magnificent hero, the wisest prince in the world?

Have we not this smiling land Italia, with all its treasures? What upon earth can compare with the kingdom of the Goths?”

The old man, without heeding his questions, continued:

”Listen to me. The greatness and worth of King Theodoric, my beloved master and my dear son, are best known by Hildebrand, son of Hilding.

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