Volume I Part 7 (1/2)

”Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,” quoted the learned lady, sighing.

”But, because I honour science, because I, a scholar of Plato, desire that the wise should govern, I wish that a Queen should reign over my fatherland who is only a Goth by birth, but in her soul a Greek, and by her virtues a Roman. For her sake I will sacrifice my leisure to hated business. But only on condition that this shall be my last office of state. I will undertake your commission, and answer for Rome with my head.”

”Good; here you will find the legal doc.u.ments which you will need.”

Cethegus looked rapidly through the records.

”This is the manifesto of the young King to the Romans, with your signature. _His_ is still wanting.”

Amalaswintha dipped the Cnidian reed-pen into the vessel filled with crimson ink, which was used by the Amelungs as well as by the Roman Emperors.

”Come, write thy name, my son,” she said.

Athalaric, standing and leaning with both arms on the table, had keenly observed Cethegus during the above conversation. Now he stood erect. He was accustomed to act with the usual arrogance of a Crown Prince and the petulancy of an invalid.

”No,” he said impatiently; ”I will not write. Not only because I do not trust this cold Roman--I do not trust you in the least, you proud man--but it is revolting that, while my n.o.ble father still breathes, you already quarrel about his crown. You dwarfs! About the crown of a giant! Shame on your insensibility! Behind those curtains the greatest hero of the century is dying, and you think already of the part.i.tion of his garment!”

He turned his back upon them and went slowly to the window, where he pa.s.sed his arm round his lovely sister, and stroked her s.h.i.+ning hair.

He stood there for some time; she did not notice him.

Suddenly she started from her reverie.

”Athalaric,” she whispered, hastily grasping his arm, and pointing at the marble staircase, ”who is that man in the blue steel helmet, who is just coming round that pillar? Say, who is it?”

”Let me see,” said the youth, bending forward. ”That? Oh! that is Earl Witichis, the conqueror of the Gepidae, a famous hero.”

And he told her of the deeds and triumphs of the Earl in the last war.

Meanwhile Cethegus had looked inquiringly at the Princess and the minister.

”Let him alone,” sighed Amalaswintha. ”If he will not, no power on earth can make him.”

Further questions on the part of Cethegus were cut short, for the three-fold curtain, that shut out all the noise of the ante-chamber from the King's bedroom, was parted.

It was Elpidios, the Greek physician, who, lifting the heavy folds, now entered, and announced that the sick man, just awakened from a long sleep, had sent him away, in order to be alone with old Hildebrand, who never stirred from his side.

CHAPTER VI.

Theodoric's bed-chamber, which had served the same purpose under the Emperors, was decorated with the heavy splendour of late Roman style.

The superabundant reliefs of the walls and the gilded ornamentation of the ceiling still pictured the victories and triumphal processions of Roman consuls and emperors. Heathen G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses floated proudly above. Everywhere reigned the same oppressive magnificence.

The extreme simplicity of the Gothic King's couch formed a remarkable contrast to all this pomp.

The oval frame of unpolished oak was raised scarcely a foot from the ground, and contained few cus.h.i.+ons. Only the costly crimson cover which hid the King's feet, and the lion's skin with golden claws that lay before the bed--a present from the King of the Vandals, in Africa--betrayed the royalty of the sick man. All the other furniture of the room was simple, plain, and almost barbarously clumsy.

On a pillar in the background hung the iron s.h.i.+eld and broad-sword of the King, which had not been used for many years. At the head of the bed stood the old master-at-arms, with his eyes bent down, anxiously examining the features of the patient, who, leaning on his left arm, turned his majestic countenance towards him.

The King's spa.r.s.e hair, rubbed off on the temples by years of friction caused by his heavy helmet, was still of a bright brown colour, and without a trace of grey. His heavy brow, sparkling eyes, large nose, and the deep lines in his cheeks, spoke of great tasks and great strength to accomplish them.