Volume Ii Part 9 (1/2)
”What is it, Teja? For G.o.d's sake, what wilt thou?”
”Leave of absence! for six--three days! I must go!”
”Go? Where?”
”To revenge myself! Read--the devil who accused my parents, who drove them to desperation, madness, and death--it is he--whom I long since suspected. Here is his accusation, addressed to the Bishop of Florentia, in his own handwriting--it is Theodahad!”
”It is, it is Theodahad,” said Witichis, looking up from the letter.
”Go, then! But, doubt it not, thou wilt not find him in Rome. He has certainly fled long since. He has had a great start. Thou canst not overtake him!”
”I will overtake him, even if he rides on the wings of the storm-eagle!”
”Thou wilt not find him!”
”I will find him, if I must pluck him from h.e.l.l's deepest abyss, or from out of the midst of the angels!”
”He will have fled with a strong escort,” warned Witichis.
”I will reach him in the midst of a thousand demons! Hildebad, thy horse! Farewell, King of the Goths. I go to fulfil the ban!”
BOOK IV.
WITICHIS.
”And the Goths chose Witichis for their King, a man of humble origin, but a famous warrior.”--_Procopius: Wars of the Goths_, i. 11.
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
Slowly sank the sun behind the green hills of Faesulae, and gilded the columns in front of the simple country-house of which Rauthgundis was the mistress.
The Gothic servants and Italian slaves were busy concluding the day's work.
The stable-man was fetching the young horses from the pasture; two other servants were bringing a herd of fine cattle home from the fields to the stable; while the goatherd, with Roman invectives, was driving forward his _proteges_, which stopped here and there to nibble the salty saxifrage which grew upon the broken walls of the road.
Other labourers were housing the agricultural implements in the large yard, and a Roman freedman, a very learned and superior personage, the upper gardener himself, left, with a contented look, the place where he practised his blooming and sweet-scented science.
Our little friend Athalwin, with his crown of bright golden hair, was just issuing from the stables.
”Don't forget, Kakus,” he cried, ”to throw a rusty nail into the water-bucket. Wachis spoke of it particularly. Then he need not beat thee when he comes home.”
And he banged the door to.
”Nothing but trouble with these Italian servants,” said the little master, with an air of importance. ”Since father went away, and Wachis joined him in the camp, everything lies upon my shoulders; for mother is enough for the maids, but the men need a master.”