Volume Ii Part 65 (1/2)

His first walk was to the monument of Kallistratos. He laid a wreath of laurels and roses upon the black marble slab.

While he was superintending the strengthening of the fortifications from this point, Syphax brought him a letter from Mataswintha.

The contents were laconic enough:

”Put an end to it. I cannot bear to see this misery any longer. The sight of the interment of forty thousand of my countrymen has broken my heart. The death-choruses all seem to accuse me. I shall succ.u.mb if this continue. Famine rages fearfully in the camp. The army's last hope is a large convoy of corn and cattle, which is on the way from South Gaul. In the next calends it is expected off Portus. Act accordingly; but make an end.”

”Triumph!” said the Prefect. ”The siege is over. Hitherto our little fleet lay idle at Populonium; but now it shall have work enough. This Queen is the Erinnys of the barbarians.”

And he himself went to Belisarius, who received him with n.o.ble generosity.

The same night--the last of the armistice--Johannes marched out of the Pincian Gate, and wheeled to the left, towards the Flaminian high-road.

Ravenna was his goal.

And swift messengers sped by sea to Populonium, where a small Roman squadron lay at anchor.

The fight for the city, in spite of the expiration of the armistice, was scarcely renewed.

About a week after this the King, who was only now able to leave his bed of pain, took his first walk through the lines of tents, accompanied by his friends.

Three of the seven camps, formerly crowded with soldiers, were completely desolated and abandoned; and the other four were but spa.r.s.ely populated.

Tired to death, without complaint, but also without hope, the famished soldiers lay before their tents.

No cheer, no greeting, rejoiced the ears of their brave King upon his painful way; the warriors scarcely raised their tired eyes at the sound of his approaching footsteps.

From the interior of the tents sounded the loud groaning of the sick and dying, who succ.u.mbed to wounds, hunger, and pestilence. Scarcely could healthy men enough be found to occupy the most necessary posts.

The sentries dragged their spears behind them, too weak to carry them upright or to lay them across their shoulders.

The leaders arrived at the outwork before the Aurelian Gate; in the trench lay a young archer, chewing the bitter gra.s.s.

Hildebad called to him:

”By the hammer, Gunthamund! what is this? Thy bow-string has sprung; why dost thou not bend another?”

”I cannot, sir. The string broke yesterday as I shot my last shot; and I and my three comrades have not strength enough to bend another.”

Hildebad gave him a drink from his gourd-bottle.

”Didst thou shoot at a Roman?”

”Oh no, sir!” said the man. ”A rat was gnawing at that corpse down there. I happily hit it, and we divided it between us.”

”Iffaswinth, where is thine uncle Iffamer?” asked the King.

”Dead, sire. He fell behind you, as he was carrying you away from that cursed marble tomb.”

”And thy father Iffamuth?”

”Dead too. He could no longer bear the poisonous water from the ditches. Thirst, King! burns more fiercely than hunger; and it will never, never rain from these leaden skies.”