Volume Ii Part 68 (1/2)

The wanderer heaved a deep breath, and looked about him in surprise.

”How sultry! Just as it is before the 'wind of death' arises in the deserts of Egypt,” he said to himself. ”Sultry everywhere--outside and inside. Upon whose head will the long-withheld fury of Nature and Pa.s.sion be let loose?”

He entered his tent.

Syphax accosted him.

”Sir, if I were at home, I should think that the poisonous breath of the G.o.d of the Desert was coming over us.” And he handed a letter to the Prefect.

It was the answer of the King of the Franks. Hastily Cethegus tore open the great s.h.i.+ning seal.

”Who brought it?”

”An amba.s.sador, who, as he did not find you, immediately asked to be conducted to Belisarius. He desired to go the shortest way--through the camp.”

So thus Cethegus had missed him.

He read eagerly:

”'Theudebald, King of the Franks, to Cethegus, the Prefect of Rome.

”'You have addressed to us wise words, and still wiser words you have not trusted to the letter, but have sent to us through our Major Domus.

We are not disinclined to act accordingly. We accept your advice, and the gifts which accompany it. Their misfortunes have dissolved our treaty with the Goths. They may blame their evil fate and not our withdrawal. Whom Heaven forsakes, men, if they be pious and wise, should forsake also. It is true that the Goths have paid beforehand the price for the army of alliance. But, in our eyes, that is no hindrance.

We will keep the treasure as a pledge, until such time as they shall cede to us the towns in South Gaul, which lie within the frontier formed by G.o.d and nature for the kingdom of the Franks. But, as we have prepared for a campaign, and our brave soldiers, who already scent the battle, would but impatiently bear the tedium of peace and might become dangerous, we are inclined, notwithstanding, to send our valiant troops over the Alps. Only, instead of fighting _for_ the Goths, they will fight against them. However, we do not wish to serve the Emperor Justinian, who continually denies us the t.i.tle of King, and inscribes himself on his coins, 'Master of Gaul;' who will not allow us to impress our own image on our own coins; and has offered other unbearable affronts to our dignity. We rather think of extending our own power in Italy. Now, as we well know that the whole strength of the Emperor in that country is embodied in his commander-in-chief, Belisarius, and that the latter has a great number of old and new injuries to complain of, inflicted by his ungrateful master, we shall propose to the hero, Belisarius, to set himself up as Emperor of the West, to which end we will send him an army of a hundred thousand Frankish heroes. In return, we desire the cession of only a small part of Italy, extending from our frontier to Genoa. We hold it to be impossible that any mortal can refuse such an offer. In case you will co-operate with us, we promise you a sum of twelve centenari of gold; and, upon a return payment of two centenari, we shall place your name on the list of our messmates. The amba.s.sador who brings you this letter--Duke Lintharis--has our order to communicate with Belisarius.'”

Cethegus had read to the end with difficulty. He now broke out:

”Such an offer at such a moment! In such a humour! He will accept it!

Emperor of the West, with a hundred thousand Prankish warriors! He must not live!”

And he hurried to the door of his tent; but he suddenly checked himself.

”Fool that I am!” he laughed, ”Still so hot-blooded? He is Belisarius, and not Cethegus! He will not accept. He can rebel as little as the moon can rebel against the earth, or a tame house-dog suddenly become a raging wolf. He will not accept! But now let us see to what purpose we can put the cupidity and falsity of this Merovingian. No, King of the Franks!” and he looked bitterly at the crumpled letter. ”As long as Cethegus lives, not a foot of Italian soil shall you have!”

He paced rapidly through his tent.

Another turn--with a slower step.

And a third--then he stood still, and over his mighty brow came a flash of light.

”I have it!” he joyously cried. ”Syphax,” he called, ”go and fetch Procopius.”

As he again paced the tent, his eyes fell upon the fallen letter of the Merovingian.

”No,” he laughed triumphantly, as he took it up from the ground. ”No, King of the Franks, you shall not win as much of Italy's holy soil as is covered by this letter.”

Procopius soon appeared. The two men sat talking earnestly through the whole night.