Part 11 (1/2)
”How can you say that? He is the oldest Asding.”
”After King Hilderic! And was he justly imprisoned and deposed?” asked Gundomar, doubtfully.
”Was not the whole affair a clever invention?” added Gundobad.
”Not by Gelimer! You do not mean to say that?” cried Thrasaric, threateningly.
”No! But perhaps by Verus.”
”Yes; all sorts of rumors are afloat. There is said to have been a letter of warning.”
”No matter. If your saintly devotee should discover this festival--”
”Then woe betide us! He would deal with you as--”
”He did at the time you wanted to wed your little bride without the aid of the priest,” cried Modigisel, laughing.
”I shall be grateful to him all my life for having struck me down then!
Eugenias are not to be stolen; we must woo them gently.” Nodding to the young girl, he covered her little head and veil with his huge right hand and pressed it tenderly to his broad breast; a radiant glance from the large dark antelope eyes thanked him.
But Modigisel had also discovered the charm which such an expression bestowed upon the innocent, childlike features; his gaze rested admiringly upon Eugenia. The latter raised herself and whispered in her lover's ear.
”Gladly, my violet, my little bird,” replied Thrasaric. ”If you have promised, you must keep your word. Go with her to the entrance, brother. To keep one's promise is more necessary than to breathe.”
The bride, attended by a group of her friends, was led by Thrasabad through one of the numerous cross pa.s.sages out of the Circus.
”Where is she going?” asked Modigisel, following her with ardent eyes.
”To the Catholic chapel close by, which they have made in the little temple of Vesta. She promised her father to pray there before midnight; she was forced to resign the blessing of her church at her marriage with a heretic.” The bride's graceful figure now vanished through the vaulted doorway.
Modigisel began again: ”Let me have your little maid, and take my big sweetheart; you will make almost a hundred pounds by the bargain. True, in this climate, one ought to choose a slender sweetheart. Is she a free Roman? Then I, too, will _marry_ her. I won't stop for that.”
”Keep your plump happiness, and leave me my slender one. I have by no means drunk enough from the ocean to make that exchange.”
Suddenly Astarte said loudly, ”She's nothing but skin and bones!” Both men started; had she understood their low whispers? Again the full lips curled slightly, revealing her sharp eye-teeth.
”And eyes! those eyes!” replied Modigisel.
”Yes, bigger than her whole face. She looks like a chicken just out of the sh.e.l.l!” sneered Astarte. ”What is there so remarkable about her?”
The beauty's round eyes glittered with a sinister light.
”A soul, Carthaginian,” replied the bridegroom.
”Women have no souls,” retorted Astarte, gazing calmly at him. ”So one of the Fathers of the Church taught--or a philosopher. Some, instead of the soul, have water, like that pygmy. Others have fire.” She paused, her breath coming quickly and heavily. Astarte was indeed beautiful at that moment, diabolically, bewitchingly beautiful; the exquisitely moulded, sphinxlike countenance was glowing with life.
”Fire,” replied Thrasaric, averting his eyes from her ardent gaze,--”fire belongs to h.e.l.l.”
Astarte made no answer.
”Eugenia is so beautiful because she is so chaste and pure,” sighed Glauke, who had heard a part of the conversation. Gazing sorrowfully after the bride, she lowered her long lashes.