A Struggle For Rome Volume Ii Part 71

A low camp-bed, upon which lay his helmet, sword, and various doc.u.ments, a long wooden table, and a few wooden chairs and utensils, formed the simple furniture of the room.

When Procopius had taken leave, the King had thrown himself into a chair, and, supporting his weary head on his hands, leaned his elbows upon the table. Thus he had not noticed Mataswintha's light step.

She remained standing near the door, reluctant to advance. She had never before sought an interview with her husband. Her heart beat fast, and she could not muster courage to address him.

At last Witichis rose with a sigh, and, turning, saw the motionless figure at the door.

"Thou here, Queen!" he asked with surprise, as he approached her. "What can have led thee to me?"

"Duty--compa.s.sion--" Mataswintha answered quickly; "otherwise I had not---- I have a favour to ask of thee."

"It is the first," said Witichis.

"It does not concern me," she added hastily. "I beg for food for some poor people, who----"

The King silently stretched out his right hand.

It was the first time he had ever offered it. She did not dare to clasp it, and yet how gladly she would have done so.

Then the King took her hand himself, and pressed it gently.

"I thank thee, Mataswintha, and regret my injustice. I never believed that thou hadst a heart for thy people. I have thought unkindly of thee."

"If thy thoughts had been more just from the beginning, perhaps many things might be better now."

"Scarcely! Misfortune dogs my heels. Just now--thou hast a right to know it--my last hopes have been destroyed. The Franks, upon whose aid I depended, have betrayed us. Relief is impossible; the superiority of the enemy has become too great, by reason of the rebellion of the Italians. Only one thing remains to me--death!"

"Let me share it with thee," cried Mataswintha, her eyes sparkling.

"Thou? No. The granddaughter of Theodoric will be honourably received at the Court of Byzantium. It is known that she became my wife against her will. Thou canst appeal to that fact."

"Never!" exclaimed Mataswintha with enthusiasm.

Witichis, without noticing her, went on:

"But the others! The thousands, the tens of thousands of women and children! Belisarius will keep his word. There is only one hope for them, one single hope! For--all the powers of nature are in league against me. The Padus has suddenly become so shallow, that two hundred s.h.i.+ps with grain, which I had expected, could not be brought down the river, and fell into the hands of the enemy. I have now written for a.s.sistance to the King of the Ostrogoths; I have asked him to send a fleet; for ours is lost. If the s.h.i.+ps can force their way into the harbour, then all who cannot fight may take refuge in them. And, if thou wilt, thou canst fly to Spain."

"I will die with thee--with the others!"

"In a few weeks the Ostrogothic sails may appear off the city. Until then my magazines will not be exhausted. That is my only comfort. But that reminds me of thy wish. Here is the key to the great door of the granaries. I carry it with me day and night. Keep it carefully--it guards my last hope. Upon its safety depend the lives of many thousands. These granaries are the only thing that has not failed. I wonder," he added sadly, "that the earth has not opened, or fire fallen from Heaven, to destroy this my work!"

He took the heavy key from the bosom of his doublet.

"Guard it well, it is my last treasure, Mataswintha."

"I thank thee, Witichis--King Witichis," said she, and would have taken the key, but her hand trembled so much that it fell to the ground.

"What is the matter?" asked the King as he picked up the key and put it into her hand. "Thou tremblest? Art thou sick!" he added anxiously.

"No--it is nothing. But do not look at me so--do not look at me as thou didst this morning----"

"Forgive me, Queen," said Witichis, turning away, "my looks shall no more offend thee. I have had much, too much, to grieve me lately. And when I tried to find out for what hidden guilt I could have deserved all my misfortune--" his voice grew very tender.

"Then? Oh, speak!" cried Mataswintha; for she could not doubt the meaning of his unspoken thought.

"I often thought amid all my doubt, that it might be a punishment for the cruel, cruel wrong I did to a n.o.ble creature; a woman whom I have sacrificed to my people----"

And in the ardour of his speech he involuntarily looked at his listener.

Mataswintha's cheeks glowed. She was obliged, in order to keep herself upright, to grasp the arm of the chair near her.

"At last," she thought, "at last his heart awakes, and I--how have I acted towards him! And he regrets----"

"A woman," continued Witichis, "who has suffered unspeakably on my account, more than words can express----"

"Cease," whispered Mataswintha so softly that he did not hear it.

"And when I lately saw thee so gentle, so mild, more womanly than ever before--it touched my heart, and tears came into my eyes!"

"O Witichis!" breathed Mataswintha.

"Every tone of thy voice penetrated deeply into my heart, for the sweet sound reminded me so vividly, so sadly----"

"Of whom?" asked Mataswintha, and she turned pale as death.

"Of her whom I have sacrificed! Who gave up all for me; of my wife Rauthgundis, the soul of my soul!"

For how long a time had he never uttered aloud that beloved name! At the sound of his own voice, grief and longing overcame him, and sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands.

It was well that he did so, for it spared him the sight of the Queen's sudden start, and the Medusa-like expression which convulsed her features.

But the sound of a fall made him spring from his seat.

Mataswintha lay upon the ground. Her left hand grasped the broken arm of the chair near which she had fallen, while her right was pressed convulsively upon the mosaic floor. Her pale face was bent down; her splendid golden hair, loosed from its bonds, flowed over her shoulders; her mobile nostrils quivered.

"Queen!" cried Witichis, bending to lift her up, "what ails thee?"

But before he could touch her, she started up, swift as a serpent, and stood erect.

"It was only a weakness--which is already over," she panted.

"Farewell!"

She tottered to the door, and, closing it behind her, fell senseless into Aspa's arms.

During all this time, the mysteriously threatening appearance of the atmosphere had increased.

The little cloud which Cethegus had remarked the day before, had been the forerunner of an immense black wall of vapour which had arisen in the east during the night, and which, since morning, had hovered gloomily, as if brooding destruction, over the city and the greater part of the horizon.