A Struggle For Rome Volume Iii Part 4

"Do not irritate me, Mataswintha. The folly of the girl who bought the Ares' head at such a high price, is, I think, outgrown. For that once enamoured being has since sacrificed the Ares of the Goths to his enemies. But if you still honour that dream of girlhood, then save the man you once loved."

Mataswintha shook her head.

"Until now I have treated you as a free agent, as a Queen. Do not remind me that you, as well as he, are in my power. You will become the wife--soon the widow--of this n.o.ble Prince--and Justinian--Byzantium--the whole world, will lie at your feet. Daughter of the Amelungs, is it possible that you do not love power?"

"I only love---- Never!"

"Then I must force you."

She laughed.

"_You?_ Force _me_?"

"Yes, I force you! (She still loves the man she has ruined!) The second condition is this: that the prisoner fill up this empty s.p.a.ce with a name--the name of the castle in which the treasure of the Goths is concealed--and sign the declaration. He refuses to do this with a stubbornness which begins to anger me. Seven times I, the conqueror, have been to him. He would never yet speak to me. And the first time I went I received a look for which alone he deserves to lose his haughty head."

"He will never consent!"

"That remains to be seen. The continual dropping of water wears away a stone at last. But I can wait no longer. Early to-day I received word that that mad Hildebad, in a furious sally, has beaten Bessas so thoroughly, that the latter can scarcely continue the siege. Everywhere the Goths rebel. I must go and make an end of it, and extinguish these last sparks with the water of deception, which is better than blood. To this end I must have the King's declaration, and the secret of the castle. Therefore I tell you that if, before to-morrow, you do not consent to accompany the Prince to Byzantium, and have not procured for me the signature of the prisoner, witnessed as such by yourself, I will--I swear by the Styx--kill----"

Horrified at the awful expression of Cethegus's face, Mataswintha started from her seat and grasped his arm.

"You will not kill _him_!"

"Yes; or rather, I will first torture him, then blind him, and afterwards kill him!"

"No! no!" screamed Mataswintha.

"I am resolved. The executioners are ready. And you, you shall tell him this. He will believe that I am in earnest when he sees your despair.

You will perhaps be able to soften him; the sight of me only hardens him. Perhaps he thinks that he is still in the hands of Belisarius, that tender-hearted hero. You will tell him in whose power he really is. Here are the doc.u.ments--here the keys which open his prison. You shall choose the hour yourself."

A ray of joyful hope shone from Mataswintha'a eyes. Cethegus failed not to remark it, but, smiling calmly, he left the room.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Soon after the Prefect had left the Queen it became quite dark.

The sky was thickly covered with ragged clouds, which were driven across the moon by the fierce wind, so that brief and uncertain light alternated with a gloom rendered greater by contrast.

Dromon had completed his evening round of the cells, and returned to his dwelling tired and sad.

He found no light within. He could scarcely make out that Rauthgundis was still leaning against the halfdoor, the axe in her hand, her eyes fixed upon the door of the pa.s.sage.

"Let me strike a light, mistress, and kindle the chips upon the hearth.

Share the evening meal with me. Come, you wait here in vain."

"No, no light, no fire! I can see better what happens in the court without, for it is moonlight."

"Well, at least come in here and rest yourself. Here is bread and meat."

"Shall I eat while he hungers?"

"You will be exhausted! Of what are you thinking the whole evening?"

"Of what am I thinking?" repeated Rauthgundis, still looking out. "I am thinking how often we have sat in the colonnade before our beautiful house, when the fountain splashed in the garden and the cicalas chirped in the trees. The cool night-breeze fanned his beloved face, and I nestled against his shoulder, and we did not speak one word, and above us was the silent march of the stars. And we listened to the deep and peaceful breathing of our child, who had fallen asleep upon my lap, his little hands, like soft white fetters, clasping the arm of his father.

Alas! his arm now wears other fetters! Iron fetters--that pain----"

And she pressed her forehead against the iron grating, until she, too, felt pain.

"Mistress, why do you torment yourself thus? We cannot help it!"

"'But we will help it! I must save him and----Dromon! look there! What is that?" she whispered, and pointed at something in the court.

The old man hastened noiselessly to her side.

In the court was a tall white figure, which seemed to glide stealthily along the wall.

At brief intervals, but sharp and clear, the moonlight fell upon it.

"It is a Lemure! The ghost of some one who has been murdered here!"

said the old man, trembling. "G.o.d and all the saints protect us!"

He crossed himself and covered his head with his mantle.

"No," said Rauthgundis, "the dead do not return from the other world!

Now it has disappeared--all is dark. Ha! the moon breaks through once--more there it is again! It moves towards the pa.s.sage-door. What is that s.h.i.+ning red in the white light? Ha! it is the Queen--that is her red hair? She stops at the door! She opens it! She is going to murder him in his sleep!"

"G.o.d knows, it is the Queen! But _she_ murder him! How could she?"

"_She_ could! But, as I live, she shall not! Follow her! A miracle opens the door to us. But softly, softly!"

And she went out on tiptoe into the court, the axe still in her hand, slowly and stealthily, seeking the shadow. Dromon followed her closely.

Meanwhile Mataswintha, for she it was, had opened the door and gone forward, down many steps and then through a small pa.s.sage, feeling the way with her hands.

She now reached the door of the prison. She opened it very softly.

Through an aperture high up on the wall, where a stone had been taken out, a slanting strip of moonlight fell into the square and narrow dungeon.

The light revealed the prisoner. He sat motionless upon a block of stone, his back turned to the door, his head supported on his hands.

Mataswintha trembled and leaned against the doorpost. The air felt damp and icy-cold. She s.h.i.+vered. She could not say a word for very horror.

Witichis remarked the draught of air from the open door. He lifted his head, but did not look round.