CHAPTER VI.
Above the narrow pass on Vesuvius, which we will call the Ravine of the Goths, a small but deep chasm had been formed by the black blocks of lava. Within it King Teja had concealed the most sacred possession of the nation--the corpse of King Theodoric and the royal treasure. Theodoric's banner was fixed before the mouth of this chasm.
A purple mantle, stretched upon four spears, formed the dark curtain to the rocky chamber which the last King of the Goths had chosen for his royal hall. A block of lava, covered with the skin of the black tiger, formed his last throne.
Here King Teja rested, when not called away by his jealously-held post at the southern entrance of the Ravine of the Goths; upon which, now from a distance with arrows, slings, and hurling--spears, now close at hand in a bold and sudden attack, the outposts of Narses commenced their assaults. None of the brave guardians returned home without bringing tokens of such attacks upon shield and armour, or leaving signs at the entrance of the ravine, in the form of slain enemies.
This happened so frequently, that the stench arising from the decay of the bodies threatened to render any further sojourn in the ravine impossible. Narses seemed to have counted upon this circumstance, for, when Basiliskos lamented the useless sacrifice, he said, "Perhaps our slain soldiers will be more useful after death than during their life." But King Teja ordered that the bodies should be thrown by night over the lava cliffs; so that, horribly mutilated, they seemed a warning to all who should attempt to follow their example. Seeing this, Narses begged to be allowed to send unarmed men to fetch away the bodies, a favour which King Teja immediately granted.
Since retiring into this ravine, the Goths had not lost a single man in fight; for only the foremost man in the pass was exposed to the enemy, and, supported by the comrades who stood behind him, this guardian had never yet been killed.
One night, after sunset--it was now the month of September, and all traces of the battle at Taginæ were already obliterated; the flowers planted by Cassiodorus and the nuns of the cloister round the sarcophagi of King Totila, his bride, and his friend, had put forth new shoots--King Teja, who had just been relieved from his post by Wisand, approached his lava hall, his spear upon his shoulder. Before the curtain which closed the entrance to his rocky chamber, Adalgoth received Teja with a sad smile, and, kneeling, offered to him a golden goblet.
"Let me still fulfil my office of cup-bearer," he said; "who knows how long it may last?"
"Not much longer!" said Teja gravely, as he seated himself. "We will remain here, outside the curtain. Look! how magnificently the bay and the coast of Surrentum shine in the glowing light left by the setting sun--the blue sea is changed to crimson blood! Truly, the Southland could afford no more beauteous frame with which to enclose the last battle of the Goths. Well, may the picture be worthy of its setting! The end is coming. How wonderfully everything that I foreboded--dreamed, and sang--has been fulfilled!"
And the King supported his head upon both his hands. Only when the silver tones of a harp was heard, did he again look up. Adalgoth had, unseen, fetched the King's small harp from behind the curtain.
"Thou shalt hear," he said, "how I have completed thy song of the Ravine; or I might have said, how it has completed itself. Dost thou remember that night in the wilderness of ivy, marble, and laurel in Rome? It was not a battle already fought, a battle of ancient days, of which thou didst sing. No! in a spirit of prophecy, thou hast sung our last heroic battle here." And he played and sang:
"Where arise the cliffs of lava,
On Vesuvius' glowing side,
Tones of deepest woe and wailing,
Evening's peace and calm deride.
For the brave dead's direst curses
Rest upon the rocky tomb,
Where the Gothic hero-nation
Will fulfil their glorious doom."
"Yes," said Teja, "glorious, my Adalgoth! Of that glory no fate and no Narses shall deprive us. The awful judgment, which our beloved Totila challenged, has fallen heavily upon himself, his people, and his God. No Heavenly Father has, as that noble man imagined, weighed our destinies in a just balance. We fall by the thousand treacheries of the Italians and the Byzantines, and by the brute superiority of numbers. But how we fall, unshaken, proud even in our decay, can be decided by no fate, but only by our own worth. And after us? Who after us will rule in this land? Not for long these wily Greeks--and not the native strength of the Italians. Numerous tribes of Germans still exist on the other side of the mountains--and I nominate them our heirs and our avengers."
And he softly took up the harp which Adalgoth had laid down, and sang in a low voice as he looked down upon the rapidly darkening sea. The stars glittered over his head; and at rare intervals he struck a chord.
"Extinguished is the brightest star
Of our Germanic race!
O Dietrich, thou beloved of Bern,
Thy shield is bruised, defaced.
Unblemished truth and courage fail--
The coward wins--the noble fly;
Rascals are lords of all the world--
Up, Goths, and let us die!
"O wicked Rome, O southern gleam,
O lovely, heavenly blue!
O rolling blood-stained Tiber-stream--
O Southerns, all untrue!
Still cherishes the North its sons
Of courage true and high;
Vengeance will roll its thunders soon--
Then, up! and let us die!"
"The melody pleases me," said Adalgoth; "but is it already finished? What is the end?"
"'The end can only be sung in time to the stroke of the sword," said Teja. "Soon, methinks, thou wilt also hear this end." And he rose from his seat. "Go, my Adalgoth," he said; "leave me alone. I have already kept thee far too long from"--and he smiled through all his sadness--"from the loveliest of all duchesses. You have but few of such evening hours to spend together, my poor children! If I could but save your young and budding lives----" He passed his hand across his brow. "Folly!" he then cried; "you are but a part of the doomed nation--perhaps the loveliest."
Adalgoth's eyes had filled with tears as the King mentioned his young wife. He now went up to Teja and laid his hand inquiringly upon his shoulder.
"Is there no hope? She is so young!"
"None," answered Teja; "for no saving angel will come down from heaven. We have still a few days before famine commences its inroads. Then I will make a speedy end. The warriors shall sally forth and fall in battle."
"And the women, the children--the defenceless thousands?"
"I cannot help them. I am no god. But not a Gothic woman or maiden need fall into slavery under the Byzantines, unless they choose shame instead of a free death. Look there, my Adalgoth--in the dark night the glow of the mountain is fully seen. Seest thou, there, a hundred paces to the right.--Ha! how splendidly the fiery smoke rushes from the gloomy mouth!--When the last guardian of the pass has fallen--one leap into that abyss--and no insolent Roman hand shall touch our pure women. Thinking of them--more than of us, for we can fall anywhere thinking of the Gothic women, I chose for our last battle-field--Vesuvius!"
And Adalgoth, no longer weeping, but with enthusiasm, threw himself into Teja's arms.