CHAPTER XX
Verus, in order to make the enemy wholly unsuspicious, offered to propose to Fara an interview with Gelimer at noon the following day, on the northern slope of the mountain, in which the last offers of Belisarius should be again discussed. After some scruples of conscience, the King consented to this stratagem of war. Verus reported that Fara was very much pleased with his communication, and would await Gelimer on the following day. Nevertheless, the besieged band kept a sharp watch upon the besiegers' outposts and camp--the high mountain-top afforded a foil view of their position--to note any movement in the direction of the descent which might indicate the discovery of the intended flight or the Soloe hiding-place at the foot of the mountain. Nothing of the sort was apparent; the foemen below spent the day in the usual manner. The guards were not strengthened, and after darkness closed in, the watchfires were neither increased nor changed. At nightfall the besiegers also lighted their fires on the northern side in the same places as before.
Shortly before midnight the little procession began its march. The Moors, who were familiar with the way, went first provided with ropes and iron braces. At every step the fugitives were obliged to feel their way cautiously with the handles of their spears, testing the smooth, crumbling surface of the rock to try whether it would afford a firm foothold. Next followed Gibamund and Hilda; the Princess had folded Genseric's great banner closely and tied it about the pole, which she used as a staff; then came Gelimer, behind him Verus and the small remaining band of Vandals. So they moved for about half an hour along the summit of the mountain, until they reached the southern side, down which the narrow path led. Each step was perilous to life; for they dared not light torches.
As the little group began the descent, Gelimer turned. "Oh, Verus," he whispered, "death may be very near to us all. Repeat a prayer--where is Verus?"
"He hastened back some time ago," replied Markomer. "He wished to bring a relic he had forgot. He bade us go on, saying that he would overtake us at the next turn in the road before we descended the ravine."
The King hesitated, and began to murmur the Lord's Prayer.
"Forward!" whispered Sersaon, the leading Moor. "There is no more time to lose. We need only pass quickly around the next projecting rock--Ha! Torches, treason! Back to--"
He could say no more; an arrow transfixed his throat. Torches glared with a dazzling light into the eyes of the fugitives just as they turned the jutting cliff. Weapons flashed, and before the ranks of the Herulians stood a man holding aloft a torch to light the group.
"There, the second one is the King," he cried. "Capture him alive." He took a step forward.
"Verus!" shrieked Gelimer, falling back unconscious. Two Vandals caught him and bore him up the height.
"On! Storm the mountain!" Fara ordered below. But it was impossible to storm a height which could be climbed only by clinging with both hands to the perpendicular cliff. Fara himself instantly perceived it when, by the torchlight, he beheld the path and saw Gibamund standing with levelled spear on the last broader ledge of rock which afforded a firm footing.
"It is a pity!" he shouted. "But now this loophole will henceforth be barred also. Surrender!"
"Never!" cried Gibamund, hurling his spear. The man by Fara's side fell.
"Shoot! Quickly! All at once!" the Herulian leader angrily commanded. Behind the Herulians were twenty archers, dismounted Huns. Their bows twanged; Gibamund sank silently backward. Hilda, with a cry of anguish, caught him in her arms.
But Markomer, raising his lance threateningly, already stood in the place of the fallen man.
"Cease," Fara ordered. "But keep the outlet strongly guarded. The priest said that they must yield either to-morrow or on the following day."
* * * * *
Gelimer was roused from his unconsciousness by Hilda's shriek.
"Now Gibamund, too, has fallen," he said very calmly. "All is over."
Supported by his spear, he climbed wearily back. A few Vandals followed him. He vanished in the darkness of the night.
Hilda sat silent with the head of her lifeless husband in her lap, and the staff of the banner resting on her shoulder. She had no tears, but groped in the thick gloom for the beloved face. At last she heard a Vandal, returning from the King, say to Markomer:
"This was the final blow. To-morrow--I am to announce it to the enemy--Gelimer will submit."
Now she sprang up, and asking two of the men to help her--she would not release the dear head from her clasping hands--carried the dead Prince to the top of the mountain. In a little grove of pines, just outside the city, a small wooden hut had been built which had formerly contained stores of every kind. Now it was half empty except for a large pile of the wood used for fires. In this hut she spent the night and the dark morning alone with the dead. When it grew light she sought the King, whom she found in the basilica on the spot where formerly--the remains of some steps showed it--the altar had stood. Here Gelimer had placed in a crack between two stones a wooden cross, roughly made of boughs laid across each other. He lay prone on his face before it, clasping the cross with both arms.
"Brother-in-law Gelimer," she said in a curt, harsh tone, "is it true? Do you mean to surrender?"
He made no reply.
She shook him by the shoulder.
"King of the Vandals, do you mean to give yourself up as a captive?" she cried more loudly. "They will lead you through the streets of Constantinople as a spectacle! Will you shame your people--your dead people--still more?"
"Vanity," he answered dully. "Vanity speaks from your lips! All that you are thinking is sinful, vain, arrogant."
"Why do you do this so suddenly? You have held out for months."
"Verus!" groaned the King. "God has abandoned me; my guardian spirit has betrayed me. I am condemned on earth, and in the world beyond the grave. I can do nothing else!"
"Yes. Here, Gelimer, here is your sharp sword."
Stooping, she tore it from the sheath which lay with the sword-belt at the foot of the steps.
"'The dead are free' is a good motto."
But Gelimer shook his head.
"Vanity. Pride of heart. Pagan sin. I am a Christian. I will not kill myself. I will bear my cross--as Christ bore His--until I sink beneath it."
Hilda flung the sword clanking at his feet and turned from him without a word.
"Where are you going? What do you mean to do?"
"Do you suppose I loved less truly and deeply and fervently than that delicate Greek child? I come, my hero and my husband."
She walked across to a building now turned into a stable, the former curia of Medenus, where, a short time before, many horses had stamped. Only Styx, the stallion, now stood in it. Hilda grasped his mane, and the wise, faithful animal followed like a lamb. The Princess went with the horse to the hut. It hung back a moment before following her into the narrow inclosure, which was dimly lighted by a pine torch in an iron ring by the door.
"Come in," Hilda said coaxingly, drawing the horse gently after her. "It will be better for you too. You will perish miserably. Your beauty and your strength have gone. And after serving love in that brave ride through the battle, the enemy shall not seize you and torment you with base labor. What says the ancient song:
"Heaped high for the hero
Log on log laid they:
Slain, his swift steed
Shared the warrior's death.
And, gladly, his wife,
Nay, alas! his widow.
Burden of life's weary
Days sad and desolate
Would she, the faithful,
Bear on no farther."
She led the stallion to the side of the lofty pile of wood, where she had laid the beautiful corpse, drew Gibamund's sword from its sheath, and, searching with her hand for the throbbing of the heart, thrust the blade into it with one powerful blow. Styx fell lifeless. Hilda threw down the blood-stained weapon.
"Oh, my love!" she cried. "Oh, my husband, my life! Why did I never tell you how I loved you? Alas! because I did not know myself--until now! Hear it, oh, hear it, Gibamund, I loved you very dearly. I thank you. Friend Teja! Oh, my all, I follow you."
And now she drew from her girdle the keen black dagger. Severing with one cut the long floating banner from its staff, she spread it over the corpse like a pall. It was so wide that it covered the whole space beside the body. Then, with the blazing torch, she lighted the lowest wood, bent over the dead Prince, again kissed the pale lips fervently, and seizing the dark weapon, which flashed brightly in the light of the flames, buried it in her brave, proud heart.
She fell forward on her face over her beloved husband, and the fire, crackling and burning, seized first the scarlet banner which enfolded the young pair.
The morning breeze blew strongly through the half-open door and the chinks between the logs--and the bright flames soon blazed high above the roof.