A Struggle for Rome, v. 2

by Felix Dahn

In the proud consciousness that he was his own master, and served none, not even the King, beyond the limit of freedom, the German went in full armour to the "Ting," where he felt himself safe and strong in union with his fellows, and saw the liberties, strength, and honour of himself and his countrymen represented in living pictures before his eyes.

To the Assembly of which we now speak, the Goths had been attracted by peculiarly strong reasons. When the summons to meet at Regeta was published, the war with Byzantium was expected or already declared; the nation rejoiced at the coming struggle with their hated enemy, and were glad to muster their forces beforehand. This time the Assembly was to be, more than ever, a grand review.

Besides this, most of the Goths in the adjacent places knew that judgment was to be passed on the murderers of the daughter of Theodoric, and the great excitement caused by this treacherous act had also contributed to draw the people to Regeta.

While a portion of those assembled had been received by friends and relatives in the nearest villages, great numbers had--already some days before the formal opening of the Assembly--encamped in light tents and huts upon the wide plain, two hundred and eighty stadii distant from Rome.

At the earliest dawn of day these groups were already in noisy movement, and employed the time during which they were yet masters of the place, in various games and pastimes.

Some swam and bathed in the clear waters of the rapid river Ufen (or "Decemnovius," thus named because it flowed into the sea at Terracina, nineteen miles off), which crossed the plain. Others displayed their skill in leaping over whole rows of outstretched spears, or, almost naked, in dancing amid brandished swords, while others again--and these the fleetest-footed--clinging to the manes of their horses, kept step with their swiftest gallop, and when arrived at the goal, securely swung themselves upon their unsaddled backs.

"What a pity," cried young Gudila, who was the first to arrive at the goal in one of these races, and now stroked his yellow locks out of his eyes, "what a pity that Totila is not present! He is the best rider in the nation, and has always beaten me. But now, with this horse, I would try again with him."

"I am glad that he is not here," said Gunthamund, who had arrived second, "else I had scarcely won the first prize in hurling the lance yesterday."

"Yes," said Hilderich, a stately young warrior in a jingling suit of mail, "Totila is clever at the lance. But black Teja throws still better; he can tell you beforehand which rib he will hit."

"Pshaw!" grumbled Hunibad, an elderly man, who had looked critically at the performance of the youths, "all that is only play. In bloody earnest the sword is the only weapon that serves a man at the last, when death so presses on him from all sides that he has no space for throwing. And for that I praise Earl Witichis, of Fæsulæ! He is my man! What a breaking of skulls was there in the war with the Gepidæ! The man cleaved through steel and leather as if it were dry straw! He is still more valiant than my own duke, Guntharis the Wölfung, in Florentia. But what do you youngsters know about it?--Look! the first arrivals are coming down the hill. Up! let us go to meet them!"