"My noble child," cried Flavia, throwing her arms around her daughter, "thou art worthy of thy race. Theodore, what think you that your uncle proposes to me to do? To throw wide the gates of Margus to the barbarians, to open the way for the Huns into the heart of the empire, to buy revenge for your father's death and safety for ourselves by the desolation of our native land, the destruction and ruin of our friends, and the massacre of our fellow-countrymen! Shame on such degenerate Romans! Shame, shame upon them to all eternity! Oh God, oh God! where are thy thunderbolts?"
Theodore stood, for a moment, as one stupified by the strange and fearful tidings he had heard; and fixing his eyes upon Flavia's face, he gazed upon her with an expression of inquiring doubt, which showed how far he was from any participation in the schemes or feelings of his uncle. "My mother," he said at length, "let us go hence. This is no refuge for us. Did he think, by showing us here an image of that splendour and comfort which we so long possessed, and so lately lost--did he think to blind our eyes, and weaken our hearts, and destroy our virtue? My choice, oh my mother, is made; give me honour and misery, if virtue cannot secure peace. Let us go hence."
"At sunrise to-morrow," replied Flavia, "we will depart; for I much fear that he told me not all; I doubt that his dealing with the Huns is far advanced."
"Why not at once, then?" demanded Theodore; "to-morrow's daylight may be too late."
Flavia turned her eyes upon her daughter, who understood the glance, and answered at once, "My mother, I can go, though I am wearied: were it not better to drop by the wayside than risk our future peace?"
But Theodore interposed: "No, no," he said; "an hour before daylight will be time enough. The slaves are wearied beyond all endurance; and perhaps, also, were we to attempt it to-night, the guards might become suspicious, and stay us at the gates. To-morrow it will seem more natural. The wearied soldiers, at that hour, will let us pass without inquiry, and, following the course of the river, we can pass through Noricum, and take refuge either among my kindred of the Alani, or under the strong shield of Ætius, in Gaul, from whose protection neither weak emperor dare attempt to snatch us. Rest thee, Ildica!" he added, throwing his arms around her; "rest thee, my beloved; and rest thee, too, dear mother! I will see all prepared, and ready to set out an hour before the dawning of the day."
"And thou, my poor Theodore," said Flavia, "thou hast no rest!"
"Am I not a Roman?" was the youth's reply.
On the next morning--while the city of Margus was still buried in slumber, and all vacant were those streets so lately thronged with the gay unthinking crowd pursuing with light heart the butterfly pleasure, and never dreaming that fate, like a lion, was following fast upon its track--the same train which the night before had entered the gate with joy, now passed them again with sorrow, but without regret. Theodore had first presented himself, and had held a momentary conversation with a soldier on guard. The gates had then been opened by the janitor of the night, and the slaves, who led the train, passed out. Ildica and Eudochia followed; but as the litter of Flavia was borne forward, Theodore approached its side, and said, in a low voice, "They demand that one of us at least should stay to give account of our departure either to the bishop or the magistrates; I will keep Cremera and some others with me. In the meantime go you on, and I will join you speedily."
Flavia turned an anxious look upon him, but he added, in a still lower tone, "Fear not: they dare not detain me;" and, motioning to the slaves who bore the litter to proceed, he drew back under the archway.