CHAPTER VII.
A PRETENDER'S DIFFICULTIES.
Our story must now go back a little, and take up the course of events atthe camp, where the look of affairs was not promising. The donativepromised by Constantine on the day of his election had been paid, but thishad been done only after the greatest exertions in wringing money out ofunlucky traders, farmers, and even peasants, who had been already squeezedalmost dry. All that had any coin left were beginning to bury it,(24) andthough the collectors of taxes, or loans, or gifts, or whatever else thefrequent requisition of money might be called, had ingenious ways ofdiscovering or making their owners give up these hoards, it was quiteevident that very little more could be got out of Britain. The militarychest meanwhile was becoming alarmingly empty, and though money was stillfound somehow for the larger camps, some of the less important garrisonshad been left for months with almost nothing in the way of pay. What wasto be done was a pressing question, which had to be answered in some waywithin a few days. If it was not so answered, it was tolerably plain thatConstantine would meet the fate of Marcus and Gratianus. The Emperorhimself (if we are to give him this title) seemed to be very littletroubled by the prospect, and remained stolidly calm. His elevation indeedhad made the least possible difference to him. He drank a better kind ofwine, and perhaps a little more--for his cups had been limited by hismeans--but he did not run into excess. He was still the same simple,contented, good-natured man that he had always been. But his sons were ofanother temper, though curiously differing from each other. Constans theelder was an enthusiast, almost a fanatic, a man of strong religiousfeeling, who would have followed the religious life if it had beenpossible, and who now, finding himself possessed of power, had schemes ofusing it to promote his favourite schemes. Julian the younger hadambitions of a more commonplace kind. But both the brothers were agreed inholding on to the power that had been so strangely put into their father'shands, hands which, as he had very little will of his own, werepractically theirs.
A council was held at which Constantine, his two sons, and three of theofficers of highest rank were present, and the urgent question of the daywas anxiously debated.
Julian began the discussion.
"The army," he said, "must be employed, or it will find mischief to do athome which all of us will be sorry for."
"I have some one to introduce to your Majesty," said one of the officerspresent, "who may have something to say which will influence yourdecision. He is from Ierne,(25) and brings me a letter from the commanderat Uriconium. He came last night."
"Let him enter," said Constantine, with his usual dull phlegmatic voice.
The tribune went to the door of the chamber, and despatched a message tohis quarters. In a few minutes the stranger was introduced into thecouncil. He was a man verging upon middle age, somewhat short of stature,with a great bush of fiery-red hair, which stood up from his head with avery fierce look, a long, shaggy beard of the same colour, eyes of thedeepest blue, very bright and piercing, but with a wandering and unsteadylook in them, and a ruddy complexion which deepened to an intense colouron his cheek bones and other prominent parts of his face. Around his neckhe wore a heavy twisted collar of remarkably red gold. Massive rings ofthe same metal adorned his fingers. His dress was of undyed wool, and veryrudely shaped, a curious contrast to the richness of his ornaments. He wasfollowed into the room by an interpreter, a young native of NorthernBritain, who had been carried off by Irish pirates from one of theecclesiastical schools. He had been taught Latin before his captivity,and, while a captive, had made himself acquainted with the Irish language,which indeed did not differ very much from that spoken in Britain.(26) Histask of interpreter was not by any means an easy one to fulfil. The Princebroke out into a rapid torrent of complaint, invective, and entreaty,which left the young man, who was not very expert in either of thelanguages with which he had to deal, hopelessly behind. Then seeing thathe was not followed, he turned on his unlucky attendant and dealt him ablow upon the ear that sent him staggering across the room. Then he seemedto remember himself, and began to tell his story again at a more moderaterate of speed, though he still from time to time, when he came to somepeculiarly exciting part in the tale of his wrongs, broke out into a rapideloquence that baffled all interpretation. The upshot of the story wasthis--
He was, or rather had been, a small king in South-eastern Ireland,(27) theeldest of four brothers, having succeeded his father about ten yearsbefore. There had been a quarrel about the division of some property. ThePrince was a little obscure in his description of the property; indeed itwas a matter about which he was shrewd enough to say as little aspossible. But his hearers had no difficulty in presuming that it consistedof spoil carried off from Britain. The quarrel had come to blows. All thenation had been divided into parties in the dispute. Finally he had beencompelled by his ungrateful subjects to fly for his life. Would theEmperor bring him back? He was liberal, even extravagant, in his offers.He would bring the whole island under his dominion. (As a matter of fact,his dominions had never reached more than seventy miles inland, and he hadcontrived to make himself so hated during his ten years' reign that he hadscarcely a friend or follower left.) And what an island it was! Therenever was such a place. The sheep were fatter, the cows gave more milkthan in any other place in the whole world. And there was gold too, goldto be had for the picking up; and amber on the shores, and pearls in therivers. In short, it was a treasure-house of wealth, which was waiting forthe lucky first-comer.
"Are you a Christian?" asked Constans.
The exiled chief would have gladly said that he was, and indeed for amoment thought of the audacious fiction that his attachment to the newfaith had been one of the causes of his expulsion. He was, in fact, asavagely bigoted pagan, and had dealt very roughly with one or twomissionaries who had ventured into his neighbourhood. But he reflectedthat the falsehood would infallibly be detected, and would inevitably dohim a great deal of harm.
"No!" he exclaimed; "would that I were. But there is nothing that I somuch desire if only I could attain to that blessing. But I promise to bebaptized myself, and to have every man, woman, and child within mydominions baptized within a month, if you will only bring me back tothem."
Even Constans thought this zeal to be a little excessive.
"And how many men can you bring into the field?" asked the more practicalJulian; "and what money can you find for the pay of the soldiers?"
The stranger was taken aback at these direct questions.
"All my subjects, all my treasures are yours," he said, after a pause.
"I don't believe," said one of the tribunes in Latin to Julian, "that hehas any subjects besides this wretched interpreter, or any treasure beyondwhat he wears on his neck and his fingers."
"Shall he withdraw?" said Julian to his father.
Constantine, who never spoke when he could avoid speaking, answered by anod, and the Irish Prince withdrew.
"Let us have nothing to do," said the practical Julian, "with these Irishsavages. They may cut their own throats, and welcome, without our helpingthem. The men, too, would rebel at the bare mention of Ierne. It is out ofthe world in their eyes, and I think they are about right. And as to thegold and pearls, I don't believe in them."
"Perhaps you are right," said Constans; "but it would be a great work tobring over a new nation to the orthodox faith."
Julian answered with a laugh. "My good brother, we are not all suchzealous missionaries as you. I am afraid that preaching is not exactly thework which our friends the soldiers are looking out for."
"What does your Majesty say to an expedition to chastise those thievingPicts? They grow more insolent every day."
This was the suggestion of one of the tribunes.
"What is to be got?" was Julian's answer.
"Glory!" answered the tribune.
"Glory! What is that?--the men want pay and plunder. These bare-leggedvillains haven't so much as a rag th
at you can take from them, and theyhave a shrewd way of giving at least as many hard blows as they take.No!--we will leave the Picts alone, and only too thankful if they will dothe same for us!"
"The Count of the Shore has not yet taken the oath to his Majesty," saidan officer who had not spoken before. "We might give some employment tothe men in bringing him to reason."
Constantine spoke for the first time since the council had begun itssitting--"The Count is a good man and does his business well. Leave himalone."
Other suggestions were made and discussed without any sensible approach toa conclusion, and the council broke up, but with an understanding that itshould meet again with as little delay as possible.
On the afternoon of that very day an incident occurred which convincedevery one--if further conviction was needed--that delay would certainly befatal.
A party of soldiers was practising javelin throwing, and Constantine, whohad been particularly expert in this exercise in his youth, stood watchingthe game. He had stepped up to examine the mark made by one of the weaponson the wooden figure at which the men were throwing, when a javelin passedmost perilously near his head and buried itself in the wood. It could nothave been an accident; no one could have been so recklessly careless as tothrow under the circumstances. Constantine was as imperturbable as usual.Without a sign of fear or anger, he said, "Comrades, you mistake; I am notmade of wood," and, signing to his attendants, walked quietly away. Theincident, however, made a great impression upon him, and a still greaterupon his sons.
Javelin throwing.]
The consultation was renewed and prolonged far into the night, and, as noconclusion was reached, continued on the next day. About noon anunexpected adviser appeared upon the scene.
A message was brought into the council-chamber that a merchant from Gaulhad something of importance to communicate to the Emperor. The man wasadmitted, after having been first searched by way of precaution. His dresswas sober in cut and colour, and he had a small pack such as the wanderingdealers in jewellery and similar light articles were accustomed to carry.Otherwise he was little like a trader; indeed, it did not need a veryacute or practised hand to detect in him a soldier's bearing, and eventhat of one who was accustomed to command.
"You have something to tell us?" said Julian.
"Yes, I have," said the stranger, "but let me first show you mycredentials."
He spoke in passable Latin, but with a decided accent, which, stronglymarked as it was, was not recognized by any of those present. At the sametime he produced from a silken purse, which he wore like a girdle roundhis waist, a small square of parchment. It was a letter written in aminute but very clear hand, and it had evidently been put for the securityof the bearer, who could thus more easily dispose of it in case of need,into the smallest possible compass. This was handed to Constantine, who,in turn, passed it on to his elder son Constans, he being the only onepresent who could read and write with fluency. It ran thus:
"_Alaric, the son of Baltha, King of the Goths, Emperor of the World, toMarcus, Emperor of Britain and the West, greeting._"
A grim smile passed over Constantine's face as he heard this address. Hemuttered to himself, "'Marcus,' indeed! Those who write to the Emperor ofBritain must have speedy letter-carriers." The letter proceeded thus:
"_I desire friendship and alliance with the nations who are wearied andworn out with the oppressions and cruelties of Rome, and for this purposesend this present by my __trusty kinsman and counsellor Atualphus, to youwho are, I understand, asserting against the common tyrant of the worldthe liberty of Britain and the West. I have not thought it fit to trustmore to writing, but commend to you the bearer hereof, the aforesaidAtualphus, who is acquainted with the mind and purpose of myself and of mypeople, and with whom you may conveniently concert such plans as may bestserve our common welfare. Farewell. Given at my camp at AEmona._"
"Marcus is no more," said Julian. "He was unworthy of his dignity. You arein the presence of the most excellent Constantine, Emperor of Britain."
"It matters not," said the Goth, with a haughty smile. "My lord the kingwill treat as willingly with one as with another, so he be an enemy ofRome!"
"And what does he propose? What would he have us do?"
"Make common cause with him against Honorius and Rome."
"What shall we gain thereby?"
"Half of the Empire of the World."
"How shall that be?"
"The King will march into Italy and attack the Emperor in his own land.The Emperor will withdraw all the legions that he yet controls for his owndefence. With them the King will deal. Then comes your opportunity. Whatdoes it profit you to remain in this island, where nothing is to be woneither of glory or of riches. Cross over into Gaul and Spain, which,wearied with oppression and desiring above all things to throw off theRoman yoke, will gladly welcome you. Your Caesar shall reign on this sideof the Alps and the Pyrenees. The future may bring other things, but thatmay suffice for the present."
The plan, so bold, and yet, it would seem, so feasible, and presenting aready escape out of a situation that seemed hopeless, struck every onepresent with a delighted surprise. Even the phlegmatic Constantine wasroused. "It shall be done," he said.
Some further conversation followed, which it is not necessary to relate.Ways and means were discussed. Questions were asked about the strength andtemper of the forces in Gaul and Spain, about the feeling of the towns,and a hundred other matters, with all of which Atualphus showed acuriously intimate knowledge. When the Goth retired from the council, heleft very little doubt or hesitation behind him.
"They are heretics--these Goths," grumbled Constans; "obstinate Ariansevery one of them, I told----"
"You shall convert them, my brother," answered Julian, "when you areBishop of Rome. When we divide the West between us, that shall be yourportion."
"It shall be done," said Constantine again, as he rose from his chair.
The Count of the Saxon Shore; or The Villa in Vectis. Page 9