by Felix Dahn
CHAPTER XVII
Thrasaric's guests were standing in the large open square of the grove,directly in front of the Amphitheatre they had just left, most of themwith the expression and bearing of children caught by their master insome forbidden act.
Thrasaric had shaken off the last vestige of intoxication.
"The King?" he murmured in a low tone. "The hero? I am ashamed ofmyself." He pulled at the rose-wreath on his shaggy locks.
Gundomar, sword in hand, approached him with a defiant air.
"Fear was ever a stranger to you, son of Thrasamer. Now we must defythe tyrant. Face him as we do."
But Thrasaric made no answer; he only shook his huge head, and repeatedto Eugenia, whom he had placed carefully on the ground by his side: "Iam ashamed in the King's presence. And my brother! My poor brother!"
"Poor Glauke!" sighed Eugenia. "But perhaps she is to be envied."
Now the Vandal horns blared again, and nearer. The King, whose approachalong the straight Street of the Legions was distinctly seen from along distance, dashed into the square, far in advance of his soldiers.Only a few slaves bearing torches had succeeded in following him; hisbrothers, who had summoned a troop of horsemen, were behind with them.The King checked his snorting cream-colored charger directly in frontof Thrasaric and the nobles so suddenly that it reared.
"Insubordinate men! Disobedient people of the Vandals!" he shoutedreproachfully. "Is this the way you obey your sovereign's command? Doyou seek to draw upon your heads the wrath of Heaven? Who gave thisfestival? Who directed it?"
"I gave it, my King," said Thrasaric, moving a step forward. "I deeplyrepent it. Punish me. But spare him who at my request directed it, mybrother. He has--"
"Vanished with the dead girl," interrupted Gundobad. "I wanted toappeal to him also to support with us Gundings the cause of the noblesagainst the King--"
"For this hour," added Gundomar, "will decide whether we shall be serfsof the Asdings or free nobles."
"Yes, I am weary of being commanded," said Modigisel.
"We are of no meaner blood than his," cried Gundobad, with athreatening glance at the King. Already a large band of kinsmen,friends, and followers, many of whom were armed, was gathering roundthe Gundings.
Thrasaric was stepping into their midst to try to avert the impendingconflict, but he was now surrounded by throngs of his own and hisbrother's slaves.
"My Lord," they cried, "Thrasabad has disappeared. What shall be done?The festival--"
"Is over. Alas that it ever began!"
"But the races in the Circus opposite?"
"Will not take place! Lead the horses out! Return them to theirowners."
"I will not take the stallion until after we have thrown the dice,"cried Modigisel. "Ay, tremble with rage. I hold you to your word."
"And the wild beasts?" urged a freedman. "They are roaring for food."
"Leave them where they are! Feed them!"
"And the Moorish prisoner?"
He could not answer; for while the racehorses, the stallion among them,were being led from the Circus into the square between it and theAmphitheatre, loud shouts rang from the exits of the latter.
"The Moor! The captive! He has escaped! He is running away! Stop him!"
Thrasaric turned, and saw the figure of the young Moor coming towardhim. He had been bound hand and foot, and though successful in breakingthe rope around his ankles, he had been unable to sever the one firmlyfastened about his wrists, and was greatly impeded in forcing a waythrough the crowd by his inability to use his hands.
"Let him go! Let him run!" ordered Thrasaric.
"No," shouted the pursuers. "He has just knocked his master down by ablow of his fist. His master commanded it! He must die! A thousandsestertii to the man who captures him."
Stones flew, and here and there a spear whizzed by.
"A thousand sestertii?" cried one Roman to another. "Friend Victor, letus forget our quarrel and earn them together."
"Done. Halves, O Laurus!"
The fugitive now darted like an arrow straight toward Thrasaric. Hislithe, noble figure came nearer and nearer. Lofty wrath glowed on thefinely moulded young face. Then, close beside Thrasaric, Laurus graspedat the rope hanging from the Moor's wrists. A violent jerk, the youthfell. Victor grasped his arm.
"The thousand sestertii are ours," cried Laurus, drawing the ropetoward him.
"No," exclaimed Thrasaric, snatching his short-sword from its sheath.The weapon flashed through the cord. "Fly, Moor!"
The youth was instantly on his feet again; one grateful glance at theVandal, and he was in the midst of the race-horses.
"Oh, the stallion! My stallion!" shouted Modigisel. But the Moor wasalready on the back of the magnificent animal. A word in its ear, thehorse sprang forward, the crowd scattered shrieking, and already Styxand his rider were flying over the road to Numidia in the shelteringdarkness of the night.
"The stallion," muttered Modigisel. "That will cost me the casting ofthe dice for the young wife."
Thrasaric gazed after the horse in amazement. "O God, I thank Thee! Iwill deserve it; I will atone. Come, little one. To the King! He seemsto need me."
Meanwhile the nobles and their followers had pressed forwardthreateningly against the King, who did not yield a step.
"We will not be ruled by you," cried Gundomar.
"We will not be forbidden to enjoy the pleasures of life!" exclaimedModigisel. "To-morrow, whether you are willing or not, I will invite myfriends. We will meet again in this arena."
"No, you will not," said the King, quietly, and taking the torch fromthe hand of the nearest slave he rose in his stirrups, and, with a sureaim, hurled it high over the heads of the crowd into the silk tent,which instantly caught fire and blazed up brightly. Loud roars camefrom the cages of the wild beasts.
"Do you dare?" shrieked Gundobad. "This house is not yours. It belongsto the Vandal nation! How dare you destroy their pleasures, merelybecause you do not share them?"
"And why do you not share them?" added Gundomar. "Because you are notrue man, no real Vandal."
"An enthusiast--no king of a race of heroes!"
"Why do you so often tremble?"
"Who knows whether some secret sin does not burden you?"
"Who knows whether your courage will not fail when danger--"
Just at that moment, drowning every other sound, a shrill shriek ofhorror, of mortal fear, rang from many hundred throats; a short,exulting roar could scarcely be heard through the tumult. "The tiger!The tiger is free!" rose from the arena.
And rushing thence in a dense crowd, frantic with terror, came men,women, and children, all struggling together. Everywhere they met otherthrongs, and, unable to go farther, jostled, pushed, stumbled, fell,and were trampled under foot.
Above them, on the first story of the Amphitheatre, directly oppositeto the King, the broken chain trailing from its collar, crouched thehuge tiger, lashing his flanks with his tail, his jaws wide open,hesitating between the spur of his fierce hunger and the fear of thetorches and human beings. At last hunger conquered. The beast's eyeshad rested upon one of the race-horses in front of the Amphitheatre,and lingered on it as though spellbound. A throng of people surgedbetween the animal and its prey. The leap was almost beyond its powers;but greed urged on the monster and, with a low cry, it sprang over theheads of the multitude upon its chosen victim.
All the shrieking people pressed in the same direction. The horsesshied; the tiger's leap fell short; he reached the ground scarcely twofeet from the racer, which broke its halter and dashed away. The tigernever repeats a spring it has missed. Hasdrubal was shrinking back, asif ashamed; but as he stretched out his right fore-paw, it fell uponwarm, soft, living flesh. A child, a little girl about four years old,in the gay, spangled dress of a Love, had been torn from the side ofher mother and thrown down by the fugitives. There she was, lying onher face in the soft grass, the delicate rosy flesh between her headand shou
lders rising above her little white dress. The tiger thrust hispaw forward and held the child down by the neck--but only for aninstant. Suddenly he drew back the length of his body, uttering a roarwhose fury far exceeded any previous one, for an enemy advancing onfoot dared to dispute possession of his prey. The great cat gatheredhimself to leap, the terrible leap which must overthrow any man. Butbefore the beast could straighten himself for the bound, his adversarythrust a Vandal sword between the yawning jaws to the very hilt, andpierced the spine.
Carried down by the impetus of the blow, the man fell for a moment onthe dead tiger; but he instantly sprang up, stepped back, and liftedthe stupefied child from the ground.
"Gelimer! Hail to King Gelimer! Hail to the hero!" shouted the crowd.Even the Romans joined in the acclamation. "Are you unharmed, O King?"asked Thrasaric.
"As the child," said the latter, calmly, placing the little one in thearms of its weeping, trembling mother, who kissed the hem of the whiteroyal mantle, stained with the wild beast's blood.
Gelimer wiped his sword-blade on the tiger's soft skin and thrust itinto the sheath. Then he went back to his horse and stood drawn up tohis full height, leaning against its shoulder, his helmeted head heldproudly erect. He had retained as king the old helmet with the wings ofthe black vulture (they seemed now to stir in menace), and merely addedGenseric's pointed crown. A look of sorrowful contempt rested on thethrong; Deep silence reigned for the moment; speech failed even theboldest of the nobles.