The Scarlet Banner

by Felix Dahn

  CHAPTER XIX

  Dull, misty, and gray, a cold damp morning in early March dawned uponthe mountain. The sun could not penetrate the dense clouds.

  The ancient city of Medenus had long since been abandoned by itsCarthaginian and Roman founders and builders. Most of the houses,constructed of stone from the mountain, stood deserted and ruinous.Nomad Moors used the few which still had roofs as places of refuge inwinter. The largest structure was the former basilica. Here the Kingand his household had found shelter. A scanty fire of straw and fagotswas burning in the centre on the stone floor. But it sent forth moresmoke than heat, for the wood was wet, and the damp fog penetratedeverywhere through the cracks in the walls, through the holes in theroof, pressing down the slowly rising yellowish-gray smoke till,trailing and gliding along the cold wall, it sought other means ofescape through the entrance, whose folding-doors were missing. In thesemicircular space back of the apses coverlets and skins had beenspread upon the marble floor. Here sat Gibamund, hammering upon hismuch-dented shield, while Hilda had laid the scarlet standard acrossher lap, and was mending it.

  "Many, many arrows have pierced thee, ancient, storm-tried banner. Andthis gaping rent here,--it was probably a sword-stroke. But thou muststill hold together to the end."

  "The end," said Gibamund, impatiently completing the nailing of theedge of the shield with one last blow of the hammer. "I wish it wouldcome. I can bear to witness the suffering--_your_ suffering--no longer.I have constantly urged the King to put an end to it. Let us, let allthe Vandals,--the Moors can surrender as prisoners,--charge upon thefoe together, and--He would never let me finish. 'That would besuicide,' he answered, 'and sin. We must bear patiently what God hasimposed upon us as a punishment. If it is His will. He can yet save us,bear us away from here on the wings of His angels. But the end isapproaching--of itself. The number of graves on the slope of themountain is daily increasing.'"

  "Yes, the row constantly lengthens; sometimes the high mounds of ourVandals surmounted by the cross!"

  "Sometimes the faithful Moors' heap of stones with the circle of blackpebbles. Yesterday evening we buried the delicate Gundoric; the lastscion of the proud Gundings, the darling of his brave father Gundobad."

  "So the poor boy's sufferings are over? In Carthage the child wasalways clad in purple silk as he rode through the streets in a shellcarriage drawn by ostriches."

  "Day before yesterday the King brought to the miserable heap of strawwhere he was lying the fragrant bread he had begged from the enemy. Thechild devoured it so eagerly that we were obliged to check him. Weturned our backs a moment,--I was getting some water with the King forthe sick boy,--when a cry of mingled rage and grief summoned us. AMoorish lad, probably attracted by the smell of the bread, had sprungin through the open window and torn it from between the child's teeth.It made a very deep impression on the King. 'This child, too, theguiltless one? O terrible God!' he cried again and again. I closed theboy's dying eyes to-day."

  "It cannot last much longer. The people have killed the last horseexcept Styx."

  "Styx shall not be slaughtered," cried Hilda. "He bore you from certaindeath; he saved you."

  "_You_ saved me, with your Valkyria ride," exclaimed Gibamund; and,happy in the midst of all the wretchedness, he pressed his beautifulwife to his heart, kissing her golden hair, her eyes, her noble brow."Hark! what is that?"

  "It is the song which he has composed and is singing to the harp Farasent him. Well for thee, Teja's stringed instrument, that thou art notcompelled to accompany such a dirge," she cried wrathfully, springingup and tossing back her waving locks. "I would rather have shattered myharp on the nearest rocks than lent it for such a song."

  "But it works like a spell upon the Moors and Vandals."

  "They do not understand it at all; the words are Latin. He has rejectedalliteration as pagan, as the magic of runes! He allows no one tomention his last battle-song."

  "Of course they scarcely understand it. But when they see the King as,almost in an ecstasy, like a man walking in his sleep, with his burningeyes half closed, his wan, sorrowful face surrounded by tangled locks,his ragged royal mantle thrown around his shoulders, his harp on hisarm, he wanders alone over the rocks and snows of this mountain; whenthey hear the deep, wailing voice, the mournful melody of the dirge, itaffects them like a spell, though they understand little of themeaning. Hark! there it rises again."

  Nearer and nearer, partly borne away by the wind, came in broken words,sometimes accompanied by the strings, the chant:

  "Woe to thee! I mourn, I mourn! Woe to thee, O Vandal race! Soon forgot, will be thy name, Which the world, a tempest, swept.

  "Gloriously didst thou arise From the sea,--a meteor. Fame and radiance lost for aye, Thou wilt sink in blackest night.

  "All the earth's rich treasures heaped Genseric in Carthage fair. Starving beggar with the foe, Now for bread his grandson pleads.

  "Let thy heroes strengthen me; God's wrath on thee resteth sore; Leave fame and honor to the Goths, To the Franks:--they are but toys."

  "I will not listen; I will not bear it," cried Hilda. "He shall notrevile all that makes life worth living."

  Nearer, more distinctly, sounded the slow, mournful notes.

  "Vanity and sin are all Thou hast cherished, Vandal race; Therefore God hath stricken thee, Therefore bowed thy head in shame.

  "Bow thee, bow thee to the dust, Bruised race of Genseric; Kiss the rod in gratitude. It is God the Lord Who smites."

  The dirge died away. The royal singer ascended with tottering steps thehalf-ruined stairs of the basilica, his harp hanging loosely from hisleft arm. Now he stood between the gray, mouldering pillars of theentrance, and, laying his right arm against the cold stone, pressed hisweary head upon it.

  Just at that moment a young Moor came hurrying up the steps; a fewbounds brought him to the top. Gibamund and Hilda went toward him inastonishment.

  "It is long since I have seen you move so swiftly, Sersaon," saidGibamund.

  "Your eyes are sparkling," cried Hilda. "You bring good tidings."

  The King raised his head from the pillar and, shaking it sorrowfully,looked at the Moor.

  "Yes, wise Queen," replied the latter. "The best of tidings: Rescue!"

  "Impossible!" said Gelimer, in a hollow tone.

  "It is true, my master. Here, Verus will confirm it."

  With a slow step, but unbroken strength, the priest ascended themountain-top. He seemed rather to be prouder, more powerful than in thedays of happiness; he held his head haughtily erect. In his hand hecarried an arrow and a strip of papyrus.

  "To-night," the young Moor went on, "I had the watch at our farthestpoint toward the south. At the earliest glimmer of dawn, I heard thecall of the ostrich: I thought it a delusion, for the bird neverascends to such a height, and this is not the mating season. But thiscall is our concerted signal with our allies among the Southern tribes,the Soloes. I listened, I watched keenly; yes, yonder, pressing closeagainst the yellowish-brown cliff, so motionless that he could scarcelybe distinguished from the rock, crouched a Soloe. I softly answered thecall; instantly an arrow flew to the earth close beside me,--a headlessarrow, into whose hollow shaft, instead of the tip, this strip had beenforced. I drew it out; I cannot read, but I took it to the nearestVandals. Two of them read it and rejoiced greatly. Verus happened topass by; he wanted to tear the papyrus, wished to forbid our speakingof it to you, but hunger, the hope of rescue, are stronger than hiswords--"

  "I thought it treachery, a snare; it is too improbable," interruptedVerus.

  Gibamund snatched the strip and read: "The path descending southward,where the ostrich called, is unguarded; it is supposed to beimpassable. Climb down singly to-morrow at m
idnight; we will wait closeby with fresh horses. Theudis, King of the Visigoths, has sent us goldto save you, and a little ship. It is lying near the coast. Hasten."

  "There is still fidelity. There are still friends in need!" criedHilda, exultingly, throwing herself with tears of joy, on her husband'sbreast.

  The King's bowed figure straightened; his eyes lost their dull,hopeless expression.

  "Now you see how wicked it would have been to seek death. This is thefinger which God's mercy extends to us. Let us grasp it."