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Veranilda

G >> George Gissing >> Veranilda




The news he brought was disquieting. Bessas had just received
despatches from Cumae, which acquainted him with the story of
Veranilda's disappearance, so far as it was known to Chorsoman; he
wore a heavy brow about the business, swore that the Gothic damsel
should be found, if it cost the skins of all who had had anything to
do with her.

'I partly soothed the brute,' concluded Marcian, 'by telling him
that Petronilla was within such easy reach. Her he will summon
to-morrow.'

'You promised to see her,' said Basil impatiently.

'Do I often break my promises? I saw her before going even to my own
house, with the dust of the journey still upon me.'

'Ever kind Marcian?'

'Why so hasty to think me less than kind?' returned the other, with
his smile of sad irony. 'I saw her, though with difficulty. She kept
me waiting like an importunate poor kinsman, and when I was
received, she sat like the Empress giving audience. I did not touch
the earth with my forehead; nay, I stood looking at her with a look
she did not easily bear. That she is guilty, I am sure; I read
triumph in her eyes as soon as I spoke of Aurelia. That she would
deny all knowledge of the affair was only to be expected. Moreover,
she has taken possession of the great house yonder, and declares
that Aurelia, as a heretic, can claim nothing under her father's
will. You, of course, the heir, can expel her, if you think it worth
the trouble. But let us see the result of her conversation with
Bessas. She smiled disdainfully when I mentioned his name, and tried
to continue smiling when I carelessly explained the interest he had
in finding Veranilda; but she was frightened, I heard it in her
hoarse voice when she began to speak evil of Veranilda.'

'What!' cried Basil. 'Evil of Veranilda!'

'Such as naturally comes to the tongue of an angry woman.'

The lover raged, Marcian listening with a sad, half-absent look.
Their talk continued for a long time, arid, because of the lateness
of the hour, Marcian stayed to sleep in his friend's house. Before
sunrise on the morrow, Basil sent forth his invitations to all of
the Anician blood in Rome. The first to respond was Gordianus, whose
dwelling on the Clivus Scauri stood but a few minutes' walk away.
Though but a little older than Basil, Gordian had been for several
years a husband and a father; he was in much esteem for his worldly
qualities, and more highly regarded for the fervour of his religious
faith. A tall, handsome, dignified man, he looked straight before
him with frank eyes, and his lips told of spirit tempered by
kindliness. Between him and his relative no great intimacy existed,
for their modes of life and of thought were too dissimilar, but each
saw the good in the other, and was attracted by it. Not long ago
Gordian had conceived the project of giving his young sister
Aemiliana as wife to Basil. Maximus favoured this design, but his
nephew showed no eagerness to carry it out, and Roman gossip
presently found a reason for that. Among the leaders of fashion and
of pleasure--for fashion and pleasure did not fail to revive in
Rome soon after the horrors of the siege--shone a lady named
Heliodora, the Greek wife of a little-respected senator, who,
favoured by Bessas, rose to the position of City Prefect. With
Heliodora's character rumour made very free; the captives of her
beauty were said to be numerous, and one of the names mentioned by
those who loved such scandal was that of the young Basil. Gordian,
finding that there was some ground for this suspicion, spoke no more
of the suggested marriage, and it was at his instance that Maximus,
ill in Campania, summoned Basil away from the city. Reports from
Surrentum gave reason to hope that this measure had succeeded. But
to-day, as he entered Basil's house, Gordian's face wore a troubled
look, and there was no warmth in his response to the greeting which
met him.

'You have sent for me, my dear lord,' he began with grave and
distant courtesy, 'to speak of the matter of your inheritance.
Forgive me if I first of all ask you a question--of more intimate
concern. Is it true that you have taken a wife?'

Basil, in whom fatigue and misery had left little patience, began
quivering in every nerve, and made blunt answer:

'It is not true, arid she who told you contrived the lie.'

'You speak of the lady Petronilla,' pursued Gordian gently. 'Can I
think that she has wilfully deceived me?'

'Think it not, my lord Gordian,' returned the other; 'if Petronilla
told you I was married, she lied.'

'That is strange indeed. Listen, I pray you, to the story heard in
Rome since Petronilla returned. It is right that you should hear it
just as it comes from her own lips.'

Thereupon Gordian repeated a narrative which would have been
substantially true had it not crowned Basil's love with marriage.
The listener, shaken with violent passion, could scarce wait till
the end.

'And now hear _me_,' he cried. 'If I were prudent, I also should
lie, for the truth may be dangerous. But you shall know it, O
Gordian, and if you choose to harm me--'

The other raised a hand, and so full of dignity was this gesture, so
solemn the look which accompanied it, that Basil's vehemence felt
itself rebuked; he grew silent and listened.

'Basil, check your tongue, which I see will be your greatest peril.
Do not confide in me, for I know not whether I can respect your
confidence. Let us speak of other things.'

The younger man stood for a moment in hesitancy, his cheeks aflame,
his eyes fiercely gleaming.

'As you will,' he exclaimed, mastering himself. 'When the others are
here, you will learn all that it concerns you to know. Remember,
Gordian, that I would have opened my heart to you, for, whatever I
said, I know well that you are no betrayer. As for that woman--'

He was interrupted by the arrival of several persons, old and young,
who appeared in answer to his summons. Having received them with
colder courtesy than was natural to him, Basil produced the
testament of Maximus, and submitted it to his kinsmen's inspection.
The tablets passed from hand to hand; the signatures and seals of
the seven witnesses were examined, the contents read and discussed.
Meanwhile guests continued to arrive, until a considerable
gathering, which included several ladies, had assembled in the great
hall. Here was represented all that deemed itself best and most
illustrious in the society of Rome. More came than were expressly
invited; for, beyond the legitimate interest of the occasion,
curiosity had been aroused by the gossip of Petronilla, and some
whose connection with the Anician house was of the very slightest,
hastened to present themselves at Basil's door. Hither came men
whose names recalled the glories of the Republic; others who were
addressed by appellations which told of Greek dominion; alike they
claimed the dignity of Roman optimates, and deemed themselves
ornaments of an empire which would endure as long as the world.
Several ranked as senators; two or three were ex-consuls; ten years
ago the last consul of Rome had laid down his shadowy honours; one
had held the office of Praetorian Prefect when Theodoric was king;
yet, from the political point of view, all were now as powerless as
their own slaves. Wealth a few of them still possessed, but with no
security; a rapacious Byzantine official, the accident of war, might
at any moment strip them of all they had. For the most part they had
already sunk to poverty, if not to indigence; among these
aristocratic faces were more than one which bore the mark of
privation. Those who had little means or none lived as parasites of
more fortunate relatives; though beggars, they housed in palaces--
palaces, it is true, which had often no more comfort within their
marble walls than the insulae where the ignoble laid their heads.

When all had perused the will, Basil rose up and addressed them. He
began by a seemingly careless allusion to the tattle about himself,
which, as it appeared, had been started in Rome by some one who
wished him ill. The serious matter of which he had to speak regarded
the daughter of Maximus. No one here, of course, would be inclined
to take up the defence of Aurelia, whose history was known to all,
he would merely make known to them that after having abjured her
religious errors, and when living quietly in the Surrentine villa,
she had been treacherously seized and carried off he knew not
whither. It was not difficult to surmise by whom this plot had been
laid, but he would leave that point for his hearers' discussion. Him
it chiefly concerned to make known the strange facts so far as he
knew them; and this he proceeded to do. Basil concluded with
sarcastic reference to the possibility that he, as heir, might be
openly or secretly suspected of having laid hands upon Aurelia; that
point also he left to be debated by such as thought it worth while.

Only some two or three of those who listened had any personal
interest in the will, and few cared at all for the fate of Aurelia;
but the lady at whom Basil's innuendo pointed enjoyed no great
favour, and her absence from this family gathering made it possible
to discuss with all freedom the likelihood of her culpability. At
Basil himself no suspicion glanced, but the rumour of his marriage
with a Goth had excited much curiosity, hardly appeased by a whisper
that Gordian declared the story false. Having spoken all he thought
fit to say, Basil was going apart with the persons to whom legacies
had been left, he, as heir, being charged with the execution of the
will, when Gordian approached him, and begged for a word in private.

'I would not have you think me unkind, dear Basil,' he said, in a
gentle voice. 'It was neither the place nor the moment to hear
secrets from you, and I am glad now that I refused to listen; but be
assured that I put faith in what you have declared to us.'

'It is well, dear Gordian,' replied Basil frankly.

'One word I will add,' continued the other. 'If you are troubled
about things of the world, if you lack counsel such as you think a
friend might give, delay not in coming to me. I should not speak
thus confidently did I speak of myself alone; but there is one ever
at my side, who with her wisdom--sometimes I think it divinely
bestowed--supplies the weakness of my own understanding. Guided by
her, I cannot counsel you amiss.'

They parted with an embrace, and Basil turned to the business of the
moment. This occupied him until nearly mid-day. As he took leave of
the last of his guests, there entered Marcian; his coming surprised
Basil, for they had parted at early morning not to meet again before
the morrow.

'I bring you an invitation,' said Marcian, in a careless tone, which
was not quite natural. 'It is to the Palatine, after dinner.'

'To the Palatine? I am summoned by Bessas?'

'In a friendly way. Have no anxiety. Petronilla has been examined
this morning, and, from what I can gather, she seems to have
betrayed herself. Bessas wore the smile which means that he has
over-reached somebody.'

'Then we shall find her,' exclaimed Basil.

'They will find her, I doubt not,' was the reply.

The meal being ready, they sat down to eat together, but their
appetite was small. Decius, who had wearied himself this morning in
finding discreet answers to the questions with which he was
privately assailed by his kinsfolk, did not come to table. Having
dined, Basil and his friend set forth on foot, half a dozen servants
walking behind them. Midway in the descent of the Caelian, they were
met by an odd procession: a beautiful boy of some twelve years old,
clad in yellow, riding upon a small white ass with rich housings,
and behind him three slaves, dark-visaged men of the East, on mules
of great size, caparisoned with yellow cloth, to which hung
innumerable tinkling bells. At sight of Basil, the child drew rein;
jumped down, and ran forward with smiling demonstrations of respect.

'What is it, Laetus?' asked Basil, with no welcome upon his sombre
countenance. 'I cannot talk with you now.'

The boy, who had been sold into slavery from the far island of the
Angles, did but smatter the Roman tongue. With a few words to
signify that his message was important, he delivered a letter, and
Basil, turning aside impatiently, broke the seal. Upon the blank
side of a slip of papyrus cut from some old manuscript were written
lines which seemed to be in Greek, and proved to be Latin in Greek
characters, a foppery beginning to be used by the modish at Rome.

'Heliodora to Basil. You are bidden to supper. Come if you will. If
you come not, I care not.'

'Say that I gave you no reply,' were Basil's blunt words, as he
walked on past the ass and the mules.





CHAPTER XI

SEEKING




They passed beneath the walls of the amphitheatre and by
Constantine's triumphal arch. Like all the innumerable fountains of
the city, the Meta Sudans stood dry; around the base of the rayed
colossus of Apollo, goats were browsing. Thence they went along by
the Temple of Venus and Rome, its giant columns yet unshaken, its
roof gleaming with gilded bronze; and so under the Arch of Titus,
when, with a sharp turn to the left, they began the ascent of the
Palatine.

The vast buildings which covered the Imperial hill, though
discoloured by the lapse of ages and hung with ivy, had suffered
little diminution of their external majesty; time had made them
venerable, but had not shattered their walls. For two centuries and
a half, they had stood all but desolate, and within that time had
thrice been sacked by barbarians, yet something of the riches and
art which made their ancient glory was still discoverable in the
countless halls and chambers; statues, busts, mural paintings,
triumphs of mosaic, pictured hangings, had in many parts escaped the
spoiler and survived ruin; whilst everywhere appeared the
magnificence of rare stones, the splendours of royal architecture,
the beauty of unsurpassed carving. Though owls nested where
empresses were wont to sleep, and nettles pierced where the lord of
the world feasted his courtiers, this was still the Palace of those
who styled themselves Ever August; each echo seemed to repeat an
immortal name, and in every gallery seemed to move the shadows of a
majestic presence.

Belisarius had not resided here, preferring for his abode the palace
of the Pincian. His successor in the military government of Rome
chose a habitation on the deserted hill, in that portion of its
complex structures which had been raised by Vespasian and his sons.
Thither the two visitors were now directing their steps. Having
passed a gateway, where Marcian answered with a watchword the
challenge of the guard, they ascended a broad flight of stairs, and
stood before an entrance flanked with two great pillars of Numidian
marble, toned by time to a hue of richest orange. Here stood
soldiers, to whom again the password was given. Entering, they
beheld a great hall, surrounded by a colonnade of the Corinthian
order, whereon had been lavished exquisite carving; in niches behind
the columns stood statues in basalt, thrice the size of life,
representing Roman emperors, and at the far end was a tribune with a
marble throne. This, once the hall of audience, at present served as
a sort of antechamber; here and there loitered a little group of
citizens, some of whom had been waiting since early morning for
speech with the commander; in one corner, soldiers played at dice,
in another a notary was writing at a table before which stood two
ecclesiastics. Voices and footsteps made a faint, confused
reverberation under the immense vault.

Anxiously glancing about him, Basil followed his conductor across
the hall and out into a peristyle, its pavement richly tesselated,
and the portico, still elaborately adorned with work in metal and in
marble, giving proof of still greater magnificence in bygone time;
pedestals had lost their statues, and blank spaces on the wall told
of precious panelling torn off. Beyond, they came to a curtained
doorway, where they were detained for some moments by the sentry;
then the curtain was drawn aside, and Basil found himself in the
triclinium of the Flavian palace, now used by the Greek general as
his public reception room. Its size was not much less than that of
the hall of audience; its decoration in the same grandiose style.
Enormous pillars of granite supported the roof; statues stood, or
had stood, all around; the pavement, composed of serpentine,
porphyry, and Numidian marble in many hues, was a superb work of
art. But Basil saw only the human figures before him. In a chair
covered with furs sat a man of middle age, robust,
fair-complexioned, with a keen look in his pale blue eyes and
something of the wolfish about his mouth. Bessas had long ago given
proof of valour, and enjoyed repute as a general, but since his
holding command in Rome, his vices, chief of which was avarice,
showed much more prominently than the virtues which had advanced
him; he used the Imperial authority chiefly to enrich himself, in
this respect, it is true, merely acting in harmony with the
Emperor's representative at Ravenna, and with: the other Greek
generals scattered about Italy, but exhibiting in his methods a
shrewdness and an inhumanity not easily rivalled. Behind his chair
stood several subordinates, and on a stool before him sat a noble
recently arrived as envoy from Byzantium.

Having been previously instructed as to his behaviour in this
redoubtable presence, Basil followed the example of Marcian in
approaching with bent head to within a distance of three paces, then
dropping to his knees, and bowing so as almost to touch the ground
with his forehead. He heard a gruff voice command him to rise.

'So this is the heir of the Senator Maximus,' said Bessas, much as
he might have spoken of viewing a horse that interested him. 'What
is his name?'

'Basilius, my lord,' replied Marcian, with grave respect.

'And what is he doing? Why does not a limber lad like that serve the
Emperor?'

'Your Magnanimity will recollect that the lord Basil had permission
to attend Maximus into Campania, whence he is but now returned.'

'Can't he speak for himself?' growled Bessas, turning sharply upon
Marcian. 'You have a tongue, lord Basil? Do you only use it among
the wenches?'

A subdued laugh sounded behind the commander's chair. The envoy from
Byzantium showed more discreet appreciation of the jest. And Basil,
his head bowed, would fain have concealed a face burning with angry
shame.

'I will do my best,' he replied in a steady voice, 'to answer any
question your excellence may put to me.'

'Come, that's better,' said the general, with that affectation of
bluff good-nature which always veiled his designs. 'I like the look
of you, my good Basil; who knows but we may be friends? By the bye,
was there not some special reason for your coming to see me?'

'Your excellence summoned me.'

'Yes, yes, I remember. That affair of the Gothic wench.' Bessas
checked himself, glanced at the envoy, and corrected his phrase.
'The Gothic lady, I would say, who has somehow been spirited out of
sight. What can you tell us of her, lord Basil? It has been
whispered to me that if you cannot lead us to this beauty's
hiding-place, nobody can.'

Basil answered in the only way consistent with prudence: he not only
denied all knowledge of where Veranilda was to be found, but spoke
as though her fate had little or no interest for him, whereas he
professed himself greatly troubled by the disappearance of his
cousin Aurelia. It seemed that Petronilla did not purpose delivering
Veranilda to the Greeks. Perhaps she did not yet understand the
import of their inquiry. That it was she who held Veranilda prisoner
he had less doubt than ever, and boldly he declared his conviction.
But even, whilst speaking, he thought with dread of the possibility
of Veranilda's being delivered to Bessas; for who could assure him
that this sinister-looking Thracian would respect the mandate
received from Byzantium? On the other hand, who could say to what
sufferings and perils his beloved was exposed whilst Petronilla's
captive? He preferred the risks to follow upon her surrender. Did he
but know where she was there would at least be a hope of rescuing
her.

'By Christ!' exclaimed Bessas, when he had listened intently to all
Basil's replies, 'this is a strange business. I begin to think,
excellent lord Basil, that you are as much deceived in your
suspicions of the lady Petronilla as she is in her suspicions of
you. These two wenches--ladies, I would say--may have reasons of
their own for hiding; or somebody of whom you know nothing may have
carried them off. How is this Aurelia to look upon? Young and
comely, I warrant.'

Basil briefly described his cousin; whereupon the listener gave a
shrug.

'We will talk of it again, to-morrow or the day after. Hold yourself
in readiness, lord Basil--you hear?--to come when bidden. And,
hark you, bring the senator's will, that I may look it over myself.
Trust me, I will see that this lady Aurelia suffers no wrong; if
necessary, I will myself hold her property in trust. They tell me
she is a heretic--that must be inquired into. But take no thought
for the matter, my good Basil; trust me, you shall be relieved from
all responsibilities. Go in peace!'

Bessas rose, impatient to have done with business. In the little
hippodrome, hard by, an entertainment had been prepared for this
afternoon: female equestrians were to perform perilous feats; there
was to be a fight between a man and a boar; with other trifles, such
as served to pass the time till dinner. In the entrance hall waited
messengers from Ravenna, who for hours had urgently requested
audience; but, partly because he knew that their despatches would be
disagreeable, in part because he liked playing at royalty, the
commander put them off till to-morrow. Even so did he postpone an
inspection of a certain part of the city wall, repeatedly suggested
to him by one of his subordinates. Leisure and accumulation of
wealth were obscuring the man's soldierly qualities. He gave little
heed to the progress of the war, and scoffed at the fear that Totila
might ere long march against Rome.

Basil walked in gloomy silence. The interview had inflamed his
pride. Mentally he repeated the oath never to acquiesce in this
Byzantine tyranny, and he burned for the opportunity of open war
against it. When they were at a safe distance from the Palatine,
Marcian warned his friend against the Greek's indulgent manner; let
him not suppose that Bessas spoke one word sincerely.

'His aim at present, I see, is to put you off your guard; and
doubtless he is playing the like game with Petronilla. You will be
spied upon, day and night--I myself, you understand, being one of
the spies, but only one, unfortunately. This Thracian is not so easy
to deal with as the Hun at Cumae. There have been moments when I
thought he suspected me. If ever I vanish, Basil--'

He ceased with a significant look.

'Why does Totila delay?' exclaimed Basil, with a passionate gesture.

'He delays not. It is wisdom to conquer Campania before coming
hither. Another month will see him before Neapolis.'

'Could I but find Veranilda, make her my own, and put her in safety,
I would go straight to the king's camp, and serve him as best I
might.'

Marcian looked steadily at the speaker, smiling strangely.

'Why do you look at me so?' cried Basil. 'You doubt me? You distrust
my courage?'

'Not for a moment. But why should this depend upon the finding of
Veranilda, my best Basil? Having found her, having made her your
own, will it be easier than now to take your chance of death or of
captivity? When was a Roman wont to let his country's good wait upon
his amorous desire?'

They were on the Sacred Way, between the Basilica of Constantine and
the Atrium of Vesta. Struck to the heart by his friend's words,
words such as Marcian had never yet addressed to him, Basil stood
mute and let his eyes wander: he gazed at the Forum, at the temples
beyond it, at the Capitol with its desecrated sanctuary of Jupiter
towering above. Here, where the citizens once thronged about their
business and their pleasure, only a few idlers were in view, a few
peasants with carts, and a drove of bullocks just come in from the
country.

'You would have me forget her?' he said at length, in a voice
distressfully subdued.

'I spoke only as I thought.'

'And your thought condemned me--despised me, Marcian?'

'Not so. Pitied you rather, as one whose noble nature has fallen
into trammels. Have you not long known, O Basil, how I think of the
thing called love?'

'Because you have never known it!' exclaimed Basil. 'My love is my
life. Having lost Veranilda, I have lost myself; without her I can
do nothing. Were she dead I could fling myself into the struggle
with our enemies, all the fiercer because I should care not whether
I lived or died; but to lose her thus, to know that she may be in
Rome, longing for me as I for her--to think that we may never hold
each other's hands again--oh, it tears my heart, and makes me weak
as a child. You cannot understand me; you have never loved!'

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