CHAPTER XII.
Camilla came home in such extreme excitement, that Daphnidion would notbe convinced that she had not seen the nymphs, or even the venerablesylvan god, Picus, himself.
But the maiden threw herself with wild emotion into the arms of heralarmed mother. The strife of confused feelings within her resolveditself into a flood of hot tears, and only later was she able to answerRusticiana's anxious questions.
A terrible struggle was taking place in the soul of this child. At thecourt of Ravenna it had not escaped the growing girl that the dark eyesof the beautiful Athalaric often rested upon her with a strange anddreamy expression, and that he eagerly listened to every tone of hervoice. But a suspicion of deeper affection had never entered into hermind. The Prince, reserved and shy, cast down his eyes whenever she methis look with an unembarrassed and inquisitive glance. Were they notboth at that time almost children?
She did not know how to interpret Athalaric's manner--he scarcely coulddo so himself--and it had never occurred to her to reflect why she sogladly lived near him; why she liked to follow the bold flights of histhoughts and imaginations, differing so much from those of all otherplayfellows; why she loved to wander silently through the quiet gardensin the evening-light by the side of the silent boy, who often, in themidst of his reverie, addressed her with abrupt, but alwayssignificant, words; whose poetical feelings--the feelings ofenthusiastic youth--she so completely understood and appreciated.
The tender tissue of this budding inclination was violently torn by thecatastrophe of her father's death, and not only gentle sorrow for themurdered man, but glowing hatred of his murderers, took possession ofthe passionate Roman girl's soul.
At all times Boethius, even when in the height of his favour at court,had displayed a haughty condescension to the barbarism of the Goths,and, since the catastrophe, all Camilla's companions--her mother, hertwo brothers (who thirsted for vengeance), and the friends of thehouse--breathed hatred and contempt, not only for the bloody murdererand tyrant, Theodoric, but for all Goths, and particularly for thedaughter and grandson of the King, who, in their eyes, shared his guiltbecause they had not hindered it.
So the maiden had almost ceased to think of Athalaric, and if he werenamed, or if, as often happened, his picture entered into her dreams,her hatred of the barbarians was concentrated in a feeling of thegreatest abhorrence towards him, perhaps just because, in the depths ofher heart, there lurked an involuntary suspicion of the secretinclination which she nourished for the handsome and noble youth.
And now--now he had dared to lay a snare for her unsuspicious heart!
No sooner had she seen him step from the bushes--no sooner did sherecognise him, than she at once understood that it was he who had notonly enclosed the spring, but caused the alteration of the wholeestate. He, the hated enemy; he, the offspring of the cursed race whichhad shed the blood of her father: the King of the Goths!
The joy with which, during the last few days, she had examined houseand garden, was now changed into bitterness. The deadly enemy of herpeople, of her race, had dared to enrich her; to give her pleasure; tomake her happy; for him she had breathed thankful prayers to Heaven! Hehad been bold enough to follow her steps, to listen to her words, tofulfil her lightest wish; and at the bottom of her soul lay thedreadful certainty that he loved her! The barbarian was insolent enoughto show it. The tyrant of Italy dared to hope that the daughter ofBoethius---- Oh, it was too much! and, sobbing violently, she buriedher head in the cushions of her couch, to which she had retired, untildeep sleep of exhaustion overcame her.
Not long after, Cethegus, who had been hastily sent for, came to visitthe troubled woman.
Rusticiana would fain have followed her own and Camilla's firstimpulse, to fly from the villa and the hated vicinity of the King, andhide her child on the other side of the Alps. But Camilla's conditionhad, till then, prevented their departure, and as soon as the Prefectentered the house, the flame of their excitement seemed to sink beforehis cold glances.
He took Rusticiana alone with him into the garden. Leaning his backagainst a laurel-tree, and supporting his chin on his hand, he listenedquietly and attentively to her passionate recital.
"And now, speak," she concluded; "what shall I do? How shall I save mypoor child? Whither shall I take her?"
"Whither shall you take Camilla?" he repeated. "To the court, toRavenna."
Rusticiana started. "Why this ill-timed joke?"
But Cethegus quickly stood erect. "I am in earnest. Be quiet andlisten. Fate, that wills the destruction of the barbarians, could havelaid no more gracious gifts upon our path. You know how completely Irule the Queen-regent, but you do not know how powerless I am over thatobstinate enthusiast, Athalaric. It is enigmatical. The sick youth is,amongst all the nation, the only one who suspects, if he does not seethrough, me; and I do not know whether he most fears or hates me. Thatwould be a matter of indifference to me if the audacious fellow did notvery decidedly and very successfully act against me. Naturally, hisopinion weighs heavily with his mother; often more than mine; and hewill always grow older, riper, and more dangerous. His spirit exceedshis years; he takes a grave part in the councils of the Regency, andalways speaks against me; he often prevails. 'Twas but lately that,against my will, he succeeded in giving the command of the Gothictroops in Rome, in _my_ Rome, to that bilious Teja. In short, the youngKing becomes highly dangerous. Until now I have not the shadow ofauthority over him. He loves Camilla to his peril; through her we willrule the unruly one."
"Never!" cried Rusticiana; "never as long as I breathe! _I_ at thecourt of the tyrants! My child, Boethius's daughter, the beloved ofAthalaric! Her father's bloody ghost would----"