A Struggle for Rome, v. 1

  CHAPTER IV.

  In the woods of Fiesole, a modern wanderer coming from Florence willfind to the right of the high-road the ruins of an extensive villa-likeedifice. Ivy, saxifrage and wild roses vie with each other inconcealing the ruins. For centuries the peasants in the neighbouringvillages have carried away stones from this place in order to dam upthe earth of their vineyards on the slopes of the hills. But even yetthe remains clearly show where once stood the colonnade before thehouse, where the central hall, and where the wall of the court.

  Weeds grow luxuriantly in the meadows where once lay in shining orderthe beautiful gardens; nothing has been left of them except the widemarble basin of a long dried-up fountain, in whose pebble-filledrunnels the lizards now sun themselves.

  But in the days of our story the place looked very different. "TheVilla of Maecenas at Faesulae," as the building, probably with little orno reason, was called at that time, was inhabited by happy people; thehouse ordered by a woman's careful hand; the garden enlivened bychildhood's bright laughter.

  The climbing clematis was gracefully trained up the slender shafts ofthe Corinthian columns in front of the house, and the cheerful vineshaded the flat roof. The winding walks in the garden were strewed withwhite sand, and in the outhouses dedicated to domestic uses reigned anorder and cleanliness which was never to be found in a household servedby Roman slaves alone.

  It was sunset.

  The men and maid servants were returning from the fields. Theheavily-laden hay-carts swung along, drawn by horses which wereevidently not of Italian breed. The shepherds were driving goats andsheep home from the hills, accompanied by large dogs, which scamperedon in front, barking joyously.

  Close before the yard gate, a couple of Roman slaves, with shrillvoices and mad gestures, were urging on the panting horses of a cruellyover-laden wagon, not with whips, but with sticks, the iron points ofwhich they stuck again and again into the same sore place upon the pooranimals' hides. In spite of this, no advance was made, for a largestone lay just in front of the left fore-wheel of the wagon, which theangry and impatient drivers did not notice.

  "Forwards, beast! and son of a beast!" screamed one of them to thestruggling horse; "forwards, thou Gothic sluggard!" Another stab withthe iron point, a renewed and desperate pull; but the wheel did not goover the stone, and the tortured animal fell on its knees, threateningto upset the wagon by its struggles.

  At this the rage of the driver was redoubled. "Wait, thou rascal!" heshouted, and struck at the eye of the panting animal.

  But he only struck once; the next moment he himself fell under a heavyblow.

  "Davus, thou wicked dog!" growled a powerful voice, and, twice as tall,and certainly twice as broad as the frightened tormentor, there stoodover the fallen man a gigantic Goth, who rained down blows upon himwith a thick cudgel. "Thou miserable coward," said he, giving him afinal kick, "I will teach thee how to treat a creature which is tentimes better than thyself. I verily believe, thou rascal, that thoutreatest the beast ill, because he comes from the other side of themountains! If I catch thee at it again, I will break every bone in thybody. Now get up, and unload--thou shalt carry every swath that is toomuch into the barn upon thine own back. Forwards!"

  With a malicious glance at his punisher the beaten man rose, and,limping, prepared to obey.

  The Goth had immediately helped the struggling horse to its feet, andnow carefully washed its broken knees with his own evening drink ofwine and water.

  He had scarcely finished his task, when the clear voice of a boy calledurgently from a neighbouring stable:

  "Wachis, come here; Wachis!"

  "I'm coming, Athalwin, my boy! What's the matter?" And he already stoodin the open door of the stable near a handsome boy of about seven yearsof age, who angrily stroked his long yellow hair from his glowing face,and with great trouble repressed two large tears of rage that _would_spring into his blue eyes. He held a pretty wooden sword in his righthand, and shook it threateningly at a black-browed slave who stoodopposite to him, with his head insolently thrust forward and his fistsclenched. "What is the matter here?" repeated Wachis, crossing thethreshold.

  "The chesnut has again nothing to drink; and only look! Two gadflieshave sucked themselves fast upon his shoulder, where he cannot get atthem with his tail, and I cannot reach with my hand; and that bad Cacusthere won't do what I tell him; and I am sure he has been scolding atme in Latin, which I don't understand."

  Wachis drew nearer with a threatening look.

  "I only said," said Cacus, slowly receding, "that I must first eat mymillet. The beast may wait. In our country men come before beasts."

  "Indeed, thou dunce!" said Wachis, as he killed the gadflies; "in ourcountry the horse eats before the rider! Make haste!"

  But Cacus was strong and obstinate; he tossed his head and said:

  "Here, we are in _our_ country, and _our_ customs must be followed."

  "Oho, thou cursed blockhead! wilt thou obey?" asked Wachis, raising hishand.

  "Obey? Not thee! Thou art only a slave like me. And my parents lived inthis house when such as thou were stealing cows and sheep on the otherside of the mountains."

  Wachis let his cudgel fall and swung his arms to and fro.

  "Listen, Cacus, I have another crow to pluck with thee besides; thouknowest wherefore. Now it can all be done with at the same time."

  "Ha, ha!" cried Cacus with a mocking laugh, "about Liuta, theflaxen-haired wench? Bah! I like her no longer, the barbarian. Shedances like a heifer!"

  "Now it's all up with thee," said Wachis quietly, and caught hold ofhis adversary.

  But Cacus twisted himself like an eel out of the grasp of the Goth,pulled a sharp knife from the folds of his woollen frock and threw itat him. As Wachis stooped the knife whistled only a hair's-breadth pasthis head, and penetrated deeply into the door-post behind him.

  "Well, wait, thou murderous worm!" cried the German, and would havethrown himself upon Cacus, but he felt himself clasped from behind.

  It was Davus, who had watched for this moment of revenge.

  But now Wachis became exceedingly wroth.

  He shook the man off, held him by the nape of the neck with his lefthand, got hold of Cacus with his right, and, with the strength of abear, knocked the heads of his adversaries together, accompanying everyknock with an interjection, "There, my boys--that for the knife--andthat for the back-spring--and that for the heifer!" And who knows howlong this strange litany would have continued, if he had not beeninterrupted by a loud call.

  "Wachis! Cacus! let loose, I tell you," cried the strong fall voice ofa woman; and a stately matron, clad in a blue Gothic garment, appearedat the door.

  She was not tall, and yet imposing. Her fine figure was more sturdythan slender. Her gold-brown hair was bound in simple but rich braidsround her head; her features were regular; more firm than delicate.

  An expression of sincerity, worth, and trustfulness lay in her largeblue eyes. Her round bare arms showed that she was no stranger to work.At her broad girdle, over which puffed out her brown under-garment ofhome-spun cloth, rattled a bunch of keys; she rested her left handquietly upon her hip, and stretched her right commandingly before her.

  "Aye, aye, Rauthgundis, mistress mine," said Wachis, letting loose,"must you have your eyes everywhere?"

  "Everywhere, when my servants are at mischief. When will you learn toagree? You Italians need a master in the house. But thou, Wachis,shouldst not vex the housewife too. Come, Athalwin, come with me."

  And she led the boy away.

  She went into a side-yard, filled her raised skirt with grain out of atrough, and fed the fowls and pigeons, which immediately flocked aroundher.

  For a little while Athalwin watched her silently. At last he said:

  "Mother, is it true? Is father a robber?"

  Rauthgundis suspended her occupation, and looked at the child insurprise.

  "Who said so?"

  "Who? Eh,
the nephew of Calpurnius! We were playing on the great heapof hay in his meadow, and I showed him how far the land belongs to uson the right of the hedge--far and wide--as far as our servants weremowing, and the brook shone in the distance. Then he got angry andsaid, 'Yes, and all that land once belonged to us, and thy father orthy grandfather stole it, the robbers!'"

  "Indeed! And what didst thou reply?"

  "Eh, nothing at all, mother. I only threw him over the hay-cock, withhis heels in the air. But now I should like to know if it is true."

  "No, child, it is not true. Your father did not steal it, but took itopenly, because he was stronger and better than these Italians. Andheroes have done the same in all ages. And when the Italians werestrong and their neighbours weak, they did so most of all. But nowcome; we must look after the linen that is bleaching on the green."

  As they turned their backs upon the stables, and were going towards thegrassy hill on the left of the house, they heard the rapid hoof-beatsof a horse, which was approaching on the old Roman high-road.

  Athalwin climbed quickly to the top of the hill and looked towards theroad.

  A rider, mounted on an immense brown charger, galloped down the woodyheights towards the villa. Brightly sparkled his helmet and the pointof the lance, which he carried across his shoulder.

  "It is father, mother; it is father!" cried the boy, and ran swift asan arrow down the hill to meet the rider.

  Rauthgundis had just now reached the top of the hill. Her heart beat.She shaded her eyes with her hand, to look into the evening-red; thenshe said in a low happy voice:

  "Yes, it is he! my husband."