A Struggle for Rome by Felix Dahn

Author:Felix Dahn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pronoun

CHAPTER XVI.

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EARLY THE NEXT MORNING the prisoner, with his head covered, was led to a meadow on the north, the “cold corner” of the camp, where were assembled the leaders of the army and a great part of the troops.

“Listen,” said the prisoner to one of his escort; “is old Hildebrand on the Ting-place?”

“He is the head of the Ting.”

“They are and will ever remain barbarians! Do me a favour, friend—I will give thee this purple belt for it. Go to the old man; tell him that I know that I must die, but I beg him to spare me, and still more my family—dost thou hear? my family —the shame of the gallows. Beg him to send me a weapon secretly.”

The Goth, Gunthamund, went to seek Hildebrand, who had already opened the court.

The proceedings were very simple. The old man first caused the law of Regeta to be read aloud; then witnesses proved the taking of the prisoner, and afterwards he was led forward. A woolsack still covered his head and shoulders.

It was just about to be taken off, when Gunthamund reached Hildebrand and whispered in his ear.

“No,” cried Hildebrand, frowning; “tell him that the shame of his family is his deed, not his punishment,” And he called aloud: “Show the face of the traitor! It is Hildebrand, son of Hildegis!”

A cry of astonishment and horror ran through the crowd.

“His own grandchild!”

“Old man, thou shalt not preside! Thou art cruel to thy flesh and blood!” cried Hildebad, starting up.

“Only just; but to every one alike,” answered Hildebrand, striking his staff upon the ground.

“Poor Witichis!” whispered Earl Teja.

But Hildebad hurried away to the camp.

“What canst thou say for thyself, son of Hildegis?” asked Hildebrand.

The young man hastily stepped forward; his face was red, but with anger, not with shame. He showed not a trace of fear. His long yellow hair waved in the wind.

The crowd was moved with compassion.

The mere report of his brave resistance, the discovery of his name, and now his youth and beauty, spoke powerfully in his favour.

With flashing eyes, he looked around at the crowd, and then fixed them with a proud expression on the old man’s face.

“I protest against this court-martial!” he cried, “Your laws do not concern me. I am a Roman—no Goth! My father died before my birth; my mother was a Roman, the noble Cloelia. I have never felt as if this barbarous old man was my kinsman. I despised his severity as I did his love. He forced his name upon me, the child, and took me away from my mother. But I ran away from him as soon as I could. I have always called myself Flavius Cloelius, never Hildebrand. My friends were Romans; Roman was my every thought; Roman my life! All my friends joined Belisarius and Cethegus; could I remain behind? Kill me—you can and you will! But confess that it is a murder, and not an act of justice! You judge no Goth; you murder a conquered

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