Morituri: Three One-Act Plays Part 2

Behold, like the spirit of divine wrath, so hast thou risen up among us, young man.... Not thy years did the nation count, only thy deeds.... Old men bowed willingly to thy youth, and since thou hadst yet a long time to serve, as one of the humblest, wert thou already our ruler. From the golden throne of Theoderic, where mercy had sat in judgment, where Totilas bestowed pardon with a smile, rang out sternly thy b.l.o.o.d.y word ... And woe clave to us as a poisoned wound.... Pursued hither and thither beneath the hot outpourings of Vesuvius, we are now encamped with women and children; while Byzantium, with its hireling soldiers, holdeth us surrounded.

Teja.

That it surely doth, ha, ha! Not a mouse can come through.

Bishop.

Our gaze wandereth wistfully seaward: for thence hath G.o.d promised us bread.

Teja.

No tidings of the s.h.i.+ps?

Ildibad (softly).

Nothing.

Bishop.

Before we armed ourselves for a new war with misery, as free men, true to the ancient law, we determined to choose thee a wife, for in his own body should the King taste why the Goth loveth death.

Teja.

Found ye that your King loved life overmuch?

Bishop.

My King!

Teja.

Nay, that dared ye not, for every hour of this life would hold ye up to mockery.... And even if the ancient law required it, why must ye weld me with this young thing which, trembling for fear before me and ye, hideth in her mother's skirts? And especially on so fitting a day, when hunger doth furnish the marriage music.... Look upon me, Queen--I must call thee by thy t.i.tle of a half-hour, for, by G.o.d! I hardly yet know thy name. I pray thee, look upon me! Dost thou know me?

Balthilda.

Thou art the King, Sire.

Teja.

Yea. But for thee I should be man, not King.... And knowest thou what manner of man standeth here before thee?... Behold! These arms have been hitherto plunged in reeking blood, not the blood of men shed in manly strife, I speak not of that, that honoureth the man--blood of unarmed pale children, of--(_shudders_)--Thou shalt have great joy, if I come with these arms to wind them about thy neck.... Dost thou indeed hear me? Have I not a beautiful voice, a sweet voice? Only it is a little hoa.r.s.e. It is weary with screaming loud commands to murder....

Peculiar pleasure shall be thine when thou hearest tender words with this bewitching hoa.r.s.eness. Am I not truly a born lover? These wise men knew that; therefore they taught me my calling.... Or believe ye, it was your duty to beguile your King in the weariness of camp life; as the great Justinian dallied in golden Byzantium, and sent forth his eunuchs to slay Gothic men? Ha, ha, ha!

Bishop.

My King, take heed lest thou be angry.

Teja.

I thank thee, friend. Yet that signifieth nothing. It is but my marriage humour.... But now I will speak to ye in earnest--(_Ascends to the high seat of the throne_.) On the golden throne of Theoderic, where mercy sat in judgment, can I, alas! not take my place; for that is being chopped into firewood at Byzantium.... Neither smiling like Totilas can I pardon, for no one longer desireth our pardon.... From the glorious nation of the Goths, there hath sprung a horde of hungry wolves therefore it needeth a wolf as master. Thou, Bishop, didst call me the spirit of divine wrath, which I am not.... I am but the spirit of your despair. As one who all his life hath hoped for nothing, hath wished for nothing, I stand before you, and so I shall fall before you.

That ye knew, and therefore ye are wrong, ye men, to reproach me secretly. Contradict me not!... I read it clearly enough between your lowering brows.... Because it goeth ill with us, make not a scapegoat of me--that I counsel ye.

Theodemir.

King, wound us not.... The last drop of our blood belongeth to thee.

Cast us not into the pot with these old men.

Euric.

We old men fight as well as they; and love, young man, as well as they.

Teja.

Then let that suffice. Your Queen shall soon enough learn how, in misfortune, friends quarrel among themselves. And as ye pa.s.s through the camp, tell the warriors, the only thing that frets the King this day this day of joy, is it not?--is that he hath not the power to offer them a worthy marriage feast ... or yet perchance-- Ildibad.

Ildibad.

(_Who on the right has secretly spoken in bewilderment to a watcher who has just entered_.) Yea, Sire.

Teja.

What have we still in our stores, old man?

Ildibad (_controlling his emotion_).

Truly, thou hast given away almost all thy provisions.

Teja.

I ask thee, what remaineth?

Ildibad.

A jar of fermented milk, and two stale crusts of bread.

Teja.

Ha, ha, ha! Now thou seest, Queen, what a poor husband thou hast got.

Yet if the s.h.i.+ps be there, as the people say, then will I do royal honours to every one, even as is his due. Yet tell it not, that would mar their joy. But if they hear the trumpets sound, then tell them there will be meat and wine on the long tables, so much as--

(_To_ Ildibad, _who glides across the stage to his side_) What is it?

Ildibad (_softly_).

The watch departeth. The s.h.i.+ps are lost.

Teja.

(_Without the least change of countenance_.) Lost--how--in what way?