English fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- 476-774 -- Fiction
Yet as he spoke a misgiving betrayed itself on his countenance.
Consciously or not, he had always had before him a life at Rome, the
life which became a Roman, as distinguished from a barbarian. But the
need to seek security for Veranilda again became vivid to his mind. At
Rome, clearly, he could not live with his wife until the Goths had
reconquered the city, which was not likely to happen soon. His means
were represented chiefly by the Arpinum estate, which he had inherited
from his father; in Rome he had nothing but his mansion on the Caelian.
The treasure at his command, a considerable sum, he had brought away in
a strong box, and it was now more than doubled in value by what fell to
him under the will of Maximus--money to be paid out of the great coffer
which the senator had conveyed hither. As they talked, Marcian urged
upon him a close friendship with Venantius, in whose castle he would be
welcomed. Here at Surrentum he could not long rest in safety, for
Chorsoman might at any time have his suspicions awakened by learning
the delay of Veranilda's journey to Rome, and the news of her marriage
could not be prevented from spreading.
So Basil lay through an anxious hour or two before sleep fell upon him
to-night. He resolved to change the habits of his life, to shake off
indolence and the love of ease, to fortify himself with vigorous
exercises, and become ready for warfare. It was all very well for an
invalid, like Decius, to nurse a tranquil existence, unheeding the
temper of the times. A strong and healthy man had no right to lurk away
from the streaming flood of things; it behoved him to take his part in
strife and tumult, to aid in re-establishing a civic state. This
determination firmly grasped, he turned to think of the hoped-for
meeting with Veranilda in the morning, and gentler emotions lulled him
into dreams.
At dawn he bestirred himself. The gallery outside his chamber was
lighted with a hanging lamp, and at a little distance sounded the
footstep of the watchman, who told him that the morning was fair, and,
at his bidding, opened a door which admitted to the open terrace
overlooking the sea. Having stepped forth, Basil stood for a moment
sniffing the cool air with its scent from the vineyards, and looking at
the yellow rift in the eastern sky; then he followed a path which
skirted the villa's outward wall and led towards the dwelling of
Aurelia. Presently he reached the ruined wall of the little garden, and
here a voice challenged him, that of a servant on watch until sunrise.
'It is well,' he replied. 'I will relieve you for this last half hour;
go to your rest.'
But the slave hesitated. He had strictest orders, and feared to disobey
them even at this bidding.
'You are an honest fellow,' said Basil, 'and the lady Aurelia shall
know of your steadfastness. But get you gone; there is no danger whilst
I am here.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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