Historical fiction, Scottish; Scotland -- In literature
Achilles Tatius, with his faithful Varangian close by his shoulder,
melted from the dispersing assembly silently and almost invisibly, as
snow is dissolved from its Alpine abodes as the days become more
genial. No lordly step, nor clash of armour, betokened the retreat of
the military persons. The very idea of the necessity of guards was not
ostentatiously brought forward, because, so near the presence of the
Emperor, the emanation supposed to flit around that divinity of earthly
sovereigns, had credit for rendering it impassive and unassailable.
Thus the oldest and most skilful courtiers, among whom our friend
Agelastes was not to be forgotten, were of opinion, that, although the
Emperor employed the ministry of the Varangians and other guards, it
was rather for form's sake, than from any danger of the commission of a
crime of a kind so heinous, that it was the fashion to account it
almost impossible. And this doctrine, of the rare occurrence of such a
crime, was repeated from month to month in those very chambers, where
it had oftener than once been perpetrated, and sometimes by the very
persons who monthly laid schemes for carrying some dark conspiracy
against the reigning Emperor into positive execution.
At length the captain of the life-guardsmen, and his faithful
attendant, found themselves on the outside of the Blacquernal Palace.
The passage which Achilles found for their exit, was closed by a
postern which a single Varangian shut behind, them, drawing, at the
same time, bolt and bar with an ill-omened and jarring sound. Looking
back at the mass of turrets, battlements, and spires, out of which they
had at length emerged, Hereward could not but feel his heart lighten to
find "himself once more under the deep blue of a Grecian heaven, where
the planets were burning with unusual lustre. He sighed and rubbed his
hands with pleasure, like a man newly restored to liberty. He even
spoke to his leader, contrary to his custom unless
addressed:--"Methinks the air of yonder halls, valorous Captain,
carries with it a perfume, which, though it may be well termed sweet,
is so suffocating, as to be more suitable to sepulchrous chambers, than
to the dwellings of men. Happy I am that I am free, as I trust, from
its influences."
"Be happy, then," said Achilles Tatius, "since thy vile, cloddish
spirit feels suffocation rather than refreshment in gales, which,
instead of causing death, might recall the dead themselves to life. Yet
this I will say for thee, Hereward, that, born a barbarian, within the
narrow circle of a savage's desires and pleasures, and having no idea
of life, save what thou derivest from such vile and base connexions,
thou art, nevertheless, designed by nature for better things, and hast
this day sustained a trial, in which, I fear me, not even one of mine
own noble corps, frozen as they are into lumps of unfashioned
barbarity, could have equalled thy bearing. And speak now in true
faith, hast not thou been rewarded?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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