University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

That night the lord Oppas received his visiter with a judicious show of satisfaction,
and they supped together without other company. With a delicacy which had
its additional effect upon Gerontius, he obtained from him a knowledge of his debts,
the non-payment of which worked a forfeiture of his estates; and, without a word, he
placed in the possession of the latter a casket containing a sufficient supply of money
to meet his responsibilities. The nobleman was loud in his acknowledgments, the
utterance of which the archbishop gently discouraged.

“I have saved you, my lord Gerontius,” said he, “as I would look for you to
save me, should it so chance that I might need your aid; and as men who regard
each other rightly, and have common interests growing out of common danger, should
always be prepared to serve one another. These are not times, my lord Gerontius,
when wise men should pause to give help, seeing good men struggling with the
waters. It may be that you shall soon repay me for this small succor by a greater
benefit, and one more valued and valuable; but whether you do or not, it gives me
pleasure to make you a debtor to my friendship, by so small a service.”

“I do not esteem it a small service,” said the grateful Gerontius, “and I shall rejoice
in the opportunity which shall enable me to requite thee. It is not now that
we may command money, either from the prince because of past service, or the nobleman
because of ancient fellowship. You shall not suffer loss of this money, my
lord Oppas; for now that your generosity hath enabled me to set at defiance the hungry
vultures that hang over my estates, I shall be the better enabled to linger about
the court, and secure the favorable moment for urging my plea to Roderick.”

The archbishop interrupted the speaker.

“Do not deceive thyself; thou waitest in vain for a favorable moment to urge thy
plea for money. The monarch who is a debtor, like Roderick, yields no such time
to the creditor. Thou wilt but incur danger without profit, to press thy demand for
money at any season upon him.”

“What, then! am I to lose my substance, and behold him who possesses it bestowing
it upon such worthless minions as Edeco?” exclaimed the indignant Gerontius,
in reply.

“Even so; and congratulate thyself that the monarch is not more conscientious.
Were he less reckless than he is, he would extinguish the debt by taking thy head
as a traitor to the realm. Thy very application for the claim, would be a sufficient
argument to prove thee so.”

“And thou thinkest, my lord Oppas, that I shall never get this money from king
Roderick?”

“Of a truth, I do,” was the reply.

“Take back thy casket; I will owe thee nothing which I may never pay. My
only hope to return your loan is in the late justice of the king.”

“No! keep the casket; it is thine, Gerontius, whether thou repayest me or not,”
said Oppas. “If thou takest it not, it will only add to the already large sums which
Roderick has taken from his people, and which he will never return.”

“How! What mean you?” said the other.

“Roderick claims a greater reward for indulgencies than ever did the priesthood,”
responded the archbishop, with a smile. “I said to thee this morning, ere we separated,
that the wrath of the king rose from the shallowness of his own and the supposed
overfulness of the church's coffers, rather than from any belief in his mind
that I was a party with the assassin who aimed to take his life. I discovered that
while the trial was in progress. An hour after I had reached my palace, comes Edoco
to me with a warning that by noon the next day the king would expect supplies
from the church to meet the expenses of the war against Pelayo and the rebels in the
Asturias. Thou seest my treasury will be his ere noon to-morrow; and he must
have all, else my escape were for a brief season only. That casket were but a trifle
taken from the mass; it would add little to my loss—it will be the safety of thy all
to thee.”

“And yet, my lord Oppas,” said Gerontius, “though there be good reason in what
you say, yet I am greatly loath to lose these monies which the king had of me; not
so much, indeed, because I need their use, as that I chafe at such injustice. I am
scarce a man when I dare not demand a right.”

“Methinks,” said Oppas, with a smile, “methinks thou art extravagant, Gerontius,
in thy desires. Who claims to be a man now-a-days, in Iberia? Who is he
that clamors for his right? Thou hast lived too long in the country; and unless
thou learnest wisdom quickly, thy head will be of little use to thee after a week's
wear in Toledo. Take the casket, put it in thy bosom, and let it be of service to
thee—it will be of none to me after to-morrow. Release thyself from the Jews, and
beware how thou speakest of thy claim to Roderick.”

“What! wouldst thou have me yield it utterly?”

“No. Yet speak not of it in what thou sayest to the king. Go to him—lest he
think it suspicious that, having a claim, thou shouldst not place thyself in the way
for its payment. Solicit from him some goodly office, the rewards of which shall
come from the people and not from the royal treasury. To such office he will readily
appoint thee; for a royal officer of the Goth is now little else than a collector
for the royal treasury.”

“But what office could I seek for? I know nothing of such toils. My youth,
thou knowest, has been passed among warriors, and in strife with the wild Basques
and the impetuous Franks. I am a soldier, and better know the weapon than the
pen. In truth, my lord bishop, to confess a truth, what with imperfect eye-sight,
and a heavy hand, I am fain to content myself with signing the blessed cross where
my name should be written.”

The archbishop did not smile at the tacit confession of that ignorance which was
common among the nobles of the time, but, placing his hand upon that of Gerontius,
he said:

“Dost thou think I would have thee a scrivener? No! Thou lovest command
in war, my lord Gerontius. What sayest thou to the military command in thy province?
Go to Roderick—solicit that command—but solicit it as an humble and true
liege, who, if he has lent his sovereign the money which has made him such, is too
wise to remember it.”

Gerontius pledged himself to adopt the advice of Oppas, and lured on by the artful
conversation of the archbishop, he indulged in a freedom of remark hostile to the
king, which put him completely in the power of the former. But neither in word
nor gesture did Oppas suffer him to perceive that he was conscious of his indiscretion.
So far, the object for which the archbishop had toiled was gained, and he had
no desire to alarm the fears of his companion. He had gained an ally, who, in the
possession of power, he trusted to mould to his own desires. It may be well in

this place to add that his schemes were all successful. Roderick was not unwilling
to receive Gerontius with favoring regard, when he asked for nothing from the royal
coffers. His application for office was heard with favor, and the military government
of his province bestowed upon him, with the right to fleece the people at pleasure,
risking nothing more than the forfeiture of his treasure and his post, whenever
the royal necessities should be such as to persuade the king that his coffers were sufficiently
full to supply them.

When Gerontius had retired, his place was supplied by the fanatic Romano, to
whom Oppas reported such portions of the day's proceedings as he deemed it proper
to unfold. He took especial care in the narrative not to forget the demand which
Roderick had made upon the treasury of the church.

“The gold and silver devoted to pious uses,” said he, with a sigh, “will he consume,
my brother, in his sinful pleasures. The creatures of his lust will receive
them; and that which has been consecrated to God, and to the benefit to his ministers,
will be assigned by the lawless tyrant to the reward of all manner of sinfulness
and shame.”

The features of Romano glowed with a savage joy, as he replied:

“But they shall bring death among his pleasures, and they shall turn his sinful
joy into the bitterness of despair. I see the hand and the handwriting, my father—
the hour is nigh; and the hour that they drink from the vessels of gold and silver
which belong to the Lord, in that hour shall the tyrant die.”

The countenance of the archbishop was full of heedful reverence, as he gazed
upon the enthusiastic speaker; but he said nothing.

“Ay, my father, I see it and I know it,” continued the other. “This youth hath
not been spared by the tyrant, but that Heaven hath willed him to the execution of
its vengeance. He hath failed in his blow, but he shall not always fail. The spirit
moves me to release him, and I am strong to do it. This night will I see Guisenard,
who hath him in keeping, and as he hath a becoming reverence for holy things, I
doubt not to move him to a knowledge of his sin, in binding him whom God would
loose, and in keeping back the hand which God hath commanded to strike.”

“Yet should he be stubborn, Romano—should he plead service to Roderick, forgetful
of the duty which he owes to his Maker, as it is but too much the practice
with the guilty worlding to plead—what then wilt thou do, my brother?”

“He will not plead thus, my father; Guisenard is humble, and followeth closely
the commands of his father-in-God. Let one but show him the error of his way—
let one but show him that in this deed he keepeth in bonds the special messenger of
Heaven”—

“But,” said the archbishop, interrupting, “if he should not so readily understand;
for he cannot hope to be blessed with the direct revelation which has been made to
thee”—

“I fear not that, my father,” replied the sanguine zealot—“and even should he
deny me, I fear not that God will work the way out of bondage for His servant,
even as His angel wrought the deliverance of the holy Peter whom the bonds of impious
Herod had fettered fast in his dungeons, and guarded by his soldiers.”

“Alas! my brother; but these are not the days of miracle. God trusts now to
the faith of his people—to their zeal in his cause, and when this fails, the victim
perishes—and it is well then that the victim should perish, since the lukewarmness
of the worshippers merits no such benefactor. We must toil for the prisoner, my
brother, nor wait the coming of that blessed angel who set Peter free from the bonds
of Herod; and in working out this holy design, my brother, the end will sanctify
the necessary means, when all others shall fail thee. The purse I gave thee hath

an argument for the worldling which shall persuade him when light from Heaven
would fail to enlighten his mind; and though I trust that Guisenard will heed thy
counsel, yet thou shouldst not forget to employ the lure of gold, should the pure
silver of thy heavenly eloquence fail to reach his soul—which it were unreasonable
to think, unless, like the master whom he serves, the Lord hath hardened his heart,
as he hardened that of Pharaoh, for his destruction.”

“I will use the gold,” said the other.

“Ay, my brother; thou art chosen for thy work, and thou art bound to its performance.
There must be no idle scruples—no tender misgivings, unworthy of thy
strength, and ungracious in the sight of God, as they would seem to censure His
justice or His judgment. If the Lord hath assigned to this prisoner the holy task of
freeing his people from the bondage of the Egyptians, and if he hath assigned to thee
the no less heavy task of setting the youth free to this service, thou must do it at
every hazard.”

“I will do it!” said the zealot, with uplifted hands, and eyes that streamed with
a fluid fire and rayed out through his long eyelashes with a light like that of wild
insanity.

“Thou wilt try, I well know, my brother—thou wilt try thy pleadings—thy eloquence
shall seek to awaken and fill his mind, and move his heart to humanity;
thou wilt then try the gold which I have given thee, and then”—

“What then? my father,” said Romano, seemingly uncertain what to do in the
event of a failure of those influences upon which he so much relied, and which
were, as yet, the only influences which his mind had proposed to itself.

“Ay, what then, Romano; for the difficulty and the trial now begin. It were
easy for any man to seek to move a jailer by prayers and by the offer of gold to set
free the prisoner whom he hath in bonds. It is for the chosen servant of Heaven
to do more than this; for he is chosen that he may succeed. What, then, if his
prayers fail—if the stubborn jailer be insensible to the wisdom and the plea, and
scorn the temptation of gold and silver—shall the apostle forbear his office? Of a
truth, no! His task has then begun. What, oh my brother! should be thy performance,
if the Lord commissioned thee to take from me the power which I hold
among our people? Wouldst thou not strive to do it, by thy prayers, by thy pleadings,
by the doom which thou wouldst rightly denounce upon me from Heaven?
But if these were unheeded by me—if I scorned thy holy commission, and defied
thy threats—if, like Pharaoh, or Holofernes,”—

“Ah, my father, wherefore dost thou ask? Dost thou think me blind to the duties
which are before me? Believe me, I am ready. I see. I shall free this captive
from his bonds, as the Lord hath appointed. I am chosen for the work, and I
shrink not from it. Count it done, my father—count it done, ere three nights shall
pass away. I go, even now, to Guisenard. I trust to move him as from his own
heart, for I have long esteemed him good, as I know him to be guiltless of wilful
wrong. I will plead with him strongly, even according to the best of my poor ability—and
the gold will I give him, the better to help him in his flight to the Asturias.
Should he not yield to me, and take counsel from Heaven's will— But, I
will not think it. He will hear, he will yield, my father—the Lord will move him;
and should he not”—

The fanatic paused, covered his face with both hands, and remained silent for a
few seconds in this position. Then, suddenly recovering from his musing, he earnestly
grasped the hand of the archbishop, and with increasing wildness concluded
thus:

“The Lord hath strengthened me. I see the path which is before me, and I glory

in my tasks. Oh! my father, it is a blessed feeling when we can throw aside these
frail and foolish attachments which bind us to earth—which bind us in love even
of its vices, its weaknesses, its impiety. The laborer in the vineyard of God hath
need to discard all these enslaving affections. We are never free until we can cast
off those earthly ties which conflict with our duties, and keep us down from that
heaven to which we aspire.”

But little further conversation passed between them. When the fanatic had gone,
the archbishop seemed exhausted. He threw himself along upon a cluster of cushions,
and lay for some moments seemingly in deep thought, or stupor, with his face
covered by his hands. The path was tangled and intricate before him, and he had
need of reflection. Besides, the day's perils had almost enfeebled him. He had escaped
them; but how many were gathering in the vista, now momently opening before
his view! Should he escape them also? Should he triumph in the completion
of his grasping aims—in the attainment of his objects of ambition? What, in truth,
were those objects? Was he indeed struggling only for his nephews; or, with a
more patriotic spirit still, for the rescue of his country from the iron domination of
her oppressor? Neither! The purpose of his mind may best be understood by a
reference to those dishonorable acts and reckless crimes which he meditated even
now, and which he had already practiced and committed. The strong and deep
passions of the man gave double energy to the goadings of ambition, and hopes and
desires which he had never yet breathed to mortal were ever present to his thought,
and ever foremost in all the promptings of his soul. His soliloquy now, as he rose
from the cushions and paced hurriedly the lonely chamber in which he slept, may
give us glimpses of that dark policy the fruits only of which we have been permitted
to see before.

“A little while, a little while, Roderick, and if thy nature be not changed, and if
the stars fight not against me, thy sway shall be humbled. Let thy lusts but prevail
with Cava, and thou makest an enemy in Julian who shall hurl thee from the
throne and from life. Let the fierce soldier but bring his army to this city, and the
game is then mine own. He hath but the soldiers who keep with him at Ceuta—
and these the conflict with Roderick shall greatly lessen. It is then for me to bring
the discontents whom I have made, and the desperates whom I have bought, to bear
upon the strife. My power will decide the scale; and as it is for me to decide, so
will it be for me to sway. Then shall I triumph—not with thy kingdom only, thou
sodden and blinded tyrant, but with possessions which thy vain heart hath too little
known to prize. What hadst thou to do with so pure a spirit, so high, yet gentle a
soul, as inhabits in the bosom of Egilona? What had she to do with thee? She
could not, she cannot love thee. Alas! the shame that thy foul and common touch,
thy free intercourse and debasing converse, should have taken from her perfection,
as they have made it subservient to thee!”

The archbishop paused, and moving to the lattice, gazed forth long and anxiously,
but in utter silence, upon the lights that still shone from the chambers of the royal
palace. It was late in the night when he sought his couch, and then his slumbers
were broken, and troubled with annoying dreams.