ed on a marble tablet on
which his name was inscribed." The body was taken up with the
greatest veneration, wrapped in a rich covering, and given over to the
keeping of the deacon and his brother, Lunison, while the stone was
replaced with such care that no sign of the theft remained.

As sacrilegious proceedings of this kind were punishable with death by
the Roman law, it seems not unnatural that Deacon Deusdona should have
become uneasy, and have urged Ratleig to be satisfied with what he had
got and be off with his spoils. But the notary having thus cleverly
captured the blessed Marcellinus, thought it a pity he should be
parted from the blessed Petrus, side by side with whom he had rested,
for five hundred years and more, in the same sepulchre (as Eginhard
pathetically observes); and the pious man could neither eat, drink,
nor sleep, until he had compassed his desire to re-unite the saintly
colleagues. This time, apparently in consequence of Deusdona's
opposition to any further resurrectionist doings, he took counsel with
a Greek monk, one Basil, and, accompanied by Hunus, but saying nothing
to Deusdona, they committed another sacrilegious burglary, securing
this time, not only the body of the blessed Petrus, but a quantity of
dust, which they agreed the priest should take, and tell his employer
that it was the remains of the blessed Tiburtius. How Deusdona was
"squared," and what he got for his not very valuable complicity in
these transactions, does not appear. But at last the relics were sent
off in charge of Lunison, the brother of Deusdona, and the priest
Hunus, as far as Pavia, while Ratleig stopped behind for a week to see
if the robbery was discovered, and, presumably, to act as a blind, if
any hue and cry was raised. But, as everything remained quiet, the
notary betook himself to Pavia, where he found Lunison and Hunus
awaiting his arrival. The notary's opinion of the character of his
worthy colleagues, however, may be gathered from the fact that, having
persuaded them to set out in advance along the road which he told them
he was about to take, he immediately adopted another route, and,
travelling by way of St. Maurice and the Lake of Geneva, eventually
reached Soleure.

Eginhard tells all this story with the most naive air of
unconsciousness that there is anything remarkable about an abbot, and
a high officer of state to boot, being an accessory, both before and
after the fact, to a most gross and scand