ment. All those assembled outside--for
many Goths and Romans had entered meanwhile--drew near to the King in
astonished and reverent silence.

"My daughter," said the King, "are the letters written which are to
announce my death and the succession of my grandchild to Byzantium?"

"Here they are," answered Amalaswintha.

The King rapidly ran through the rolls of papyrus.

"To Emperor Justinus.--A second: to his nephew, Justinianus. 'Tis true,
he will soon wear the crown, and is already the master of his masters.
I see by the fine similes that Cassiodorus has written these letters.
But hold!" A cloud passed across his face. "'Recommending my youth to
your imperial protection!' Protection! That is too much. Alas! if ever
you should be obliged to depend on the protection of Byzantium!
'Recommending myself to your _friendship_, is enough from the grandson
of Theodoric." And he gave the letters back. "Still a third letter to
Byzantium? To whom? 'To Theodora, the noble spouse of Justinianus?'
What! to the dancer of the circus? To the shameless daughter of the
lionkeeper?"

His eye flashed.

"She has great influence upon her husband," interposed Cassiodorus.

"No, no. My daughter shall write to no female who has dishonoured the
name of her sex."

And he tore the roll of papyrus into pieces and threw them on the
floor. Then, walking over the fragments, he advanced towards the Goths
who stood in the middle of the hall.

"My brave Witichis, what will be thy office after my death?"

"I shall review our foot at Tridentum."

"None could do it better! Never yet hast thou claimed the favour which
was granted to thee beforehand, when thou wert victorious over the
Gepidae. Hast thou no wish even now?"

"I _have_ a wish, my King."

"At last!--that pleases me. Speak."

"A poor jailer, for refusing to apply the torture and for striking at a
lictor, is himself condemned to be put to the torture to-day. Sire, set
the man free! To torture is shameful, and----

"The jailer is free; and from this moment torture is abolished in the
kingdom of the Goths. Look to it, Cassiodorus! Brave Witichis, give me
thy hand. To show to all how much I honour thee, I bequeath thee
Wallada, my chestnut charger, in remembrance of this parting hour. And
if ever thou art in danger, or--" here he lowered his voice, "would
avoid it, whisper my name into the horse's ear. Who will watch over
Neapolis? Duke Thulun was too rough. Those gay people must b