He mounted, the carriage moved forward; and by a steep
descent which needed extreme caution, the gate of the city was soon
reached. Here the bishop, who had walked beside Marcian, spoke a
word with two drowsy watchmen sitting by the open gateway, bade his
guest an affectionate farewell, and stood watching for a few minutes
whilst vehicle and riders moved away in the moonlight.
Finding himself well sped from Praeneste, where his pursuers lay
sound asleep, Marcian felt an extravagant joy; he could scarce
command himself to speak a few necessary words, in an ordinary tone,
to the leader of the guard with which he was provided; to shout, to
sing, would have better suited his mood. Why he thrilled with such
exultancy he could not have truly said; but a weight seemed to be
lifted from his mind, and he told himself that the relief was due to
knowing that he had done with treachery, done with double-dealing,
done with the shame and the peril of such a life as he had led for
years. Never could he return to Rome save with the Gothic King; in
beguiling Pelagius, he had thrown in his lot irrevocably with the
enemies of the Greeks.
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