Even the reënforcements of Saturninus's troops could not have changed the result of the battle around the ships and the camp on the lake-shore: the die had fallen long before, nay, almost at the moment the conflict began; for the surprise here had been almost more complete than in the assault upon the Idisenhang.
In spite of the chill of the September night, the brave Commander, Nannienus, had had his couch prepared on the high quarter-deck, above the second bank of oars of his bireme; a very simple bed, consisting of a woolen blanket spread over the planks, a coil of rope under his neck and his Breton cloak for a coverlet. In reply to the warning of the colonist from Arbor, who now relieved the helmsman, against the nocturnal coolness of the lake, he had said, smiling:
"Oh, how often I have crossed at night, no more warmly wrapped, between Britain and Gaul! Is the German ocean to be shamed by this fresh water pond? There is no better sleeping potion than the rocking ship beneath me and the stars above! Unfortunately, tonight there is no moon and there are few stars. Strange, this constant calling of the swans. I never supposed there could be so many!"
While thinking of the swan notes, he fell asleep, but they haunted his dreams. He saw countless white, brown, and black swans coming from both sides of the marshy forest against his squadron, raising their wings threateningly as if to strike.
After a long sleep he awoke: gradually, as is natural after healthy slumber, not all at once, his thoughts began to clear. Was he still dreaming? It seemed as if the calling and singing of the swans on both sides actually came nearer, accompanied by a peculiar low whistling, humming, rippling, with now and then a louder splash in the water. Still half asleep he asked the man at the helm: "What is that humming among the rushes?"
"The swans, my lord, the wild swans," replied the helmsman, the old Roman colonist from Arbor. He was a retired member of the Twenty-second Legion, faithful to the Cæsar. "I know it well! I have often seen them at sunset going by thousands to the marshy forests of this lake. They are preparing to migrate."
"No," cried the Breton starting up. "Those are no water birds, the splashing is too loud." Lifting the helmet from his head, he gazed out keenly.
"The night is black as pitch, but look, something is swimming out from the rushes yonder: Swans? No, no!" He tore his sword from its sheath.--"Those are boats! To arms! Raise the anchor! The foe!"
At the same moment a bright light flamed on the Idisenhang, red torches blazed in the camp on the shore; a bundle of burning straw flew over Nannienus's helmet into the half-reefed sail, remained there caught by the folds, while tongues of fire, fanned by the north wind, crept up the sail, the rigging, the mast. Already dark forms were climbing up the sides of the galley from all directions, and wild cries from men, attacked and mortally wounded while sleeping, rang from all the ships and the camp on the lake shore.
Nannienus sprang with flashing sword toward the first man who boarded the galley. But the desperate fellow did not seem to care for his own life. Without heeding or attempting to parry the blow, which came within a hair's breadth of his unprotected head, he thrust a sort of harpoon (that is, a spear eight feet long with a sharp point and a hook curving backward, such as the men threw through holes in the ice on the lake in winter to catch the largest sheatfish) into the Roman's bronze belt, jerked him forward with tremendous force and hurled him overboard.
Nannienus fell into one of the boats of the Alemanni, at the starboard side of his bireme, and striking his head against a thwart, lay stunned for a considerable time. The skiff was empty, all its occupants had boarded the galley. When he regained consciousness, he saw his own ship and most of the other vessels in flames; while his camp on the shore, and even that of Saturninus, high up on the Idisenhang, were burning. Then he perceived that all was lost. Everywhere the remnant of his armada which had escaped the flames was in full flight, pursued by the Barbarians.
He resolved to make his escape to Arbor, and hastily unbuckled the Roman armor that would have betrayed him; his helmet he had lost in his fall. Then, seeing a German mantle lying among the rubbish in the boat, he threw it on, placed himself at the helm (these boats were rowed and steered standing), trimmed the coarse square sail to catch the wind, and was soon flying, unnoticed by the Germans, who recognized the boat as one of their own, across the lake toward Arbor.
Once only, the utmost peril threatened him. He had overtaken a lofty Roman ship whose sails were partly burned, but the fire was evidently being extinguished by the crew. He was on the point of hailing it and ordering the men to take him on board when, to his horror, he perceived that the galley was filled with Alemanni. As he had taken possession of the German boat, they were pursuing on the captured bireme other Roman ships that were flying to Arbor.
He hastily rowed the skiff away from the great vessel, and now perceived that in Arbor, too, a terrible conflagration was rising toward heaven. It was the funeral pyre of Roman rule in the fortress on the lake. Nannienus saw it with terror, turned his boat west southwest, and tried to gain, instead of the lost Arbor, the distant but safe harbor citadel of Constantia.
The camp on the lake shore had been taken, with great loss of life to the Romans.
A camp wall and ditch had been hurriedly made in the few hours after their arrival, merely for form's sake, because the good old Roman custom prescribed it, and Nannienus insisted upon its observance. But the Commander himself closed his eyes to the carelessness of the work. This camp was to be abandoned at dawn on the following morning and its men sent to garrison the one on the Idisenhang and to march in pursuit of the Barbarians. So the ditch was dug only a few feet deep, the wall erected only a few feet high, and other fortifications were omitted. The Alemanni instantly poured from all directions into the fortress, whose inmates were overcome by sleep and wine.
The old Duke had given them counsel taken from the songs of a wandering bard, who had sung in his own hall, to the music of his harp, ancient tales of his race. The man was a Batavian and bore the names, an odd medley, Julius Claudius Civilis Chlodomer. He went from tribe to tribe as far as they understood his language, singing and telling the old songs and legends. So he related how, three centuries before, his people, skilled in the use of arms, and led by his ancestor who, though a German, had the same Roman names as his distant descendant, fought furiously against the Roman yoke and won many a victory, inspired by Veleda, a maiden prophetess of the Bructeri.
And he sang how once, one moonless, starless night, they attacked a Roman ship camp on the Rhine: the galleys were anchored in the river; on the shore were many tents. The Batavians first cut the main ropes, which wound around the poles stretching the tents; and the sleepers, buried, entangled, and held beneath them, were easily overpowered while thus defenceless:
"Like plump fish capturedIn nets by night,They struggled, shoutingTheir tents beneath."
"Like plump fish captured
In nets by night,
They struggled, shouting
Their tents beneath."
The old Duke had firmly impressed upon his mind these lines of the Batavians; they had seemed to him the best of all, and he now used what he had learned.
The Romans were wakened first by the tents falling in upon them, by the glare of flames on all sides, and then by the Germans' shouts of victory. They scattered without offering the least resistance; saw the ships, their nearest refuge, also burning; tried to climb to the camp on the height, but beheld fire blazing there also, and fled, without aim or plan, to the right and left along the shore of the lake. They were pursued by few of the victors, who preferred, first of all, to seize the small Roman vessels and in these aid their comrades to board the proud biremes. These vessels would contain more men, and their higher decks were far better suited to climb the sides of the large war galleys than the low fishing boats of the Alemanni. So it happened that many German boats drifted to the shore empty, their crews having abandoned them to pursue in the smaller Roman vessels, the Roman galleys, or having already boarded them.
When Decius, with the little band of Illyrians, whom he had held together around the wounded General and Ausonius, reached the burning camp, even Saturninus, with the biremes blazing before his eyes, recognized reluctantly that here, too, all was lost, and any continuation of the battle impossible. He consented, hesitatingly, to think only of flight. Rignomer, who had joined the General at the lake gate, was the first to discover, as he gazed watchfully to and fro, several deserted boats of the Alemanni drifting near them.
Leaping into the water, sometimes wading, sometimes swimming, he reached the first, climbed in, found the oars, rowed to the three skiffs nearest, tied them together with the ropes tangled near the steering oar, and soon brought his little fleet so close to the shore that the wounded Commander could be placed in the largest one, while the whole band of fugitives--five or six in each--entered the others. By his advice they all removed the high Roman helmets, which could be recognized at a long distance, and the glittering Roman armor. At his suggestion, too, they separated. Even Decius willingly followed the counsel of the Batavian, an expert in sailing, in order not to attract the enemy's attention so easily: thus they hoped to reach Arbor, on the southern shore, singly and undetected.
When Hariowald and his followers arrived, they found nothing to do except to take possession of all the Roman and German vessels which still lay unused near the land, and continue the pursuit of the war galleys on the lake. Springing into a Roman transport boat, he ordered his men to row him to Nannienus's galley, where the boarders, after overpowering the crew, had extinguished the flames. A man standing on the lofty deck flung a rope ladder into the boat and gave Hariowald his hand to help him on board. It was now dawn; the Duke recognized Fiskulf, the fisherman.
"What!" cried the old Commander in astonishment. "Did Odin really save you? Then he is even more powerful and more gracious than I expected."
"It must be so," replied the man, with a happy laugh. "I was the first on deck, flung, the first brand into the main sail, and swung the Italian lord overboard like a lake salmon out of an ice-hole. But then I saved the beautiful ship by putting out the flames. I thought: 'It is better to capture than to burn.' Did I keep my word?"
"You have surpassed it. And are you uninjured?"
"Not entirely: henceforth I shall have one ear less. It must be owned that the short swords of these Italians slice sharply, and they deal powerful blows. Look, not even the mother who bore me with two ears would believe that one ever peered out under my hair here--he shaved it off so smoothly."
The Duke held out his hand: "You shall be one of my followers, Fiskulf! You have learned to hear and to obey me."
"Yes, my lord, even with one ear! When I miss the second, I shall always tell myself why I lost it."
"And how the Lofty One gave you back the life forfeited to him: never forget that. But now we will pursue the Italians across the lake to Arbor on their own splendid galley. Spread every sail!"
"Where shall we get them, my lord? They are all burned."
"Then stretch your mantles for sails. The north wind will help to fill them; a fresh west northwest breeze will spring up at sunrise. See how the waves are rippling already. The first red ray of morning is breaking through yonder clouds. Quick, men, seize the Roman oars; the morning sun must greet us on the southern shore. Ha, do you behold it over yonder? Smoke and flames are rising in Arbor. Our eastern men, the Hermunduri, and our kinsmen, now free, though hitherto under the foreign yoke, have kept their promise. Up! On to Arbor to celebrate the third victory of one night!"
He seized the helm himself. The proud galley of the Romans turned her prow away from the northern shore, and being now rowed by the conquerors, moved majestically across the lake. The mantles of the Alemanni, brown, blue, yellow, and red, filled in the fresh northwestern breeze, and the well-built ship darted swiftly through the water, which reflected the clear sky in the increasing brightness of the morning and shone with a wonderful azure hue. The waves broke in foam before the bow, tossing their white spray high into the air; little rosy clouds were floating in the eastern sky and were mirrored in the lake.
With the folds of his dark mantle around him, his white locks fluttering, his head crowned with a shining white helmet, Hariowald's tall figure stood forth in strong relief against the sky, as he remained at the helm erect and motionless, his spear flung over his shoulder. So the ship and her helmsman gradually vanished beyond the sight of the eyes watching them intently from the northern shore.
Rignomer, peering from behind his sail, also saw and recognized him. "They can upbraid me as much as they please," he muttered. "Where is Brinno, who tried to oppose him? They can say what they choose. Even though in human form, it is stillhe!"
But the Batavian was suddenly startled from his mythological studies. He heard from the east a shout in German: "Romans! Romans! On them!" and saw a boat filled with Alemanni steer toward them.
"Quick! Disperse in every direction!" he called, and the boats containing the fugitives scattered. He soon lost sight of two, which attracted the attention of the pursuers and were driven by the Germans out upon the lake toward the south. He himself steered and rowed at the same time, assisted by several soldiers, close in to the shore westward, where by good fortune he reached a small patch of rushes, among which he hid the boat; the second one, containing Decius, soon joined him.
From this place Ausonius, who by Saturninus's order was watching the shore to see if they could rescue any fugitive Romans, perceived by the dim light of morning the figure of a girl in a gleaming white robe, who was running at her utmost speed straight toward the boats. He already thought he recognized Bissula when her cry fell upon his ear: "Adalo, Alemanni, help Bissula!" He also saw a horseman dashing in furious pursuit down the hill. He ordered the men to row quickly shoreward. Prosper, even Rignomer, hesitated. "My lord," the latter warned him, "they will murder us all!"
"No matter! Bissula! It is for Bissula!"
Then Rignomer instantly obeyed. Hidden behind his sail he had not seen the young girl, and could not hear her; but now he turned the helm, and sent the boat with the speed of lightning toward the shore, at the same time urging the soldiers to row with all their might. The rest of the men now recognized the fugitive, and so the rescuers came just in time to save her from sinking.
Bissula, whose strength was completely exhausted, lay unconscious in the bottom of the boat for a long, long time. Rignomer had rolled into a bundle a fishing net which he found in the bow and put it under her head for a pillow. Ausonius, sitting on a thwart, supported her lovely little head and gazed anxiously down into her face, while the Batavian rubbed her cold hands.
Meanwhile the two boats left their hiding-place among the rushes, rowed first directly southward out upon the lake, and then by making a wide circuit to avoid pursuit, intended to turn toward Arbor. But they did not go far.
"What have you determined, General?" asked Decius, calling from the second boat as they rowed side by side.
"To take vengeance," replied Saturninus savagely; "vengeance for this unprecedented disgrace. As soon as I reach Arbor, I shall beseech the Cæsar, if ever Saturninus deserved favor from the Empire, to give me three legions. The Barbarians shall be repaid this very night."
"Stay," cried Rignomer. "I have long seen a Roman galley coming toward us."
"Where? Whence?" asked Decius. "It probably contains Barbarians."
"No, no! It is coming from the southwest. Look yonder--from Constantia!"
"Yes," exclaimed Decius. "That is the Emperor's swiftest ship; I recognize it. It bears the great purple flag, so the Emperor himself is on board."
"Or a Magister Militum sent by the Cæsar," remarked Saturninus.
The two boats remained motionless; the swift galley swept forward. It must at first have been supposed that the boats were filled with Barbarians, but the crew soon discovered that the men were Romans; and now the ship reached them. On her deck, beside a richly armed officer, stood Nannienus. "O my friend," cried Saturninus, raising his head, "that we should meet again thus! And you, Andragathes, what do you bring? I hope help, reënforcements. We are defeated: army and ships are lost." He groaned aloud.
"I know it, my Saturninus," replied the imperial envoy. "Nannienus, whom I took on board, here on the lake, flying in a Barbarian boat, has told me all that he had himself experienced and what he feared for you. Alas! What is this little defeat? What are these two or three thousand men, compared to the terrible blow which has fallen upon us?"
"What has happened?" asked the Roman leader, startled.
"A second Cannæ, Gratianus says."
"Oh, what a dreadful word is that!"
"The Emperor Valens and his whole army are defeated, put to rout by the Goths at Adrianople. Forty thousand Romans lie dead upon their shields, thirty thousand are prisoners. The Emperor Valens while wounded was burned during his flight, in a peasant's house. All the Eastern Provinces are overrun by the Goths; even Constantinople is threatened. Gratianus has appointed you, Saturninus, commander-in-chief of the whole trembling, orphaned Eastern Empire. He commands you to hasten at once to Vindonissa, to lead his whole army thence against the Goths on the Danube. You are his last hope, and the Empire's. 'Saturninus alone can still save us,' he ordered me to tell you."
"And this Saturninus is a bungler," groaned the Illyrian, "and a wounded man, too. Attacked and disgracefully defeated by Suabian robbers--beaten in every sense!" He laughed grimly.
"Ha!" replied Nannienus mournfully, "that is nothing compared to my fate. An imperial fleet, under my command, captured and burned by miserable fishing boats."
"Alas," Saturninus continued, "and now I cannot even avenge myself and my honor as a General on these miscreants. But the Empire--the Emperor's command overrules everything else. I obey. Turn the helm. We will go to Constantia, thence to Vindonissa. Come with me at once, Ausonius. Do you not hear?"
"Directly," replied the latter. "She is opening her eyes."
The imperial galley was preparing to tow Saturninus's boat. This plan seemed best for the wounded General, who could not easily be lifted upon the lofty deck of the ship. Engaged in this task, the other Romans did not notice the young girl, who now sat up. Her first glance rested on the Prefect. "Ausonius!" she said feebly. "Again captured by you."
"Saved by me--by us Romans," he answered, more sternly than he was accustomed to speak, especially to her.
Strange changes had taken place in the character of the variable man. He was not yet absolutely sure of his own feelings--how everything ought to end between him and Bissula.
"True, you did not call my name or appeal to us for aid. You had another deliverer in your mind. Yet you were not saved by the Alemanni, but by us Romans."
"From your own nephew, he alone pursued me!" she answered vehemently.
"Punishment has overtaken him," replied the Prefect, shuddering. "Let these thoughts pass. I saved you; I first recognized you and ordered the boat to turn back, merely to rescue you. Thus I risked life and liberty, for your wolfish people are certainly wild beasts and murderers. So: life for life. There we are equal. But," he went on gravely, earnestly, and kindly, yet with a stern, strange tone, as if testing her, "but we have not yet done with each other, little maid. You wounded me deeply, very deeply by your fierce, rude, childish refusal. Almost as deeply as the poisoning plan of--the dead man. The terrible events of the past night first taught me how I love you: I thought constantly of you, your fate, your safety. Duty called me, but I sent you my most faithful----"
"To prevent my escape!"
"To protect you, ungrateful girl. When I fell from the wagon under the missiles of the Barbarians and thought death would come the next moment, even then I thought only of you. I have proved it by the most terrible test; my love for you is genuine, no mere caprice; it will end only with my life. And so once more, not as a reward for your act of rescue (I have repaid that), not as a favor or a gift--if the word offended you--once more, for the last time in life (and consider well, I will never set you free again) I ask you: will you be my servant, or my wife? I beseech you--do you hear? I, Ausonius, beseech you: become my wife!"
"Never! Never!" cried the girl starting up.
"Insolent!" replied the rejected lover, offended and deeply incensed: "You forget you are again my captive--again in my power."
A glance from Bissula into the waves of the lake, here very deep, was her only reply. Ausonius continued, without understanding the meaning of the look, "Now I know the cause of this defiant, senseless refusal. You deceived me when you said you had no lover."
"I have no one who loves me," she answered with the deepest sadness; tears filled her eyes as she gazed fixedly into vacancy.
"You lie!" cried Ausonius. "That Adalo!" Bissula started. "He must love you madly."
Bissula listened intently, gazing at him in astonishment; glowing shame and happy terror filled her heart.
But the Roman went on: "Or would he, a free Prince of the Alemanni, have solemnly made the proposal to Saturninus and me: 'Let the maiden go unhurt. Adalo will take her place as captive.' Do you know what that means? A slave for life?"
"He--he did that? For me?" Passionate delight flashed from her eyes, her soul.
Ausonius gazed silently into her face. Then he said: "How he loves you, this offer shows: how you love him, your radiant eyes betray. But," he added, slowly and searchingly, "know this. He will no longer separate us. You can become mine without breaking faith with him, for--" he clasped her hand.
"What is it? What has happened to him? Speak!"
"He is dead."
"Oh!" shrieked Bissula, and, before Ausonius could stop her, she had wrenched herself from his hold, sprung on the thwart of the boat and, clasping her hands above her head with a gesture of silent anguish, flung herself forward toward the water.
A strong arm caught her; it was Rignomer's.
"Stay, hot-hearted child!" he exclaimed kindly. But the girl struggled furiously in his grasp, she was resolved to plunge into the deep lake; the light boat rocked dangerously.
"Calm yourself," said Ausonius gravely and sorrowfully. "He lives."
"Oh, how cruelly you have played with me," cried the girl. The Batavian now drew her gently down upon the thwart, and she burst into a flood of tears; but they were tears of joy.
"It was no play, only a test. I see with grief that you really love the fair-haired boy so fondly. If he had fallen, you would rather have followed him to death than lived as my wife in splendor and happiness? O Bissula, this is hard!"
"Father! Dear Father! Don't be angry. I cannot help it. But is it certain? Does he live?"
"Yes. You cannot help it! That is true; I see it now. Be comforted. He is alive. I saw him carried off the field by his followers. Saturninus and he exchanged blows."
"Yes. Be calm, little one," the Tribune interposed good humoredly. "His stroke was really no harder than mine. I am still alive, so he will doubtless live too."
"Oh, Ausonius!" pleaded Bissula, raising both hands beseechingly. But he did not let her finish the sentence. Passing his hand across his eyes he murmured unheard by the others: "It is over. This hour has made me an old man." Then he asked: "Where do you wish to be put on shore? Opposite to Suomar's forest hut?"
"Thank you, my warmest thanks! But not there, farther to the left from here; yonder under the willows, where a nobleman's hall stands on the height."
"His!" exclaimed Ausonius.
"Which you saved for him," added Saturninus. "All very beautiful and noble--almost touching!" the Tribune continued, trying to seem unmoved, yet at the same time kindly stroking the hand of the young girl, in whose eyes the dancing light of joy mingled with tears like May rain. "Only I will not permit the Prefect Prætor of Gaul to return to that shore full of murderous wolves. No, indeed I will not. Neither will I risk the life of any Roman soldier. Who is to take her to the land?"
"I will go myself alone!" cried the eager girl.
"That some Roman murderous wolf may follow you again on your way to the hall; they are still worse!" cried the voice of some one, in German. "No, illustrious Tribune," it continued in Latin, "I will take the child to her friends."
Rignomer now stepped from behind the sail which had concealed him. His appearance was totally transformed: he had removed the Roman helmet long before; now he had unbuckled the coat of mail and thrown around him a brown Alemannic mantle which he had found in the boat. Instead of the Roman weapons he carried over his shoulder a long iron-shod pole, used for pushing and guiding boats while it could touch the bottom.
"You?" asked Saturninus. "You too will be a dead man if they catch you--a warrior in the Roman service."
"Pardon me; I am one no longer. My time of service expired at midnight--the last of the long seven years: what I did since--"
"It was----" replied Saturninus.
"Was done voluntarily. I shall not renew my oath of service. No, no! I have had enough--more than enough of it. The Emperor still owes my pay for the last month. I will let it go. I shall return to my mother, on the Issala. But first I will take this runaway child to her people."
As he spoke he grasped her hand. "Jump over, little one. See, the other boat is empty: they have all climbed up into the galley. Jump over! Happily, we are going home!"
"So be it!" said Ausonius, without resentment but gravely: "Farewell, Bissula! We part never to meet again."
He turned away. Bissula threw herself on his breast and, amid flowing tears, kissed his noble brow. His face had never been so handsome. "Ausonius, farewell!"
She sprang into the second boat, where Rignomer was already standing; then she turned again toward the other one. This had been fastened by a rope to the galley and now began to follow it as, propelled by many oars, it swept toward the southwest.
"Father Ausonius, I thank you!" she called. But he did not hear. With his face averted from his young friend, and his gray head pressed against the mast, he was weeping bitterly.
The ship, dragging the boat in its wake, flew swiftly away.
* * * * *
The Batavian wielded the oars sturdily, and the light boat rapidly approached the shore.
Bissula no longer watched the disappearing Roman galley, but with a throbbing heart sprang into the bow of the boat, where Adalo's house-mark, the sixteen-branched antlers, rose proudly; she could not help stroking it tenderly. The next instant she turned, laughing and clapping her hands joyously, and exclaimed: "Now, Rignomer, you shall see for once what rowing means. We are moving far too slowly for me!"
Lifting two oars from the bottom of the light boat she put them skilfully into the willow holders, seized them with both hands and, standing erect, her face turned toward the shore, rowed with such strength and skill that Rignomer exclaimed in wonder: "By Freya's eyes, girl, you might become a boatman on the Issala any day! You can do this too? A pity that you are not going with me to my mother!" The boat shot to the land among the marshes. Bissula reached the ground with a long leap before the Batavian could help her. The steersman had kept a straight course for the nobleman's hall: they saw the stately wooden mansion towering directly above them on the hill.
"Oh, Donar be thanked," cried the girl joyously. "He has saved his favorite beast, as the she-bear saved me."
"What? What are you looking at in the mire?"
"See! Bear tracks; very fresh ones! She was not drowned; she ran yonder to the right along the shore on the old path where Sippilo and I always went to fish."
"Who is Sippilo?" asked the Batavian. "Another Adalo?"
"Oh, nonsense! A child. And just see; from here the tracks go directly to the hall. Come! Don't walk! Leap! Spring up the hill!"
"No, little one," said the Batavian gravely. "You can run; I will not go with you. You seem to know the way, to know it very well. There is no human being in sight far or near. You can reach the hall safe without me. Aha, there too, a huge stag's antlers tower from the roof. That is the reason you were so pleased with the one on the boat's prow. Farewell, little one! I won't go to the meeting--I mean yours with Adalo and all the rest who belong to his clan."
"They would thank you for having done so much for me."
"Never mind the thanks. I did not do it for them."
"Where are you going?"
"Home. To the north and west. No, have no fear for me; I shall make my way through. Here in my breast, little one, I carry the pay and the price of the booty won in seven years; and on my shoulder is this pole. One can go far with these two assistants. Farewell! And,"--he whispered in her ear--"heed my words: never defy the man you call your Duke; for he is--he!"
He patted her hair and her pretty round head with rough tenderness as he spoke, and then sprang toward the west along the lake shore. Once he stopped to look after her--he wanted to wave another farewell. But Bissula did not see him. She was running, with glowing cheeks, up the hill.
It was now broad daylight. The sun was shining radiantly on the mountain and the lake. Light clouds which hitherto had hung like a veil thrown over a long spear about the peak of Sentis floated swiftly down into the valley. During the night a light snow had fallen upon Sentis and Tödi and the other topmost peaks in the chain, and lay there glittering like sparkling crystal. It was very peaceful. The war--thanks to Bissula--had not brought its destruction here. Hoar frost flashed on every blade of grass.
The child of the forest, so long shut out from lake, meadow, and field, rejoiced in the freedom of nature. She inhaled long draughts of the pure air; nay, in spite of her impatience, she even turned once and, standing still, gazed out over the shining azure lake and the peaks of the mountains radiant in white and gold.
"I do not know how to call you all by name, ye beloved gods, who have guided everything so happily for me, aided me upon land and water, and are now shining in the sunlight and the glory of the mountains! And Adalo lives: that is the best, the very best of all that ye have done. Ye gods, I do not know you all, but I thank every one of you!"
She stretched her arms toward the sun. Then, that the goddess of the lake and Donar, the King of the mountains, whose throne was on Sentis, might not be angry, she saluted the water and the mountains, with both hands, raising and lowering them as one waves a greeting to a friend recognized at a distance. Again she ran impatiently up the hill side. Most of the singing birds had left the lake long before; but one little robin which always remained there all winter recognized the friendly being who often scattered food for it on the snow, and, greeting her with a light chirping, flew a few paces in front of her until she reached the door of the hall.
* * * * *
Within the great central room Adalo lay on the floor upon a pile of soft skins, his head toward the steps of the master's lofty seat, his feet toward the entrance. His head rested in the lap of gray-haired Waldrun; his eyes were closed. At his left lay Zercho, but placed in the opposite direction, with his head toward the door and a huge goblet of mead beside him. At his right stood Sippilo, gazing down anxiously at his brother's face. Beside the wounded man was Bruna, the she-bear, growling softly as she licked his hand. She was the first to move, raising her head as light footsteps were heard on the sand outside the door.
The blind woman said, in a low tone that the wounded man might not hear: "That is Bissula's tread."
The girl appeared in the doorway. Sippilo started, Zercho raised his head, but she motioned to them all to keep silence, and noiselessly advancing with bare feet to Adalo's couch, she laid her little hand on his head.
"Bissula?" asked the Adeling.
She bent over him, her red locks falling on his pale face.
"Is it you, little one? No, no! The fairest of the Valkyrias has come to bear me upward--do you see her swan wings?--up to Valhalla's shining heights." Bissula's white robe was floating around her shoulders.
The girl cast a glance of agonized terror at Waldrun.
"Be comforted," said the old dame firmly, "he will live. And everything will be as I have said."
"You must stay with us always now," cried Sippilo, seizing her garments as if to hold her by force.
Bruna, growling joyfully, had risen and put one paw on her knee, looking up at her with intelligent eyes. Bissula gratefully patted the animal's head and held out her hand to Zercho, who kissed it humbly. Laughing, yet with tears in his eyes, he cried: "O little sprite, little red sprite!"
But now the girl bent down again, exclaiming:
"No, Adalo, it is no Valkyria, it is Bissula, little red Bissula, who is so wicked, so wicked! Adalo,--hush, don't speak,--I know all. I know, too, what you wanted to do for me, what you offered. That was wrong in you. Hush, hush! It was certainly what you--you only are of all the people in the world. Hush, dearest--don't move. Yes, yes, I will stay here, your nurse, your maid-servant, as long as you need me. Ah! I beg you so earnestly--I entreat you--take me! No, no! Do not move your arm! Not yet to your breast! But I will do everything all my life--will be as blindly obedient as you desire: only let me stay with you--your own!"
Her little head sank on his breast. The wounded man raised himself, kissed her flowing red hair, the red lips, now smiling again, and the eyes still wet with tears, exclaiming rapturously:
"O Bissula--you dear one--you wicked elf--my beloved bride!"
Footnote 1: The German name for Lake Constance.