Saturninus, no longer occupied with his prisoner, stepped forward into the centre of the tent, saying: "In the name of the Emperor Gratianus! As General and Commander of this camp I open the investigation. Speak, girl! You, a slave, a captive Barbarian, are making a terrible charge against a Roman leader. Weigh your words! Death is the penalty for false accusation of such a deed."
But Bissula did not shrink. She had now recovered her strength and calmness, and gave no thought to herself; her mind was occupied solely with the old friend who lay sighing on his cushions, and who had never been so dear to her as in the helplessness of his anguish. Briefly, clearly, and simply she related the conversation between the two men, to which, in the boughs of the pine-tree, she had been an involuntary listener.
"Miserable lies," shrieked Herculanus, stamping his foot. "The wench wants to become my uncle's wanton and ruin his nephew, the heir. The whole story is an invention,--the entire tale of hiding in the tree! When I came in here she stood watching beside the tent."
"That is a base falsehood," said Rignomer, stepping forward. "I swear that she has just come down from the tree: I had been following her--unseen--for half an hour."
"Aha, do you hear, uncle? Another lover!" sneered Herculanus.
"No," said the Tribune, "it was done by my order."
But Rignomer had flushed crimson with rage and shame. Shaking his clenched fist at Herculanus, he said, laughing grimly: "Just wait--you fellow with your patched mantle. The child came down from the tree before my eyes. I was standing, hidden by the tent, six paces opposite to it. Two men came from the right and left, glided under the pine, whispered together, and then separated."
Davus grew even paler than before; he tottered and would have fallen but for the hands which grasped him. But Herculanus asked defiantly: "Did you recognize the two men in the dark? Or, at six paces distance, understand their whispers?"
"Neither. But the child slid down the tree directly after in the most frantic terror, called 'Murder! They will poison Ausonius!' and ran with me here. The last part of the way I carried her."
"So the two Barbarians conspired against me!" cried Herculanus.
Saturninus went up to the slave, who hung with shaking knees between the two Thracians. "You know what terrible tortures threaten the slave who tries to murder his own master?"
Davus sank to the ground; the two men could scarcely drag him up again.
"Well then! What matters your miserable body! I will secure your safety of life and limb--in the Emperor's name--you shall merely go to the lead mines, if you confess at once."
"Thank you, my lord, a thousand thanks," groaned the slave. "Yes, yes. It is all as they say. For a year he has been tempting and urging! The demon of gold blinded me. It is all true!"
"Ha," shouted Herculanus, struggling against his guards, "so the slave, too, is in the conspiracy against me?"
"Give the wine in the Emperor's goblet to a dog, and see how long it will live," said Davus. "It is hemlock! In my tunic--feel there--I have a small vial which contains the rest."
"I don't doubt it: poison in the goblet--the same poison in the vial. Of course," cried Herculanus with an angry laugh, "the slave put it into both. But Ausonius will not die until he has altered his will and disinherited his nephew; for the Barbarian girl appeared just at the right moment as a deliverer."
Meanwhile the Tribune had taken from the slave's breast a little amber vial and placed it on the table beside the goblet. Ausonius glanced at it mournfully; he seemed to recognize it.
"And what he put in there," Herculanus went on, "is to convict me?" "No," cried Davus, now angered, "you shall convict yourself. Tribune, feel in his tunic too; he has the same poison, in a similar vial, hidden there. Could I force him to do it? Or could I conjure it there by magic?"
Herculanus turned pale. Defiance, the hope of life, deserted him and, gnashing his teeth, he struggled fiercely in the Illyrians' grasp. But the latter held him firmly while their countryman, Saturninus, took from his tunic a similar amber vial and placed it beside the first one.
"Then go to Orcus together! I wish you all had poison in you!" shrieked Herculanus.
But Ausonius tore his gray locks, wailing: "Alas! alas! I know them well. I gave them myself, both vials, to my dear sister, his mother. Alas, my own sister's son! To murder me! For miserable money! I had left it all to him. Only I should have been glad to live a few years longer."
Weeping aloud, he covered his face. Bissula, kneeling before him, stroked his hands compassionately.
"No doubt is possible," said Saturninus, "even without the confession made by his fury."
"Oh! The son of my dearest sister, my Melania!" moaned the Prefect.
"I had long suspected him," the Tribune said. "But the scoundrel did not desire to murder you alone; he wanted to kill this child too, to whom all are attached."
"What? What?" cried Ausonius. Bissula also started.
"That is why he hastened in advance of us all, alone, to her dwelling, on her track. He had raised his sword for a deadly blow when I caught his arm."
"What? Horrible!" cried Ausonius.
"Yes, that is true; but," the girl went on kindly and truthfully, "but then he had not yet recognized me as his uncle's friend."
"Yes, yes," groaned the Prefect. "He told me himself that a red hair had put him on your track. How often I had described you to him! And, as soon as he saw you he recognized you instantly. He wanted to bring you to me; and he--"
"And yesterday night," Rignomer put in wrathfully, "he stole into her tent with an unsheathed dagger. Unfortunately one who should have guarded it was sleeping, but the she-bear was awake, and"--he swiftly spread the full mantle open--"she tore out a piece here as he fled."
"Thispiece," said Saturninus, drawing it from his girdle and laying it on the fresh patch; "you see it fits exactly."
"The Furies' curse on you all!" screamed Herculanus.
"Away with them both!" the Tribune commanded. "Prosper, two of your slave-blocks! It won't do to leave them guarded in an open tent. That is always unsafe and requires the constant presence of trustworthy men, whom we cannot spare. Rignomer, you will lock them in--both feet--apart from each other. Your life will answer for it if they escape on the way."
"They shall not," growled the Batavian, who had been inexpressibly enraged by the fling at his love for Bissula, though he did not know why. "Forward!"
Led by Rignomer, the four guards and Prosper thrust the prisoners out of the tent.
The curtains had scarcely dropped behind them when Ausonius exclaimed: "He must not die! My Melania's son! He must fly into exile!"
"The Emperor will decide. But you, friend Ausonius, praise Heaven, which sent you this child. You owe your life solely to her."
The Prefect drew the young girl to the couch by his side and kissed her hands and brow. She submitted, for she was weeping. He would fain have kissed her lips too, but he forebore. The usually defiant creature was so childlike, so helpless from sheer emotion over his escape. So he only stroked her beautiful head with his hand and said, deeply moved himself: "The Christians have a superstition which I have often derided, of a guardian angel which God gives to mortals. I shall never do so again. You, Bissula, are my guardian angel!"
"But angels ought not to be slaves," remarked the Illyrian with a smile which well became his manly face. "I give you this child, Ausonius; she is your slave now. Do with her as you choose."
"I set her free, this moment. Bissula, you are free!"
"Oh, thanks, thanks, thanks!" cried the young girl exultantly, springing from the couch. "Now away,--away at once to my people,--to my grandmother,--to--"
"Not so fast, little one," interposed Saturninus. "Even the faithful, grateful freedwoman (the legal form of the act is still lacking) must obey the will of the patronus. I doubt whether he will let you fly away, you lovely little wild bird."
Bissula fixed her wonderful eyes beseechingly, imploringly, upon Ausonius, but the latter did not see it; he was gazing, rigid with amazement, at the Tribune.
"My friend--I don't understand you. Why do you so suddenly--I almost thought that you yourself--"
"Let us spare the child. I will say only this much; she can hear it without flushing too deeply, and sudden blushes are so becoming to her! A man need not be a poet, my Ausonius, to find our--pardon me, your--little maid very, very charming. I don't deny it; the first time I saw her--well, she certainly would displease no one! But I soon told myself what the duty of friendship commanded, and remembered that my life belongs wholly to the god of war. I ordered my heart to calm my blood. They belong to a soldier, and instantly obeyed."
At these words Bissula, in spite of the warning, or perhaps on account of it, had flushed crimson and glided away from the two men. She was just slipping out of the tent; but Saturninus gently caught her by the hair, held her firmly, laughing merrily, and said: "Stay, little one. The worst is over now, at any rate from me."
"But why," Ausonius went on, "have you all this time--Even yesterday--"
"Because I suspected your nephew's murderous designs, though only against her. I could protect her solely as her master. If she had remained, as you desired, in your tent, he could have killed the unguarded girl at any hour of the day or night. I watched her for you! Now it is no longer necessary. Obey your heart. I will leave you alone."
"Yes, but what more is to be done?" asked Bissula plaintively, holding the Tribune--she did not know why--firmly by the arm. "I am so tired!" she added. "Let me go to sleep now. And to-morrow, away! Back to my people!"
"Yes, my noble friend," said Ausonius, with a certain solemnity, slowly rising from his couch, "stay! I myself desire it. You shall be the first witness: my resolution is formed, unalterable! Bissula, I owe my life to you: in return there is but one reward--this life, my life itself."
The girl drew back in terror. She did not understand him.
"A slave was of course impossible. To wed even his own freedwoman is against the law for a Senator; but I shall undoubtedly receive a dispensation from the Emperor, and I care nothing for the jests of my colleagues."
"What do you want to do with me?" asked the young girl anxiously.
"Except the Cæsar," Ausonius went on thoughtfully, "no man in the Western Empire stands above me; only two are of equal rank. I am Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul. Nay, more,--no one knows it yet, not even you,--my Saturninus,--the Emperor has promised me next year the highest honor in the Roman State. This coming year will take its name from me."
"You are to be Consul?" cried the Tribune, reverently.
"What is it? What does it mean?" asked the poor girl, now thoroughly frightened. The solemnity, and the numerous Roman names of dignities were becoming more and more mysterious.
But Ausonius, nodding complacently, continued: "And no living poet is my peer. Bissula, you shall share all this with me. Tomorrow you shall go with me to Vindonissa to the Emperor. Yes, yes, don't shake your defiant little head, you shall be with me all my life, for I, Ausonius, Ausonius of Burdigala, will make you my wife!"
He now drew himself up to his full height, stretching both arms to her. With glowing cheeks, throbbing heart, and eyes flashing with shame and fear and wrath, Bissula, crimsoning more and more deeply, had listened to the last words and gazed in horror at the approaching Roman. Now she uttered a loud shriek: "No! No! Never!"
Wrenching herself from Saturninus, who tried to hold her, she sprang out of the tent. Outside, panting for breath, she ran as fast as her little feet would carry her, through the dark silent camp, reached her tent, unfastened Bruna, led her in, pressed her down on the ground, flung herself beside her and, bursting into a torrent of tears, buried her face in the soft thick fur.
The faithful, intelligent animal doubtless knew that something was wrong. Licking the girl's fingers, the bear growled, a low, soft, tender growl, like a mother soothing her sick child. The monotonous, droning tone produced a drowsy influence like a lullaby. So, under the protection of the bear, though often sobbing vehemently, Bissula at last fell asleep.
Ausonius was deeply grateful to his preserver, certainly; and he had wished to bestow a transcendent reward. Yet he was very keenly exasperated by this rude, fierce, foolish, nay, ungrateful disdain. And before the Tribune, too--the younger man.
This exasperation took full possession of him even amidst his deep grief for his nephew's crime. From the day of his birth neither the fates nor men had often denied any wish of this spoiled favorite of Fortune. Even the desire for poetic talent had been granted by the Muses, and, as he believed, in lavish abundance; while his contemporaries denied him no recognition, but lavished on him every honor for which he longed in any department. His imperial pupil loaded him with the highest dignities and honors in the gift of the State; he was one of the richest, most highly educated men in the Western Empire; he was agreeable, vivacious, well-bred, almost handsome in feature, and not yet very old. Thousands of the most aristocratic Roman women would have considered themselves fortunate if--
And this Barbarian girl refused him! It was incomprehensible, and he determined not to tolerate this "folly."
As she did not appear at breakfast at the usual hour, he sent Prosper for her. The old man returned without having accomplished his errand. Bissula was not in her tent, and could not be found anywhere in the camp.
Ausonius was startled. Then he said to himself: "Oh, nonsense. She cannot possibly escape from a walled Roman camp which is guarded by a Saturninus." Yet he finished his early meal hurriedly and anxiously, and went out to look for her, alone. He wished to spare his future wife, which Bissula certainly was, the mortification of being dragged by freedmen or slaves from some hiding-place into which her silly, childish obstinacy might have led her. First he hastened to the pine-tree: in vain. She was not concealed there; now, in broad daylight, one could see through the branches distinctly. He went to her tent and entered: it was empty. But as he was leaving it again he saw the broad foot-prints of the bear, and followed the trail: it led southward, to the lake gate, the Porta Decumana. He had nearly reached it, when he met Saturninus.
"Turn back, I beg of you," said the latter kindly.
"Isn't she there?"
"Yes! I discovered her by accident, looking down from the wall. She has hidden herself behind beams and rubbish near the Porta Decumana, like a sick birdling which creeps into some corner to die alone with its head under its wing. Give her time! Perhaps she will submit to it."
Ausonius yielded reluctantly as the Tribune, with gentle force, took his arm, turned him in the opposite direction, and led him back. He was thoroughly angry, and besides, felt ashamed in Saturninus's presence.
"Soon, I hope," he said angrily.
"Yes," replied the Tribune slowly. "Unless--unless some one else has won her heart."
"That she positively denied. She was enraged at the mere question; and falsehood is the perverse little thing's smallest fault. She is still scarcely more than a child. You see how she behaves. Only a child, an untutored child, could be led into such conduct."
But the Roman General shrugged his shoulders. "Let us wait. I would far rather see her yours than a Barbarian's. But think of the offer made by that Adalus! That can only--"
"Certainly. But it doesn't prove that she loves him."
He opposed with angry obstinacy a conjecture which might forever frustrate his wishes, and rejected the suggestion of his friend the more vehemently, the more persistently this fear, though repressed, constantly returned to his mind.
"By the way," he asked the Tribune, to change the conversation, "what do you mean to do with the prisoners? Let them both escape?"
"Impossible! My duty--"
"But my nephew must not die."
"It would be the best thing that could happen," growled the Illyrian, "for himself and his opposite men (for this selfish fellow has no fellow mortals). But I feared that it would be the result of your indulgence. Well, comfort yourself. As I promised life to the slave, the mere tool, the Cæsar can send the instigator to the mines too. But you are paying no heed to my words. Where are your thoughts?"
Ausonius had suddenly stopped. Thrusting the staff he carried violently into the earth he exclaimed: "Listen! Suppose I should go to her now--at once? Explain everything, persuade her? Last evening, in her excitement, she probably did not hear or understand. Just think of it--Consul!"
But his companion smiled and drew his reluctant friend forward: "Let her alone, Ausonius. You will only frighten her more. Perhaps a German fisher-lad is dearer to her heart than a Roman Consul."
"Inconceivable!"
"Yes, yes! Very intelligible. I will confess to you that she vehemently entreated me--"
"What, what!--when?"
"Just now, when I climbed down the wall to her and tried to speak for you. She besought me to protect her--from your wooing."
"Ungrateful girl!" exclaimed Ausonius wrathfully. This appeal to the Tribune against him wounded him most bitterly; he had the feeling: Youth naturally combines against age.
"Beware," replied the Tribune earnestly, "lest you should yourself be very ungrateful." But this did not suit the Roman's deeply offended vanity.
"Since you have now suddenly become--what shall I call it?--her guardian or defender against me--"
"I did not seek the position."
"Nor did you decline it. Then tell your ward my firm, resolute will: She must go with me to-morrow in one of Nannienus's galleys to the Emperor at Vindonissa, then to Burdigala. I will follow your advice: I will not go into the forests with you; grief, anger, too much excitement of many kinds, are making me ill--I feel it. First of all, I must obtain the dispensation from the Emperor to permit me, a Senator, to marry my freedwoman. That is now the thing nearest to my heart. And please see that it is clear to her, perfectly clear, that she has obtained no legal right whatever from my words spoken yesterday about liberation. You remarked at the time, very justly, that my words did not make her free: the form required by law was lacking. The words were merely a promise. If I choose, she is still my slave, but no longer yours, tell her that. In Burdigala, after she has tasted Roman life, let her choose which she would prefer: to become the Consul's wife, or be his slave and a she-bear's playmate. I cannot force her to wed me, but tell her that I will never permit her to return to her Barbarian land."
Saturninus would have tried to soothe the excited man, but a loud signal from the tubas summoned both leaders to the wall.
The Roman trumpets were joyously greeting the galleys under the command of Nannienus which, with all their canvas spread to catch the southeast wind, came swiftly nearer and nearer. It was a proud and imposing spectacle.
After the gallant Comes of Britannia, himself a Breton skilled in sailing, had discovered the culpable neglect of the ships and the fraud of the guilty magistrates in Arbor, he had toiled night and day, ceaselessly and untiringly, that he might take to his friend and comrade, Saturninus, the ships and reënforcements on which his whole plan for the encircling and destruction or unconditional surrender of the Alemanni was based. So, in the course of these few days and nights, he had actually succeeded in putting the dilapidated ships into seaworthy condition; and, besides old trading vessels and fisher boats of the largest size, he had a number of new galleys built which, though by no means to be compared with the proud fleet of the Venetian or Brigantinian lake which, a century and a half before, had ruled these shores and waters, could yet render sufficient service in seeking out the hiding-places of the Barbarians along all three sides of the land, and intercepting any flight they might attempt across the lake from the Tribune.
Nannienus's twenty high-decked ships of war, when not lying at anchor but fighting at full speed, would sink, by the mere weight of their shock, when driven by oars and sails, whole swarms of the little Barbarian boats, if they had the temerity to attack them. And to each of these large ships he had assigned two or three smaller flat-decked, shallow boats, to land provisions and troops and facilitate intercourse between the biremes (which required considerable depth of water when they lay at anchor) and the shore, often bordered for a considerable distance by marshes.
Probably more than sixty sail now appeared, in the full radiance of the most brilliant September sunshine, opposite to the Idisenhang, some at anchor, some in an unbroken chain forming a sort of bridge of boats from the place of anchorage to the shore.
The various forms of the sails (for in the pressure of haste all sorts of Barbarian ones had been added to the triangular Latin form of the Romans--ancient Celtic used on the lake from primeval days, and Alemannic) and their motley colors, principally dazzlingly white, but many deep yellow, gleaming in the sunlight, swelled by the fresh breeze; the surging, swarming life of the soldiers thronging from the ships to the shore, and from the shore to the ships; the greetings of old comrades; the joyful recognition of what had been accomplished in Arbor; the threatening outcries against the Barbarians, who must now be thoroughly extirpated--the whole presented a scene full of splendor, life, movement, and warlike uproar.
The largest galley, an old war ship which still bore the figure of Amphitrite on its prow, displayed a purple streamer, and the smallest foresail was of the same color; for she carried the Commander of the squadron.
"At last!" the able officer exclaimed as, the first man in the whole armada, he leaped from his galley into the boat which lay rocking at its bowsprit. He ran across the whole line of small vessels to the shore, and sprang with one impatient leap from the last boat across the marshy ground to the solid land to meet the Illyrian, who received him with outstretched arms.
"At last, my friend, I bring ships and men. It has been a long delay."
"I know it was no fault of yours."
"The Cæsar has already sent the guilty men to the mines. Where is the Prefect?"
"Up above, in the camp. He is not well."
"I have letters for him from the Emperor."
"Has no news come from the Emperor Valens yet?" asked Saturninus anxiously.
"Yes, very late news."
"How do matters stand between him and the Goths?"
"Well for him and badly for the Barbarians. They are suffering terribly from hunger. His last letter declines, and right arrogantly, any assistance from Gratianus and our army."
"He doesn't wish to share the fame of the victory with his nephew," said the Tribune, mounting his horse and inviting his friend to ride up the mountain on the beautiful charger brought for his use. Nannienus swung himself into the saddle, and continued:
"A decisive battle is impending, Valens writes. He is marching upon Adrianople, where the Goths are encamped. Why, the horse is sinking here! Are there marshes so far up?"
"Yes, it is the ancient bottom of the lake. So, the die has probably already fallen yonder on the Ister! Well, our little campaign will probably soon be over too. How many helmets do you bring?"
"Thirteen hundred."
"More than enough. Early to-morrow morning we will divide our forces. Five hundred men will remain in the camp: You will march with the rest toward the northeast, I to the northwest, until we at last find and scatter these incomprehensible foes. Did you see nothing suspicious on your voyage across the lake?"
"Nothing at all. Not a sail, far or near."
"Now that we have ships, we can also search the two tracts of marshland overgrown with rushes, which stretch for leagues on the right and left. We once thought we saw a column of smoke rising in the western marsh."
"That shall be done to-morrow, before we march. A naval battle on Lake Venetia! It has scarcely happened since the days of Tiberius."
"But I am glad to know that you are here on land with your men: Welcome once more to the Barbarian country and to my camp."
With these words the two commanders, followed by a glittering train of Nannienus's officers and the Tribune's mailed riders, passed through the Porta Decumana, which now stood wide open; for the Tribune's men were pouring out, down the mountain side and through the damp meadows and bogs of the half league of country to the shore, to greet their comrades on the fleet.
Bissula had crouched and made herself as small as possible, that she might slip out unseen like a little mouse from her hiding-place east of the lake gate. But the Illyrian guards were rigidly trained: two gigantic Thracians--one on each side of the threshold--held their spears crossed before the opening, and scanned sharply every one who went in or out. The young girl had crept successfully between the outstretched legs of one, when she struck her head against the shaft of the other's spear. The man's attention was attracted; he recognized her and pushed her gently but irresistibly back.
"No, no!" he said, laughing. "You mustn't go out, you little red serpent! I should get a double drubbing--from the Tribune on the right and the Prefect on the left. Stay inside."
Bissula, her eyes brimming with tears of impotent rage, was obliged to go back: and there, outside the gate, liberty was beckoning; there laughed (she saw it again, for the first time through the open gate) in its azure splendor her beloved lake; there on the right rustled the trees which surrounded Adalo's hall, and there flew a gull, screaming loudly with delight in life and joy in its free movement, across the rushes of the marshy shore. Alas! and she must go back into the camp, to an uncertain fate. To-morrow she was to leave the country, to go--whither?
"Oh, Adalo, help soon!"
Since the night before she had constantly whispered his name, again and again, as though it were a protecting spell.
On reaching her tent, she untied the bear, which was becoming wildly excited by the noise of the soldiers, and dragged it by the collar inside of the inclosure, where she remained all day. She was not disturbed. Prosper brought wine and food, and told her that his master's whole time was claimed by Nannienus and the other guests; but early the next morning she must be ready to take ship for Constantia, then to go to the Emperor at Vindonissa, and lastly, to his beautiful home. Bissula made no answer.
Leaving the viands untouched, she crouched like some captured wild beast in the corner of her tent farthest from the entrance, with her eyes fixed intently upon it, listening with anxiety and dread to every sound which drew nearer to her tent from the streets of the camp. Faithful Bruna lay across the threshold; she was the girl's only comfort.
So the hours of the day had passed. The sun had sunk majestically into the lake; darkness had gathered quickly; there was no moon. The Comes of Britannia had left Ausonius's table early, the hospitable host had vainly tried to induce him to empty one more goblet.
"As many as you please, after the victory, Ausonius. But a sailor must keep sober. Besides, his place is on the water, not on forest-clad heights. I feel here, away from my ships, like a whale left stranded by the tide and lying gasping on the shore. Truly, the only right kind of water is salt water--"
"Because we can't drink it," remarked Ausonius, filling his goblet again.
"But, when one can't have the sea, this long stretch of lake isn't bad. Remember me to your nephew, Herculanus; perhaps by to-morrow he will have recovered from his illness enough for me to seek him in his tent. And at the earliest dawn of morning, Saturninus, I will search the two reedy lakes for you. If there are no Alemanni, there will be plenty of rare waterfowl to hunt."
He went out with his officers and rode with them, guided by torch-bearers, down the mountain back to the ship-camp: for one-half of the newcomers slept on shore in the tents they had brought with them; the other half on the vessels.
As soon as Nannienus went on board he asked the watch at the helm, a trustworthy Breton countryman, whether he had anything to report.
"Nothing from here, my lord. Only behind Arbor a fire seems to be burning on the Hill of Mercury; or they are celebrating one of their Easter festivals. Look yonder!"
"Yes, that is in one of the farms of the Alemannic settlers. Hark! What was that?"
"Wild swans, my lord. They must have hundreds of nests in the reedy forests. They call and answer one another very often."
"Then surely no men can be hidden there; the noble birds are very shy and wary. Who is coming to relieve you?"
"I, Albinus, the veteran from Arbor."
"Good: you will watch the first and second hours after midnight. Wake me before the gray of dawn."
* * * * *
The sentries in the camp above on the Idisenhang, and below in the tents brought from the ships, had shouted the hour of midnight without the occurrence of anything to disturb the sleepers, who were lying in the deepest repose, except that for a long time the noble dogs which the Tribune, a keen sportsman, had brought from Vindonissa and kept in an empty tent near the northern gate, had barked violently. They were costly animals of the purest British breed, which, trained in the arena at Rome to fight the aurochs, were now to test their skill and courage in the primeval forests. They could not be quieted, whether the guards patted or flogged them, and their loud, angry baying was heard in the ditch before the north gate, where the whole Batavian cohort was on duty. The bright flames and thick columns of smoke from their watch-fire rose from the ditch, now dry once more.
Beyond it, on the north, about a hundred paces from the wall, Rignomer, with Brinno and two more of his countrymen, had been stationed as an outpost.
"Do you hear the dogs?" asked Rignomer.
"I'm not deaf," growled Brinno,
"When they keep on incessantly, it means something!" the other continued mysteriously.
"Of course it does. They are hungry. Or they have the little one's she-bear at bay."
"She-bear? Nonsense! She's sleeping where others would like to sleep. No, no! Dogs don't you know that?--can see spirits and hear gods. There is something abroad. Between midnight and dawn the night huntsman rides over the tree-tops. I thought just now that I heard a horse neigh above me, beyond that distant hill--in the air."
"Oh, pshaw! I never saw a horse fly yet!"
"ButHeflies on his eight-hoofed gray steed through the clouds and over the wind-swept forests, when he drives the woman of the woods before him. Hark, what was that? At the right!"
"The hoot of an owl! Very near us!"
"And there--one at the left."
"Hark," cried a third soldier, "didn't that sound like metal on metal--the clanking of arms--close in front of us?"
"No," said the fourth, "but I hear the faint trampling of a horse's hoofs. Hark! There are several. Now it comes again, nearer still! The foe!"
"Yes, it is the foe!" said Rignomer, seizing the signal horn to raise it to his lips--but he had no power to do so. Horror, paralyzing terror, awe which shook every limb, seized upon the brave man. His hair bristled; voice and hand refused their service. Rigid with fear, he stared at the wooded height before and above him, which suddenly seemed alive.
A warrior sprang from behind every tree; every bush; yet it was not these hundreds of Alemanni that terrified the battle-tried Batavian, but another spectacle. Sometimes in a full glare of light, sometimes dimly seen by the flame of two blazing torches, swung in circles by two horsemen riding at his right and left, a powerful figure of superhuman stature on a grayish-white horse came dashing down from the height toward him. White hair and a floating beard waved around a fierce but majestic countenance, above which a bird-monster, whose like Rignomer had never seen, seemed to flap its white wings threateningly against the mercenary as the vision rushed onward in silence, a huge spear thrust before him, a long dark cloak flowing back from his shoulders like a cloud; then, when close at hand, the horseman shouted: "Odin! Odin has you all!"
The German flung down spear and shield and, with the cry: "Odin is upon us! Odin is leading them! All is lost," ran back to the ditch at full speed. Two of his comrades followed his example, and all three leaped into the ditch shouting: "All is lost! Odin is upon us! Fly!"
Rignomer was considered the bravest of his race, so even the Batavians, who were too far off to understand his words, were infected by his example; for they saw their leader unarmed, running with every sign of the utmost terror from the ditch toward the northern gate to tear it open and vanish in the camp.
"Fly! Fly! All is lost!"
Most of the men had understood this and, with the same shouts, they now climbed up the wall or poured through the open gate.
Brinno alone had not fled from the post: at Rignomer's cry, also greatly alarmed, he had leaped behind the nearest tree, but here, looking sharply at the terrible horseman, he recovered his composure: "Nonsense!" he called after his flying comrades. "His horse has only four feet, not eight. That is nothe!" He stepped forward bravely with levelled spear, but the next instant was thrown down by the Duke's charger and, directly after, about thirty mounted men leaped into the ditch, which was now no longer defended, and dashed to the right and left in pursuit of the fugitives who were running along the bottom. The space around the gate was almost empty, swept clean in an instant.
Hariowald himself had ridden straight toward the gate, but just before he reached it, it was flung back from within, shutting out several fugitives who were trying to enter. The Duke sprang from his horse; the intelligent animal instantly stood motionless. He beckoned to his mounted men and to a small band who, meanwhile, had reached the ditch on foot, to follow him to the left of the gate, where rose a huge stone. A large number of other foot-soldiers now also reached the gate and, mounting ladders they had brought with them (which, strangely enough, were exactly the length required to reach from the bottom of the ditch to the wall), or even climbing on one another's backs, endeavored to scale the wall or to break down the gate with axes.
But here they now encountered vigorous resistance. Arrows, spears, beams, stones flew down upon them: a battle was impending; the attempt to enter the gate with the fugitives had failed. Saturninus had closed it and shot the huge iron bolt with his own strong hand. Awakened by the furious baying of his dogs, he had made the round of the camp to test the watchfulness of the sentries, and was now directing the defence from the walls. His own hand flung down the first ladder raised.
But the battle was already raging at the same time on the other three sides of the camp.
Bissula, too, on whose burning eyes sleep had not descended, had soon perceived what was happening. She heard with joyous terror the battle cry of the Alemanni, the war horns of her people.
"There they are! They are coming!" she exclaimed exultingly. "Now to meet them!" With the words she ran out of her tent, leading her faithful companion by the collar. She was determined to seize the first opportunity, no matter how dangerous it might be, to escape from the precincts of the camp.
But this was far more difficult than Bissula had expected. She experienced the utmost trouble even in gaining the vicinity of the lake gate to which she was summoned. The regular squares of the Roman camp, intersected at right angles by the streets of tents, rendered the task still more arduous; for at all the streets and squares stood, in dense masses, the reserve troops not engaged in fighting on the walk. No matter whether their faces or their backs were turned toward her, those ranks could not be penetrated.
Her friend Bruna impeded instead of aiding her. The animal was so wildly excited by the noise of thousands of men shouting, weapons clashing, horses dashing by, and flames blazing on all sides, that the young girl had great difficulty in restraining the daughter of the Alemannic forests from mingling in the battle and furiously attacking the legionaries. So for a long time she could make little progress toward the gate she desired to reach.
But now a gap was suddenly made in the ranks of the soldiers standing before her. A troop of mailed riders came dashing down the street of the camp from the north toward the gate, and the Illyrians before her opened their ranks to let the cavalry pass. Bissula fearlessly seized the tail of one of the horses and, without loosing her hold of Bruna, let herself be dragged along. In this way she successfully reached the Via Principalis, but here, feeling her arm seized, she released the horse, which now kicked violently. The girl looked around angrily. It was old Prosper.
"Halt," he commanded, "you must stay with me, Bissula. That is the order of the patronus; he sent me to you, supposing that you would be in the midst of the uproar. I am to keep strict watch of you, till the attack is repulsed."
"Let me go," she cried angrily, trying to release herself.
"No, you shall not. I must answer for you. Follow me."
They now began to struggle violently; but the man was stronger than the girl. She could not escape his hold. Then Bruna, growling furiously, rose on her hind legs and struck with her huge paws at her mistress's foe. With a cry of terror the freedman, releasing the girl, sprang back, and the next instant Bissula, by creeping between the horses' legs, slipped through the ranks of the mailed riders, who, facing south, were now the only obstacle between her and the lake gate.
She fairly flew down the long, narrow central street, the Via Media, in whose tents the luggage was sheltered. There she saw Herculanus and, somewhat farther down, Davus, each in a heavy oak-block, sunk into the earth, with both feet thrust through holes and fettered to the blocks with heavy cross chains. Bissula ran farther in terror. Now, for the first time, she looked around for Bruna, The bear had not followed her; her growling came from beyond the ranks of the horsemen, and at the same time Bissula saw a pack of huge dogs, barking furiously, leaping on the angry beast. One of the animals was hurled aside by the terrible paw, yelping with agony. But the girl could wait no longer, far less turn back. She hurried on; already she saw before her the goal of her longing, the Decumanian Gate.
Already the blows of axes were thundering ceaselessly outside upon the groaning oak planks and iron bars. Those were her own people, her deliverers, her liberators! But the solid gate held out firmly, and missiles rained from the top of the wall upon the unprotected assailants. She pressed forward as near the gate as she could. Only a single rank of soldiers separated her from it. Then Bissula heard outside a ringing voice which sent a thrill of rapture through every vein. She knew those tones.
"Set fire to the gate! Bring all the torches!"
Forgetting all caution, she sprang through the rank of soldiers, pushing two of them aside, put her face to the gate and called with her utmost strength, "Adalo! Help! Adalo!"
"Bissula!" rose a voice without, and a terrible blow--the first which had penetrated cleft a yawning gash in the right wing of the double gate, so that the splinters flew inside.
At the same time Bissula heard two voices call her name from the wall above. Looking up she saw Zercho and Sippilo who, in advance of all the others, had scaled the wall at the right of the gate.
"Here, little one!" shouted the Sarmatian, letting a rope slide down the inside, while he wound the other end around the ladder rising above the wall.
"Where are you, Bissula?" called Sippilo, leaning far over and holding a torch down. "Alas! I can't see her anywhere!"
The girl, standing at the left of the gate, could not make her way through the soldiers to the right; she was obliged to see a strong Thracian on the top of the wall seize a heavy pole, which he held crosswise with both hands, and springing forward hurl both the over-bold assailants (they were still standing alone) backward at a single thrust.
"Oho, Sippilo," shouted Adalo outside, "what was that?"
"A somersault!" replied the boy laughing, and jumping up again. "But you, Zercho! Alas! you cannot stand?"
"Unfortunately! My foot--I think it is broken!"
"Take him, men, two of you, and carry him out of the fight," Adalo ordered.
"Where?"
"To my own hall; it is still standing."
Bissula uttered a cry when she saw her two friends fall backward; but the next instant her senses failed. A soldier whom she had repeatedly tried to thrust aside turned angrily: he meant to strike his troublesome comrade, as he supposed the person to be. Then he recognized the young girl, and his wrath instantly vanished.
"Go back, little one!" he exclaimed. "You'll get killed here!"
And, with kindly intent, he flung her toward the left; but the clumsy fellow exerted too much strength, or the weight of the dainty figure was too light; she struck her head so violently against one of the beams of her old hiding-place that she lay stunned and senseless where she had fallen.
"Bissula!" Adalo called again through the gaping cleft in the door. But he received no answer.