The Adeling and his followers would probably soon have forced their way through this gate, one of whose wings had already caught fire and was beginning to glow and smoke more and more, while the other was splitting wider and wider under the heavy blows of the axe, had not the battle on the opposite side of the camp taken a turn which was also to prove decisive for the conflict around the Porta Decumana. Scarcely had Bissula fallen unconscious, when down every street in the camp that led from the north toward this southern gate, riders, riderless horses, foot-soldiers, and slaves came rushing in a wild flight with frantic cries.
"Fly," cried a warrior in scale armor, dashing past Herculanus and Davus. "The Barbarians are upon us!"
"The camp is taken!" shouted a Celt, hurrying out of a side street.
"They have climbed over the wall at the Prætorian Gate."
"No, the earth opened. Orcus spewed the Barbarians into the middle of the camp!"
"Fly!" shrieked a camp-follower's wife, "I saw Saturninus run down by his own men! All is lost!" And in truth it seemed so.
Ausonius had been waked by Prosper, and while he was arming, Decius, a gallant officer, appeared and in the Tribune's name invited him to undertake the defence of the Porta Principalis Dextra with a cohort of the Twenty second Legion, which had already been ordered there.
"I will accompany you," said he.
"What is the matter? The Barbarians? Are they attacking?"
"Don't you hear them?"
"Yes, of course I do! On which side?"
"On all sides!"
"I will hasten." With these words Ausonius, putting on his helmet, left the tent.
"What is the Tribune's decision?" he asked as they turned to the right into the nearest street. "To make a sally?"
"No! To remain in the camp. It will be defended to the last. There is too great a superiority in the force outside." With these words the two officers reached the legionaries and, followed by them, soon gained the eastern gate of the camp. From here Ausonius sent Prosper to protect Bissula, but also to watch that she did not escape.
Meanwhile Saturninus had convinced himself that, for the moment, no pressing danger threatened the northern or Prætorian Gate, and hurrying down the steps inside the wall, he exchanged, his part of warrior for that of Commander. Gathering his officers about him in the open space at the foot of the wall, about a hundred paces north of the pine-tree of the earth-goddess, he curtly issued swift commands. "Let all the horsemen dismount and fight on the walls, except the first squadron of mailed riders; but these are not to dismount--do you hear?--on pain of death, under any pretext. All the riderless horses must be led to the Porta Decumana; for if a sally should be made, or"--he added in a lower tone so that only his officers could hear--"if it should be necessary to leave the camp, we shall go to the south to aid Nannienus. If he be not attacked himself, he will instantly assail the Barbarians in the rear at that gate."
"Help at the Porta Principalis Sinistra!" entreated a horseman dashing from the west.
Saturninus turned to speak to the messenger and, in doing so, turned his back to the pine-tree; but he had scarcely addressed a few words to the man, when a centurion standing behind the General uttered a cry of terror and seized him by the arm: "Look around you, Tribune! There! By the pine-tree! The earth is trembling; the abyss is opening; the altar stones have sprung apart!"
Just at that moment the Barbarians' war-cry: "Odin! Odin! Alemanni!" rang out in the midst of the camp, and Saturninus's face blanched as he saw a gigantic figure in a white helmet, near the pine-tree, strike down with his long spear a Celtic archer, who, shrieking, tried to escape. Three, six, eight, twelve Barbarians had risen from the earth. With a cry of savage fury the brave Roman rushed toward the giant. But he could not reach him, his own soldiers threw him down.
It was a body of the Celts, hot-blooded, brave in assault, but easily disheartened after an unfavorable turn. They saw the foe in the midst of the camp; only a few had noticed whence they came or how small at first was their number. Seized with panic, many throwing away their weapons, they fled in frantic terror.
"Treason! Treason! The enemy is in the camp!" With these shouts a whole troop of fugitives had flung themselves between the Duke and the Roman General. The latter instantly sprang to his feet again.
"Halt, you cowards," shouted the fearless Tribune, again trying to check with flashing sword, the mad rush of the fugitives. "Look around you. There is only a handful of the enemy. And where will you fly? Outside of the camp? Among the greatly superior number of the foe? Only these walls can save you!"
"To the ships! To Nannienus! Across the lake! To Arbor!"
"Then die, you coward!" he cried fiercely, striking down the nearest shouter, a standard bearer of the Celts; and tearing from the falling man the dragon standard, with its fluttering purple streamers, he swung it aloft, crying, "Roma! Roma!" and pressed forward.
For a moment he really succeeded in checking the fugitives. And now the bold little band of intruders was in the utmost peril; then Saturninus's attention was suddenly diverted to the top of the wall.
Many, many of its defenders had turned at the noise behind them, seen German helmets in the midst of the camp, heard the cries of terror from the Celts, and noticed their General himself rush into the midst of the fugitives. They believed that the camp had been taken from the opposite direction, and feared every moment that they would be attacked from the rear. So they leaped from the top of the wall in large numbers or came rushing down the stairs. The besiegers outside, hitherto held in check by a heavy shower of missies, suddenly saw whole ranks of the defenders vanish, whole stretches of the wall left empty and, with wild shouts, they climbed boldly and confidently up the ladders. When the Tribune looked up, the assailants were already springing from the wall in dense masses, hewing down the few Romans who had gathered around him, while the fierce giant's terrible spear struck down one after another.
Saturninus cast one more glance at the top of the wall: countless bands of Barbarians were appearing on it. Then, in a voice whose tones rang above the din of battle, he shouted the order: "Leave the camp! Follow this standard! To the Porta Decumana! Close ranks! If you open them, you will be lost!"
These words had their effect. Often had these soldiers proved that this solid closing of their ranks was the best, nay, the only means of repelling the assault of the Germans. The hope of reaching their comrades on the ships revived their courage; retreating toward the south, fighting as they marched, they followed their trusted leader.
The pursuers from the north and east pressed hotly upon them; but the Romans moving southward received considerable reënforcements from the east and the west, where the cross streets from both sides ran into the one extending from north to south--the Via Media. Meanwhile the troops defending the eastern and western gates had heard the war-cry of the Alemanni within the camp and the shouts of their own fugitives, and giving up the hopeless resistance, they thronged, according to a standing rule in the camp, into the long central street which led to the Porta Decumana, the gate assigned for the Roman line of retreat.
True, the troops from the western gate, where the assailants had already made considerable progress, poured down in great confusion; but Dedus and Ausonius led the legionaries of the Twenty-second Cohort from the eastern gate in good order. Saturninus saw the two leaders from the distance, but separated by the whole flood of marching men, they could not meet. So the columns, overtaken and pressed by the Barbarians only in the rear, gradually reached in better order the spot where the Via Principalis, near the Decumanian Gate, intersected the long central street leading to it. Here all the baggage, with many hundred carts and wagons, was piled together. Such a barricade, a valuable defence to German bands on the migrations, was the most dangerous obstacle and interruption to the Roman order of marching and fighting; for no matter whether the attempt to pass was made by going around or climbing over it, in either case the firmly closed ranks were broken into little groups, nay sometimes even separated into individual warriors, who were forced to press forward or climb over the wagons one behind another.
But the old Duke had not studied the plan of the camp in vain: he had noted accurately where the baggage, the carts and wagons were placed, and eagerly distributed all the bands of his men who poured toward him. They came from the three gates north, west, and east, which they had long since forced open, and they passed through the streets of the camp in such a manner, as they pressed forward in pursuit, that they pushed from all sides down the long and the cross streets upon the fugitives, just at this exact point.
In the midst of the intoxication of victory another joy filled the old leader's heart: delight in the progress which, within a single generation, the training in obedience had made in the subjection of his Alemanni to the military authority of their Duke.
The traditions of their forefathers and his own youthful experience contained many an instance in which Germans had lost a victory already won, because the conquerors, against their leader's commands, began, in unbridled lust for booty, to plunder the captured camp. They would scatter themselves through tents and baggage wagons, each vying with his comrades, so that the Romans, little disturbed by pursuit, found the opportunity to assemble again and, with closed ranks, could wrest from the dispersed pillagers both camp and victory. So the old Commander could say to himself with proud delight: "They have learned something, through me--under me--ay, for love of me!"
Before the commencement of the assault he had proposed, for he could not command: "The camp and all its contents shall belong to the whole army, after the victory is won. When the morning sun shines down upon it, a division shall be made according to districts, families, and individuals. Whoever takes, in advance, even a vessel or a weapon shall be regarded as a thief who has robbed his people, and shall be hanged."
The bands had assented, and they loyally kept their word: not a man turned from the battle, or left the ranks to plunder, or even stooped to pick up the costly gold and silver articles which the slaves, flying from Ausonius's tent, had tried to hide, or perhaps steal. The slaves had soon thrown down these articles that they might not be hampered in their flight.
Obedient to Hariowald's orders, the Alemanni drove the fugitives from all directions toward the central street of the camp; so the confused torrent which, hitherto, had poured through many separate channels southward, was dammed by this obstacle and checked.
The first men, still running at full speed down the narrow side paths at the right and left, squeezed past the wide rows of carts, or, if not too much crowded by their neighbors, climbed over them; but both plans soon became possible only by the most violent struggles for precedence on the part of the fugitives, as the hundreds driven here and there by the Duke's followers rushed upon the closed ranks of the two leaders' orderly columns. These fugitives pressed forward with the strength of despair, especially after they perceived, with horror, that throwing down their weapons and surrendering did not save them from death.
"Woe, they are killing every one! Make way! Let us pass! They are murdering the prisoners!"
"No!" shouted the Duke to the nearest shrieker, "they are not murdering the prisoners, for they have none!" and struck him down.
Then the ranks which had remained closed began to waver. Saturninus succeeded in crowding past the wagons on the right and hastened onward toward the gate. The scene was brightly lighted by many blazing tents, into which the victors had flung faggots smeared with pitch and resin. At the corner of one of the cross streets Saturninus saw two of his beautiful large dogs, with torn bodies, lying one above the other, while he heard the others barking furiously, and at intervals the sound of fierce growling. The next instant he was pushed far forward by the men crowding behind him. He looked around for Ausonius, who had been mounted, and saw him on foot trying to climb over the barricade of wagons. He was making slow progress, and already, close upon this band of fugitives, the war-cry of the pursuers sounded nearer and nearer.
The Tribune ordered several pioneers whom he met to break a passage with their axes through the carts for Ausonius and the left column. The men did not obey willingly; they were reluctant to turn back, with the Decumanian Gate in sight, to meet the furious attack of the foe; but Roman military discipline and the habit of obedience to their honored General again conquered, so they went to meet Ausonius, while the Tribune hastened onward.
The rising flames, the echoing blows of the axes, accompanied by the ominous crash of splintering wood, urged the Tribune to still greater speed; this gate must not be opened from the outside if his last attempt to escape was not to fail. But scarcely had he reached the open space before it, when fresh cries of despair rose from the column at the left commanded by Ausonius. Before the pioneers had broken a passage to the Prefect, his men had been reached by the arrows and spears of the pursuers, and he himself, falling between two wagons, suddenly vanished from their eyes. Loud lamentations from his followers burst forth.
Then the pioneers turned and fled in the opposite direction; the Barbarians were threatening on the left, so they ran down one of the cross streets at the right which intersected the central one.
"Fly," called the foremost one, running directly past Herculanus, who was making desperate but fruitless efforts to tear with his unchained hands the solid oak-block from the earth or to release his feet from the small holes and iron clamps. "Fly! Ausonius has fallen!"
"Ausonius is dead!" shouted the second; throwing away his heavy axe, which impeded his flight. It fell near the prisoner, who, without heeding the violent pain which the movement caused to his strained feet and bruised ankles, stretched both arms toward it. Triumph! He could reach it. At least he could touch the handle with the tips of his fingers, draw it slowly nearer, then at last seize and drag it to his side.
One of Ausonius's slaves, who had been wounded by an arrow, limped along more slowly. "Oh, my kind master, Ausonius! He has fallen. He is dead."
"Dead?" cried Herculanus, "are you sure he is dead?"
But the fugitive had not heard, or did not wish to hear him--he had already moved on to Davus.
"Help me!" wailed the latter. "Don't leave me here to burn--or to fall into the hands of the Barbarians!"
"Miserable murderer!" was the only answer. The fugitive had already disappeared around the corner.
Meanwhile Herculanus, seizing the sharp axe with both hands and bending downward, dealt blows with all his strength upon the oak-block which held his feet, just between the two holes pierced from the top to the bottom. At last the solid wood parted, breaking open the holes; two more blows severed the shackles which bound his feet to the two halves. The prisoner was free. Yet it was only with difficulty and severe pain that he could use his legs, stiffened by sitting still so many hours and swollen by the pressure on the bones. But the desire to live, the hope of escape, conquered the pain: he walked, at first very slowly, toward Davus, who had watched him enviously.
"Help me out too. You, you alone, have brought me to this."
"Yes, traitor, I'll help you out," cried the other, with an angry laugh. Cleaving the slave's skull with the axe, he ran on more quickly, his limbs becoming more supple at every step, toward the western end of the cross street; for the noise from the east grew louder and louder.
The conflagration did not extend to this part of the camp. He glided into a tent and hid himself, for he still had cause to fear his own countrymen almost as much as the Barbarians. Here he found a short dagger, like those worn by the Thracians, which he thrust into his belt; he then put down the long-handled heavy axe, which had burdened him while running.
Ausonius dead! Perhaps all who knew of that incident were dead too! He could not shake off the thought while peering cautiously between two folds of the tent, watching for a way of escape between Romans and Barbarians.
Herculanus was mistaken: Ausonius was not slain. In the attempt to leap from one cart to another he had fallen between them and slightly hurt his foot. But Decius and some legionaries of the Twenty-second Cohort had helped him up again and taken him at once to the Decumanian Gate. Here, meanwhile, the Tribune had quickly made his arrangements, gathering the fugitives arriving singly around a body of his Illyrians, to whom he also entrusted the standard.
"Where is the ala of mailed riders whom I ordered here, forbidding them to dismount? We need them now at the head of the sortie."
"Alas, Tribune, in the turmoil, in the pressure on the gate and the walls, we all dismounted and fought on foot. Our horses are gone; they dashed down the side streets."
"This is Herculanus's discipline of his men! So--we have no horsemen. Well then, the spears to the front! The wounded in the centre! Here, Ausonius, behind my troop! There. Draw back the bolts; throw the gate open. We will fight our way through to the ships. Forward! On!"
Then the gate, hitherto so firmly defended, its right wing half shattered, the left half burned, opened from within, and the Romans, summoning their last strength, led by their able General in person, and stimulated to a final supreme effort by his example and the prospect of safety, burst out of the camp. The shock was terrible, and the effect of the unexpected attack upon the Barbarians was very great. All who had been standing on the narrow strip of ground between the gate and the ditch were hurled into it. Adalo was not among the number; he had gone back for a moment to direct the preparation of a bridge of logs which was to lead directly to the gate; then he intended to have his men run across with beams to batter the already weakened timbers and break it down completely. So he escaped the fall into the ditch, which Sippilo shared, but as in the plunge from the wall, uninjured. The boy climbed nimbly up the southern side. He had lost the helmet in his first tumble, but held fast to his spear and shield this time too.
For a moment, it is true, it seemed as if the Romans, as soon as they had passed through the gate and obtained a view of the lake, would disperse again in fresh terror; for meanwhile the attack on the ships and the camp below had apparently succeeded.
Hitherto the defenders on the walls had waited longingly for Nannienus, and looked in vain over the Barbarians and their flaring pitch torches toward the lake. But now that they had reached the open country outside the camp, they saw a vast conflagration on the shore. Surrounded by the tumult of the battle raging immediately about them, they had been unable to hear the noise of the conflict which had commenced below half an hour before; but they now perceived all that Saturninus had long since concluded by the absence of his brave friend: the fleet itself was being most hotly assailed.
"The ships are burning! The camp is in flames! Our last refuge is gone!" With these shouts, many sprang from the closed ranks, fled, and were instantly overtaken by the Germans and struck down before their comrades' eyes.
"You see how fugitives fare!" cried Saturninus. "Keep your ranks closed if you want to save your lives. March in close order to the lake, and we shall save ourselves and our friends."
This was a ray of encouragement, and the whole body followed their brave leader, who was the first man to climb up the southern side of the ditch. As soon as he reached the top his own name, shouted loudly from the ranks of the Barbarians, fell upon his ear.
"Where is Saturninus, the General of the Romans?" called a voice in Latin.
Brightly illumined by the flames of the burning camp, a leader of the Germans, in the richest armor, pressed forward before his men. A boar-helmet covered his head; a gray-bearded attendant held before him a long shield on which he caught two well-aimed Roman spears at once.
"Where is Saturninus? I must find him!" repeated the German, springing forward again and felling the nearest Thracian with his battle axe.
"Here," answered the Tribune. "But this is no time to negotiate."
"No, but to die!" shouted Ebarbold, his battle axe crashing upon the huge curved shield of the Roman. It entered it without injury to the bearer.
The King vainly struggled to draw out the weapon, it remained motionless, and already the Roman's short, murderous broad sword was quivering for the fatal stroke, when the gray-haired shield-bearer sprang between them and threw the shield before his master.
But the Norian iron penetrated the boar hide and the wooden frame of the shield to the old man's left breast. He fell on his back, borne down by the weight of the blow.
Meanwhile Ebarbold had dropped the handle of the battle axe, drawn the long unwieldy sword at his side, and swung it above the proud crest of the Roman General's helmet; but before it fell, the short Roman sword, red with the blood of the shield-bearer, pierced his throat and he sank dying by the old man's side. "You--with me--for me!" he could say no more.
"Did you think I would desert you? The King of the Ebergau must not enter Odin's hall unattended. You shall not enter the door of Valhalla unattended like some man of low degree. We--have--both--kept our word--and together--with the honor of heroes we will go to Valhalla."
Ebarvin's head sank on the shoulder of his King. Both were silent in death.
The Illyrian had sprung forward over the bodies of the two Germans--first hewing off with his sword the handle of the battle axe still sticking in his shield--amid the wild, exulting shouts of his countrymen who had witnessed the struggle. But the men of the Ebergau were dismayed by their leader's fall; they hesitated--stopped--yielded.
"Forward, down to the lake!" shouted the Tribune. "You see they are giving way." It was a dangerous moment; for, confused by the retreat of the Ebergau men, the band next behind them was wavering.
"Stand, men of the Linzgau!" shouted a clear, resonant voice, and a youth with golden-brown locks fluttering around his handsome head forced a passage through the Alemanni and Romans toward the Tribune.
But the Romans had neither the inclination nor the habit of letting their General fight single combats with the Barbarian princes. A gigantic Illyrian stepped from the left of the ranks in front of his leader and aimed his spear at the youth's face. But the weapon did not fly; before he could hurl it a German boy leaped from below against the warrior, and thrust his little spear into the arm-pit, now unprotected by his suit of mail. He fell with a loud cry.
"I thank you, little brother!" exclaimed Adalo and now, pressing close upon Saturninus, he called to him in Latin: "Where is Bissula?"
But the Roman General had no thought to give to a Barbarian girl; the recollection of the captive had darted only once through his brain with the speed of lightning, when he heard her she-bear growling in the camp. He made no reply, except to wave the sword still dripping with Ebarbold's blood.
The Adeling's spear flew; Saturninus caught it on his shield; but being burdened by the long lance, this was now so difficult to manage that he let it fall, and sprang with a well-aimed sword thrust toward the youth, who had instantly drawn his short battle-axe from his girdle. Each was so furiously resolved to fell the other, that neither thought of his own defence. So both struck, and both fell.
With his utmost strength--and it was great--the German had aimed at his adversary's forehead: the latter involuntarily bowed his head, putting the helmet forward, but the terrible stroke cleft this best work of the Roman armorers at Trier, and pierced through the bronze and the double leather of the lining to the skull. The helmet was found afterwards; and this "Suabian stroke" was long celebrated in the hall of the stag's antlers. But the lord of the hall seemed destined never to return to it, but to follow Ebarbold and Ebarvin; for, at the same time, the Roman's sword had penetrated the wooden shield of the German and cut deep into his left shoulder.
Sippilo caught his brother's drooping head; several attendants grasped his feet, and thus they bore him swiftly out of the battle.
Decius, springing from Ausonius's side, now took command of the Romans. But he could no longer maintain order in the ranks. At their leader's fall under Adalo's terrible blow the column scattered in a wild flight down the hillside. The foremost ones, who had witnessed the duel, dispersed to the right and left. The rear ranks still held firm, but now they received an attack from behind, from the camp, and all was over. This attack was led by Duke Hariowald. At last--far too late for his battle fury--he, too, had crossed the camp and reached the Porta Decumana.
The greatest obstacle to the pursuit was now what had formerly been the principal cause of the hesitation, confusion, and dispersion of the retreating Roman troops: namely, the luggage, the barricade of wagons. Behind it, that is, between it and the lake gate, numerous Romans, especially the German mercenaries, the Batavians, who were accustomed to such methods of fighting, had again made a stand; and much time was consumed before the Duke, by means of fire, axe-blows, and bloodshed, forced a passage through it. He had at once sent bodies of his men through the cross streets leading to the right and left; to go round the obstacle and attack the defenders on both flanks. Herculanus had watched, in mortal terror, from his hiding-place in the tent, the Alemanni dashing down these cross streets. Many rows of tents were already blazing; others were blocked with piles of luggage and tent equipage left behind. It was long before the Duke and his men, breaking their way through the citadel of wagons and driving its last defenders before them, reached the Decumanian Gate; but then with his whole body of troops, intoxicated by their victory, he fell upon the rear of the Romans commanded by Decius.
All was lost. Decius succeeded in holding together only one very small band of Illyrians, scarcely twenty men. These, with their wounded General and Ausonius in their midst, burst through the ranks of the Linzgau men, who for some time were occupied with the care of Adalo, and fled directly south toward the lake. It was evident that the only hope of escape was by the ships, for swift destruction was overtaking all the fugitives, who scattered and fled to the right and left, the east and west. Without leadership or direction, only keeping in general toward the lake, they ran singly, in pairs, and in groups. Most of them, in the darkness of the night, floundered into the marshes, where, ignorant of the fords or the few higher portions, they sank, and were either drowned or cut down by their pursuers.
As soon as Hariowald reached the open ground he heard of the King's fall, to which he listened with a silent nod, and--from Sippilo's lips--of the Adeling's wound.
"Severe?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In the shoulder; cut completely through."
"H'm!--Was he carried to his hall?"
"Yes."
"Take the blind old dame Waldrun to him at once from the Holy Mountain. She knows the strongest herbs, and she also knows when and how they must be gathered, without impatience or rough handling."
"She is already waiting at his hall."
"How did that happen?"
"She dreamed last night that this battle would end in victory, but that she nursed my brother, who lay in her lap, sorely wounded. She insisted that the Sarmatian should lead her to our hall before the battle began. 'I will wait there for the wounded man,' she said."
"But you are bleeding, too, my lad; there, in the arm."
"A spear grazed me. It isn't much."
"Enough for the first time! You are surely tottering."
"An arrow--in the calf of my leg--but it didn't go deep."
"You can scarcely stand. Go home at once, do you hear? I, command it by the oath of loyalty to the Duke. Waldrun will have a healing herb for you, too. Go!"
Assuming the direct leadership of the bands formerly commanded by Ebarbold and Adalo, the Duke spread his whole force into the widest possible front, to inclose the fugitives, and gave only one order: "Drive them into the lake!" The command was received with shouts of exultation, and faithfully obeyed. Hariowald had swung himself upon one of the numerous riderless horses dashing through and around the camp; his men eagerly followed his example, and thus the pursuit became a wild chase on horseback and on foot down the descent from the heights to the lake.
The blazing camp behind, and the blazing ships before them, cast a terribly beautiful, flickering light over the savage, warlike scene. But already, though still very dim, another light was stealing where the red glare of the torches and the burning tents did not penetrate. The night was no longer perfectly dark. Far away, in the extreme east, dawn was glimmering; for more than two, almost three hours of the September night had passed in the battle around the camp since the criers had announced the second hour after twelve.
Meanwhile Bissula had recovered consciousness. The loud summons of the tubas, giving the signal for the sally of the Romans, had roused her. Raising herself in her hiding-place behind the beams and planks which, piled one above another to the height of a man, completely concealed her, she peered through the openings between them. Her heart throbbed with joy as she saw the lake gate, hitherto so impenetrably and inexorably closed against her, now standing wide open. Cautiously, crouching like a kitten that tries to escape the hand outstretched to seize it, she glided to the western corner of her hiding-place and looked out at the gate.
Yet, ardently as she longed for liberty, and familiar as was the fearless daughter of the forest by the lake with all the perils and horrors of the primeval woods and the waves, she was but a girl, and had never before witnessed the terrors of murderous battles. But now Bissula saw the bloody scenes, of which, hitherto, she had only heard from her uncle or some bard at a feast celebrating a victory: she saw, and trembled.
By the light of the two wings of the gate, now blazing furiously, the torches of the Romans, and the bundles of faggots hurled among the tents by the Alemanni, she saw close at hand, beyond the ditch, the bloody, murderous conflict. She saw the meeting between the Romans, as they burst from the camp, and the assailing bands of her own people; saw things which sent a thrill of horror through every vein.
Trembling in every limb she sank down, as though paralyzed, on a pile of lumber behind her, and gazed with dilated eyes, through the gate at the terrible spectacle, from which, with all its horrors, she could not avert her gaze, or even lower her eyelids. Suddenly she saw Saturninus, then he vanished, hidden by his Illyrians, then reappeared, far in the van. She recognized the King of the Ebergau,--he had given her a clasp at the last spring festival,--then she saw him fall backward without rising again. The little figure at his side, with fair curls floating around his uncovered head, was Sippilo. So the plunge from the wall had not injured him.
Then a gigantic Illyrian, swinging a blazing torch,--a terrible weapon,--approached him from the side. The boy did not see the brand uplifted above him; Bissula, forgetting all danger to herself, shrieked loudly. Then the soldier sank. For an instant she saw, by the glare of the torch, Adalo, who had rescued his brother, and she rejoiced at the spectacle, but the torch went out as its bearer fell. The brothers vanished from her sight. Directly afterwards she heard in loud, wailing tones the cry of many voices: "Adalo! alas for Adalo! alas for the Adeling!"
Horror and anxiety for her friend made her heart sink: she could get no further glimpse of him. And, from the camp behind her, a fresh uproar arose, which swiftly drew nearer. It was Hariowald, now with his men driving the last Batavians (Bissula recognized Rignomer) from the fortress of wagons, and the scattered Romans flying down all the streets through the Decumanian Gate. She attempted to join the pursuing Alemanni, but their arrows and spears flew close about her; a stone from a sling fell crashing against a beam above her head and, terrified, she threw herself face downward on the ground and let the dangerous stream of foe and friend roar past her into the distance.
The camp soon became still, absolutely still. Outside the gate, too, the din of battle swept very swiftly down the hill toward the lake. Bissula rose again and looked through the gate. In the distance she saw, though indistinctly, the surging ranks pour down the slope; she could scarcely distinguish the figures, but her people's shouts of victory rang loudly in her ears. A rush of joy filled her heart and she cried exultingly: "Victory! Liberty! Hurrah!" But the next instant she said to herself reproachfully: "And Ausonius! And brave Saturninus! Alas! and Adalo!"
Her grief, her terrible anxiety for her lover drove her from her hiding-place even more powerfully than the longing for her liberation, and she resolved to venture across the dreaded battlefield, lately so full of uproar, now so horribly silent. The camp was deserted. At least it seemed so, as Bissula, stealing cautiously around the corner of the barricade, looked in every direction. She thought, too, of the faithful bear: "Bruna! Here, Bruna!" she called up the streets of the camp as loudly as she could; but no Bruna came. Though the burning tents still gave light enough, she saw no upright figure near, either of friend or foe. Only on the ground, here and there, some movement still remained.
A dead Celt lay directly across one of the streets, his helmet on his head and the spear still in his rigid hand. With horror--she had never before witnessed death, being only a few years old when she lost her parents--she cautiously stepped over the broad mailed breast, holding up her garments that they might not brush against the corpse. "Three bounds," she thought, "and I shall reach the gate." She had already raised her foot for a swift run, when a groan behind her reached her ear. Involuntarily, though shaken by fresh fear, she looked around. Terrible things exert a strange compulsion which at the same time attracts and repels. A Roman severely wounded lay a few steps behind her, his head resting on a tent-pole, his right arm propped on the ground, and his left pressed against the gaping wound in his breast. He must have seen the girl, for, instead of moaning, he now called, in Latin, "Water, oh, pray give me some water!"
Bissula shrank in fear; besides, she dreaded to turn from the liberty beckoning outside the gate to go back into the camp. But her woman's heart conquered the terror, and she glanced around her to see if she could find means to quench the sufferer's thirst. Then her eyes fell on one of the huge tuns which, according to Roman camp regulations, always stood filled with water beside each gate. It was so high that she could scarcely look into it, but she pulled herself to the top with both hands and saw that there was plenty of water inside. But where was she to find a cup? All sorts of utensils lay scattered around, but neither goblet nor vessel.
Then a thought flashed through her mind which at first made her shudder. But she bravely conquered the girlish fright, went to the dead Celt, loosed, with trembling fingers, the iron band which fastened the helmet under his chin, drew it carefully, tenderly, as if the dead could feel, from his head, then hastened to the cask, half filled it, and carried it with both hands, the long horse-hair of the crest trailing on the ground. She walked slowly, that she might not spill too much, to the groaning man, who watched her movements with glassy eyes and opened his mouth eagerly. Kneeling by his side, she held the helmet sideways to his bearded lips. He drained it to the last drop, and with a long sigh of relief, laid his head back on the pole and said, with an effort:
"Are you a Christian?"
The girl shook back her red locks defiantly: "Freya and Frigga protect me."
"No matter," replied the dying man, "Christ, the Saviour, girl, will reward you for this drink!"
Bissula rose slowly, her glance rested upon the nearest street of tents to the left and, with a sharp cry of terror, she dropped the helmet and ran as swiftly as she could, toward the gate. For, down that street, brightly illumined by the blaze of the burning tents, she saw, stealing toward her, crouching like a beast of prey, with a dagger in his hand,--Herculanus.
Hitherto Herculanus had remained concealed from both Romans and Germans in the tent on the cross street where he had sought refuge. Now everything around had become so still that he might have supposed the camp to be deserted, but the cautious fugitive probably would not have left the tent yet if the fire, and still more the smoke, of the consuming leather had not driven him away. Peering timidly between the folds, he glided out, and his first glance fell upon the hated girl to whom he believed he owed his downfall. With a short, half stifled cry of savage delight in vengeance, he sprang toward her, the quivering dagger uplifted, when he saw that he was discovered. But Bissula had a good start; he was obliged to pass the fifty paces of the cross street before reaching the corner tent where she had just been kneeling, and his aching feet would not permit him to follow as fast as his hate desired.
Meanwhile Bissula fled like a hunted deer down the central street to the gate; there she glanced back. Alas, he must have guessed the direction of her flight, for he also ran toward the gate and saw her pass out into the open country. He followed.
At first hate and revenge urged him recklessly on. But now, after obeying these impulses, he said to himself while running:
"Ausonius is dead; I am his heir. And perhaps the few others who knew of the incident died, too, in this hour, like Davus; only the Barbarian girl lives. Has he, meantime, made her his heiress? Hardly! And even if it were so, the will has probably burned with the other things in the camp; and even if it should be saved, what harm can it do, if the person named as heiress also perishes during this night of universal slaughter? However that may be, she shall not--must not live."
He too had reached the gate. The gray dawn of day was already diffusing sufficient pale light for him speedily to discover the flying figure on the opposite side of the ditch; her white garments and fluttering red locks betrayed her when the wind bore the glare from the burning camp in her direction.
Herculanus leaped into the ditch, but uttered a cry of pain, and fell: his feet were too lame. Climbing and dragging himself up with his hands, with great difficulty and keen suffering he succeeded in reaching the southern side of the trench. The fugitive had gained a longer distance in advance. The Roman perceived this with furious rage and, battling with the pain, forcing his reluctant feet to bear him onward, he redoubled his efforts to overtake her.
Bissula was doubtless greatly terrified when, after passing through the gate into the open country, she again saw flames rising before, as well as behind her, and heard the din of the raging battle. She had learned from Prosper the arrival of the ships and the camp made by the lake, so she understood that the conflict was probably now roaring around the galleys. Yet she unhesitatingly obeyed the impulse which led her away from Herculanus straight down to the lake; there, though she would once more encounter the horrors of war, she would surely find her own people.
So she ran directly down the hill, always watching sharply to see if she could not distinguish one of the Alemanni on her way. But the men whom she met were not Alemanni; they were Romans, and lay dead or dying on the earth. Once she was startled by a horse that dashed across her path; trembling, she hid herself behind a clump of bushes; but the steed bore no rider. Two, four, six masterless animals followed the first, but neither Romans nor Alemanni, who might have threatened or protected her, were visible far or near: flight and pursuit had long since swept down to the lake. A furious struggle was still raging below.
She was forced to stop a moment, her heart was beating so violently. Looking back from the bushes, she saw a dark figure, now plainly visible in the light of morning, still swiftly chasing her; nay, it seemed as though, behind the first, a second pursuer had rushed from the camp or risen from the ground.
Again she ran forward, confidently hoping to reach her people by the lake before she was overtaken; for the child of the forest was skilled in running and had a considerable start. But, after a few steps, fresh terror seized her: she again heard, this time directly behind her, the hoofbeats of a horse. At first she hoped it was another riderless charger, but it followed directly upon her track, and she now heard, in the language of the foe, all sorts of cries urging the animal on. A frightful thought darted through her brain. At any cost, she must turn to see whether--
Yes, her fears were verified. Herculanus had caught one of the horses that crossed his path, thrown himself upon it, and was now pursuing the girl, who was using the last remnant of her strength to fly. She distinctly heard the heavy feet splash through the marshy pools of the meadow land; heard, alas! louder and louder, therefore nearer and nearer, the fierce shouts of the rider and the trampling of hoofs winged by his excitement. The space which separated them grew shorter and shorter very rapidly. Mortal terror overwhelmed Bissula; she remembered how the cruel Roman had tried to kill her in the forest hut like an animal slain for sacrifice.
In this approach of death one name, one only sprang to her lips. "Adalo!" she shrieked, "Adalo! Help, save me, save Bissula!"
Vain appeal! No human being was visible far or near. No answer came.
There was no fighting on the strip of shore toward which she was running, only far out on the lake blazing Roman galleys were floating, pursued by the little boats of the Alemanni.
The terrible horse was already very near. She could hear the snorting of the animal as it was urged forward with blows of the heels, shaking of the bridle, and shouts, to more and more frantic speed. Then--oh, rescue!--she saw in the gray light of morning, close to the shore, hidden among the rushes, two boats of the Alemanni side by side. Those were certainly no Roman vessels: there was neither triangular sail nor lofty prow. Bissula even fancied that she distinguished on one the sixteen-branched antlers, Adalo's house-mark. Yes, yes, there it was; it was his fishing boat, and several men were bending to the oars. She called loudly several times: "Help, Alemanni, help for Bissula!"
Oh, joy! They had heard her voice. The men were rowing with all their might; both boats were flying toward the shore to meet her. And then, more joy: she heard behind her a loud cry and a dull, heavy fall with a splashing noise. She could not help looking back.
Yes, the horse, urged beyond its strength by the pitiless rider, had fallen; it lay on its side, lashing out savagely with its hoofs. But alas! Bissula had rejoiced too soon. The rider had sprung up unhurt and was now running toward her--only a few steps away, brandishing his dagger. The second pursuer appeared from behind the horse. And the boat was still several ship's lengths out upon the lake. Without hesitation the girl leaped into the water, waded as long as she could touch the bottom, then with a strong push from the ground, spread out her powerful white arms, well practised in the art, and swam toward the nearest boat.
No girl on the northern shore excelled Bissula in swimming; but the long flowing folds of her robe hampered her, winding about her feet as soon as they were wet and preventing her from aiding the strokes of her arms with those of the lower limbs. And, horror! splashes behind her announced that her pursuer, or two of them, had followed her into the lake, for she thought she twice heard a plunge or a heavy fall. This fear paralyzed the last remnant of her strength; her arms also refused to obey her will; she sank with her face low in the water.
Once more she raised herself from it; then she felt her pursuer seize her long robe and drag her toward the land; but at the same instant his grasp relaxed; a shrill death-cry fell upon her ear, followed by a low, angry growl. Turning her head, she saw Herculanus sinking in the arms of a huge blackish-brown beast.
"Bruna!" she called again; then her senses seemed to fail. There was a strange roaring in her ears; the water filled her nose, mouth, and ears, and she sank.
Just at that moment four strong arms seized her by the shoulders, and the white hands flung high out of the waves for the last time. With great, but tender strength she was lifted into the boat. Then she opened her eyes: Ausonius and Saturninus stood before her. She shrieked aloud in the anguish of the keenest disappointment; her eyelids closed, her senses failed, and faintness overwhelmed her.