The Duke had already taken the roll of papyrus from the boy's hand and spread it open on the table. His eye sparkled with the joy of victory.
"What do I read here? 'Four squadrons of mailed horsemen at the Porta Decumana, all the baggage also piled at the Porta Decumana.
"'The wall eight feet high.
"'The ditch five feet deep.
"'The weakest point the corner in the northwest'--and so it continues for a long time!
"Thanks to thee, god of wishes. Thou hast sent this, no one else, to thy sons. Look here! A plan of the entire camp! Exact: all the measurements. And here, marked on the margin, the strength of all the troops horsemen, foot-soldiers, carters; and their distribution in the camp. Look here, Adalo! Even the great pine, the tree of the earth-goddess, is noted. What is this beside the tree? What stands there above the stones of sacrifice which cover the turf near the tree? A tent, empty, without soldiers, filled with provisions!
"In this page I hold victory. Go now, Zercho: your reward shall be paid. As I promised, I will buy your freedom, whatever sum your master, Suomar, may ask: he cannot give it to you, his lands are not large, and you are his most valuable property."
"O mighty, generous lord, I thank you!"
"Then you can return, a free man, to your own people, to Sarmatia. That will be your wish?"
But Zercho shook his unkempt head. Tears filled his eyes: "No," he said. "I will stay here, my lord, if Suomar will let me keep the little patch of ground I have always tilled--I had to give him only the twelfth sheaf from it--and the hut of woven willow branches by the lake. I would rather stay."
"Strange! Do you feel no longing for your home, your own people?"
"Home! We Sarmatians have none like yours, you patient, plough-guiding men, which you occupy beside the immovable hearthstone, rooted to the earth. Our home is the steppe, the broad, free steppe, which can be measured neither by the eye nor the steed. Ah! it is beautiful." The man's eyes sparkled, and suddenly Zercho, usually so dull and taciturn, was overwhelmed by an enthusiasm which, to the listeners' astonishment, gave his words wings. "Yes, it is more beautiful, more magnificent than all the Roman and German lands I have ever seen. When, in the spring, the sun has kissed away the last snow; when the moor laughs; when the steppe blossoms; when by day hundreds of hawks scream at once in the blue air, and the wild stallions, which have never borne a rider, neigh so terribly and dash so furiously past the tents, trampling over everything in their path as they pursue the trembling mares, till the heart of the boldest man might quiver with fear and yet also with joy at sight of such fierce, uncurbed strength! And oh, the nights, when the thousands and thousands of heavenly spirits look down from above, far, far more star-gods, shining far more brightly than here with you; and when, in the darkness, the cranes and wild-swans pass like thick clouds--for there are so many that they cast shadows in the moonlight--like resonant, clanging clouds high in the air!
"Doubtless the steppes of Sarmatia are more beautiful than any other lands and the lives of the Jazyges on their swift steeds are freer than other lives. But Zercho--Zercho no longer suits the steppe. I am like the bird, the wild bird of the moor, which boys keep for years in a small cage where it cannot spread its wings. If it is set free, nay, flung into the air, it drops down and lies still; it can no longer fly, it has forgotten how. So, toiling with the plough for many years and staying in one place has fettered me. Zercho can no longer ride as the Jazyges ride, vying with the wind; Zercho can no longer sleep every night on a different patch of earth and, if there be nothing better to eat, catch locusts and lizards. I am used to grain and bread, the fruit of the lands I have ploughed myself. I have no wish to leave them. And my family? I saw them all--all six--die before my eyes in one night, the terrible night when the faithless Romans--those slayers of the people, those murderous wolves!--suddenly attacked our encampment with the round, straw-thatched huts, by the Tibiscus, during an armistice. The bright blaze of the hurdles lighted them well in their work of slaughter. My father killed, my mother hurled into the flames of the straw tent, my two sisters--oh, horrible!--tortured to death, my two brothers leaping into the stream which flowed red with blood! And I--I saw it all, stretched before the hut, my head cleft by a sword stroke, defenceless, motionless. So I lay the whole starlit night, asking the thousand gods above there: 'Why? Why? Why?' But, when day dawned, the slave dealers who, like the ravens of the air and the wolves of the steppe marshes, follow the Romans on every battle-field, came and trod on all the Jazyges who lay there, to learn whether they were still alive. I quivered under their feet, was flung into a cart, and carried with them many, many days and weeks. At last the kind-hearted Suomar bought and rescued me. For never, though I was a bondman, did he call me 'dog,' like the dealers. He treated me like--like a human being. And when the little mistress grew up, Suomar's farm became my home. And I will stay down in the willow hut beside the lake as a free man, so long as I live, if I am allowed to do so. And when Zercho's death hour comes, the little red sprite (for we must rescue her, Adeling, and we will) shall close my eyes with her hand, and then they shall bury me in the open country, in the pastures by the lake. The cranes will pass over me at night with rustling wings and clanging cries, high in the air, and I shall hear it under the thin covering of turf and, in my death sleep, dream that I am lying in the blossoming, fragrant steppe grass."
He stopped. His cheeks were flushed; his ugly face was transfigured; never in his whole life had he uttered so many words at once.
The Duke held out his hand, saying: "No, Zercho, you are no dog. You have a heart, almost like the Alemanni's. Different, it is true, but not evil."
Adalo said nothing, but he clasped the bondman's other hand and pressed it warmly. Sippilo turned away: he did not want to let any one see his eyes.
"You have a lucky hand, boy," cried the Duke. "I can read your wishes in your eyes. Yes, you shall share the battle for the victory which your bold artifice has done so much to win."
Sippilo rushed to the old Commander-in-chief and clasped both his hands: "You diviner and fulfiller of wishes! I can imagine Odin like you! Last autumn Adalo refused me the sword, because"--he hung his head--"because I could not pierce with my spear the willow-woven Hermunduri shield in our hall. Pshaw, I was only a child then; but at the spring festival I pierced the old Roman shield which Suomar gave me for a target."
"I had bored six holes in it and stopped them up again," Zercho whispered to the Duke; "but let him go. I'll protect him."
Hariowald dismissed the bondman and the lad.
"Well," urged Adalo vehemently, "in this sheet you hold in your hands the victory,--you said so yourself,--so let us fight at last."
But the Duke silently shook his head.
"Consider. 'Hasten' was her last word! Tonight?"
"No. What is one girl in comparison to a whole nation?"
"I beseech you! I implore you! You are my friend--my kinsman."
"I am Duke of the Alemanni."
"Well then," cried Adalo, deeply incensed, "delay. I will save her--I alone! There is a way, known only to myself and to you. I will use it."
He turned to rush from the tent, but quickly, with a threatening look, the old noble barred his way. "Stop, boy! Do not stir from this place. Will you rob your people of certain victory for the sake of a pair of blue eyes?"
"I will not rob them of it! I will only appear to-night in the Roman camp,--I alone,--and bear her out of it in these arms, or leave my life there."
"Whether you live or die, the secret will be discovered--the surest way to victory in our attack."
"You will conquer, with or without Adalo, in other ways. I will save the girl I love before it is too late."
He tried to force himself past the Duke, but the old man seized him by both shoulders with an iron grasp and forced him to stand.
"And I will accuse you before the popular assembly, like that treacherous king; I will have you hung between two wolves to a bough of the accursed withered yew."
"Do what you choose after I have saved her or died with her," cried the frantic youth, wrenching himself free. But, with unexpected strength, the old Duke flung him, reeling, back into the tent.
"I will have you bound hand and foot like a madman. You are mad. Freya has bewitched you. Hear it, Adalger, high in Valhalla: Adalo, your son, no longer heeds a hero's duty or manly honor. He must be bound with willow withes, with ropes, that he may not become base and destroy his people for a woman's sake."
Agitated, overpowered, crushed, Adalo sank prostrate, his hands clenched in his long locks, moaning: "Bissula--lost--lost!"
The Duke, unobserved, cast a keen sympathizing glance at the youth. He saw that he had convinced and conquered him.
Adalo went out, grave and thoughtful, to be alone with his grief.
* * * * *
In the course of the day a messenger secretly conveyed to the Roman camp a letter from Adalo, addressed to Saturninus and Ausonius. The young chieftain, on the pretext of inspecting the farthest outposts, had gone with his envoy from the top of the Holy Mountain through the whole seven fortifications encircling it to the last one at the foot, and then ridden with him into the forest which stretched between it and the Roman camp. Here he awaited the answer, his noble face pale and disfigured by the long mental conflict through which he had passed. When he heard in the distance the hoof-beats of the returning horse (evening had come, and the mountain peaks oh the opposite side of the lake were glowing with crimson light), he ran breathless to meet it.
"Well," he cried, "where is the answer to the letter?"
"They gave me no answer. Both the Roman generals--for I had them both called, as you ordered--read your letter before me with great, great astonishment. They talked together, with loud exclamations, in words I did not understand, not Roman ones. Then both turned to me, the older one, who was formerly in the country, speaking first: 'Tell your master the answer is: Never.' And the younger man added: 'Not even for this price.'"
Then Adalo suddenly fell prone like a young pine whose last prop above the last root has been cut by the axe. He had dropped face forward. The faithful attendant sprang from his horse, sat down on the grass, and took the senseless youth's head in his lap. Adalo lay unconscious a long time, fairly stupefied by grief. The stars were already shining in the sky, and the bats darting through the trees, when, panting for breath, he climbed the mountain.
"That was the last effort," he said to himself. "Nothing is left now except death--death in battle, not to save her, alas! only her corpse: for if shame be inflicted on her, she will not survive it."
But, eagerly as Saturninus watched for the galleys expected from Arbor, another was to learn their anticipated departure long before he knew of it. This was Duke Hariowald.
On a wooded hill, the hill of Zio, named the Geerebühl, east of the Holy Mountain, almost directly opposite to Arbor, a little band of Alemanni spies watched night and day, one, relieved every hour, gazing steadily across the lake at the Hill of Mercury, the nearest height south of Arbor on the southern shore of the lake.
The region around this harbor fortress, which was wholly under Roman rule, was inhabited by colonists of various tribes: among them many Alemanni whom capture, or voluntary surrender and removal, had led to the better-tilled, more richly cultivated southern shore.
At noon on the day of Adalo's secret message a slender, almost invisible column of smoke rose from the Hill of Mercury on the southern shore: instantly a thick grayish-black cloud of smoke ascended from the Geerebühl on the north shore. This was clearly seen from the eastern side of the summit of the Holy Mountain,--the Hill of Mercury wasnotvisible from it,--and one of the guards who constantly watched the Geerebühl, instantly rushed into the Duke's tent "Smoke is rising on Zio's Mountain! A high column of smoke."
Hariowald came out of his tent in full armor (during the past week he had scarcely removed it night or day), with his battle helmet on his noble head. This helmet was a very strange one: whoever unexpectedly saw it gleam before him might well be startled.
In those days, as well as now, the great white owl was a rare visitor to Lake Constance. Scarcely once in a decade did this stranger from the far north go so far southwest in its migratory flight as the neighborhood of the Alps. Early in the winter of the previous year Adalo had brought down with his arrow a magnificent specimen of the superb bird of prey from a tall fir-tree in the forest by the lake, and given the huge bird with its gleaming snow-white plumage, marked only with a few rusty brown feathers in undulating lines on the breast, to his white-haired cousin as a splendid ornament for his helmet.
The owl now spread above the bronze head-piece its huge pinions which, though not stretched to their full width, extended more than three feet. It was not mounted as eagle and swan wings usually were, with the tips of the feathers toward the back of the helmet, but in the opposite way, turned forward, startling and confusing the spectator by the threatening attitude--a true helmet of terror, such as Odin wears when he rushes into battle at the head of his troops.
With this helmet and clad in full armor, the Duke came out of his tent and motioned to one of the heralds, who always waited his orders here. The man seized the long crooked horn of the aurochs, which hung ready on one of the posts of the tent, and sounded it three times. The summons echoed far and wide. Instantly the other heralds, carrying white-ash staffs in their hands, and wearing smaller horns hung by leather thongs over their shoulders, hurried down from the summit in every direction, through all the lines of the fortifications, bearing the Duke's summons to the most distant outpost.
The warriors flocked from all sides, fully armed, swiftly climbing the mountain; only the guards needed to protect the fords across the swamps, the barricades, and the narrow entrances to the ring walls remained behind. All pressed up the mountain and, as soon as they reached the summit, surged toward a giant ash-tree which, from the top of the loftiest mountain peak, thrust its branches into the clouds.
Close to its trunk a sort of judge's tribunal had been built of large stones; an oblong one rested like a back against the tree; another of the same height, laid across two blocks sunk in the earth, formed the seat.
Several stone steps led up to the high seat, and on them lay various weapons, among them one very plain shield and spear, with the runefe, corresponding to the LatinF. Then came a costly boar helmet, a richly ornamented bronze shield, covered with a boar's hide and, like the helmet, decorated with two boar's tusks outstretched defiantly; a sword in a costly sheath of polished linden wood, richly mounted with bronze; a sharp battle axe and a spear, the handles of both adorned and strengthened by gilded nails: these weapons bore as a house-mark drawings of two boar tusks. Last of all were a small, very light round shield, a short spear, and a dainty sword with a white leather belt painted with red lead: each of the three weapons bore as house-mark a stag's antlers.
The Duke had not yet taken his seat. Standing erect on the horizontal stone, with his spear in his right hand, he scanned the warriors flocking from every direction. A huge oblong shield, almost the height of a man, painted red, with black runes inscribed upon it, hung above his head on a bough of the ash.
The whole top of the peak around the tree was inclosed and girdled by "cords and staves"; that is, by hazel wands and spears, which--the latter with the iron points uppermost--stood thrust into the earth at distances of seven feet apart, and were bound together by linen bands almost a hand's breadth wide, knotted around the middle of the staffs, the red hue of the bands proclaiming that the popular assembly was to judge matters of life and death.
After the surging to and fro of the men pressing forward into the circle, the loud voices, and the clank of weapons had somewhat died away, the Duke raised his spear and struck with it three solemn strokes on the bronze shield. Instantly deep silence reigned. "The assembly is opened!" said Hariowald, and slowly took his seat, crossing one foot over the other.
Throwing back the long, full, dark-blue mantle, fastened by a clasp on the left shoulder, he rested his spear like a staff on his right shoulder, and raising his left hand with the fingers extended, said slowly:
"I, the Judge, I ask you for the law!I ask you, ye free men:Is this the hour and the place,To have and to holdA judgment righteousUpon noble Alemanni,The sons of victory--House and estate.Cattle and chattels,Money and lands,Peace and liberty,Body and life?Point out, ye men of knowledge,The law to the Judge."
"I, the Judge, I ask you for the law!
I ask you, ye free men:
Is this the hour and the place,
To have and to hold
A judgment righteous
Upon noble Alemanni,
The sons of victory--
House and estate.
Cattle and chattels,
Money and lands,
Peace and liberty,
Body and life?
Point out, ye men of knowledge,
The law to the Judge."
Two elderly men stepped forward, drew their swords, raised them toward heaven, and said with long pauses, the words of one always blending with those of the other:
"We will point out, as we know it,To thee, Judge, the law:This is the hour and the placeFor judgment righteous:On the conquered and inheritedAncient soil of the Alemanni,By the all-conquering sun'sClear, shining, ascending,Radiant light,Beneath the ancientAsh of our fathers,In Odin's temple,On cattle and chattels,Money and lands,Peace and liberty,Body and life,Justly we judgeAnd find, we free men,Sentence righteous."
"We will point out, as we know it,
To thee, Judge, the law:
This is the hour and the place
For judgment righteous:
On the conquered and inherited
Ancient soil of the Alemanni,
By the all-conquering sun's
Clear, shining, ascending,
Radiant light,
Beneath the ancient
Ash of our fathers,
In Odin's temple,
On cattle and chattels,
Money and lands,
Peace and liberty,
Body and life,
Justly we judge
And find, we free men,
Sentence righteous."
Both withdrew into the circle.
"Before we march forth to the battle against the foe," the Duke now broke the silence, "and we shall set out soon, very soon--"
Loud shouts of joy and rattling of weapons burst forth, which the old noble allowed to die away; then he continued:
"The popular assembly must first pronounce judgment and decide questions of justice and law. First on Fiskulf, the fisherman, from Rohr-Mos, the rush marshes. Where is the accuser?"
Adalo stepped forward hesitatingly.
"Here: I, Adalo, son of Adalger."
"Step to the right. Where is the defendant?"
"Here!" said a man in plain garments; he wore an old fishing net for a girdle. With head bent sorrowfully he came forward, lowering his eyes.
"What is your complaint?" asked the judge.
"Breaking the oath of military duty."
"That is a matter of life and death. Tell me the law: may Adalo, son of Adalger, make such a charge here?"
One of the two old men stepped forward again, and said:
"The assembly knows Adalo, the Adeling, as a free man of unblemished reputation: his estate is in the Linzgau: it would cover any charge of false accusation: he may make complaint in a matter of life and death."
At a sign from the judge the young noble began:
"I make the complaint reluctantly,--against my wish and will,--but my oath requires it. For when I took command of the men of the western shore of the lake, I was obliged to swear on the Duke's hand to denounce before the assembly any breach of his orders that might occur in my troop. So speak I must, for I fear to break the oath. You all know that the Duke forbade, on pain of death, the lighting of a fire by day or night in any of the boats where the fugitives from the country at first lay concealed among the rushes on the western shore: if the Romans, while passing, discovered by smoke or flame that there were people living in the wide marshy forests, all who were hidden there might be lost. When I set out, I repeated the Duke's command to all my men; Fiskulf was standing on my shield side. And yet, while the foe was passing along the shore he lighted a fire on the Pike Stone which rises above the reeds. True, it was daylight, but the smoke was visible. The nearest cohort had halted and was preparing to look for the fire, which I with difficulty put out in time to lull their suspicions. I must now accuse Fiskulf of this breach of orders."
He paused and drew back a step. A murmur of indignation ran through the ranks, blended with many a loud cry of anger and reproach.
"Silence, all! Silence in the circle, until I ask your judgment," shouted the Duke from his lofty stone seat, raising his spear aloft. "I forbid reproaches; I command peace. You, Fiskulf, what say you to the charge? Denial, or confession?"
"Confession," replied the fisherman sorrowfully. "It is as the Adeling said."
"You knew the command?"
"I knew it."
"You broke the command?"
"I broke it. Alas, I am so deeply ashamed. It was from hunger--but not to satisfy my own. We had lain hidden in the marshland forest for many nights; the stock of dried fish I had brought in the boat was exhausted. I repressed my hunger and chewed the tops of the young reeds. I would not have done it for myself; but my boy, who was with me (he had just recovered from the fever that lurks in the swamps, and he is only seven years old), cried so bitterly with hunger, begging and pleading: 'Father, father, give me something to eat!' It cut me to the heart! I speared a large pike that was sunning itself near the stone, cut it in pieces, and meant to give it to the child to eat. But loathing choked him: he only cried quietly and no longer entreated me. Then I rubbed two dry sticks together till I kindled a fire, broiled the fish on the top of the stone, and gave it to the boy to eat. I ate some myself, too."
"I was forced to accuse him," said Adalo. "But I entreat the assembly not to punish the man. No harm came from his act. A father--"
"Silence, Accuser," the judge interrupted. "You have made the complaint; he has confessed: you have nothing more to do here except to listen to the sentence. I ask: what may follow breaking an order given to the troops when the enemy is in the country? What? You are silent? The disobedience might destroy the whole nation. What? You refuse to point out the law," the old man went on indignantly. "Or do you gray-beards no longer know what the boys learn? Answer! Point out the law,--" he rose threateningly,--"or I will tear the shield of the assembly from the ash and complain to the gods: The Alemanni have forgotten the laws of their people! What is the punishment of treason and breaking the oath of service?"
"Death!" now rang forth in many voices.
"I knew it," said the fisherman quietly. "Farewell, countrymen. I wish you victory and prosperity."
But the Duke continued:
"What death must he die? By the willow-withe? By water? By the red stroke of the knife? Or by the red flame of burning branches?"
One of the two old men stepped forward again, saying: "By his deed he has offended Zio the war-god and Odin the giver of victory. Zio demands blood upon the stone of sacrifice; Odin's will is that he shall blow in the wind. Odin is the greater god and the father of Zio: the lesser yields to the greater; the son to the father. Odin's right is first: the oath-breaker is consecrated to Odin, He shall be hung by willow ropes under the chin, with his face toward the north, from the withered yew, a wolf at his right hand and a wolf at his left--the oldest symbols of quarrelsome, reckless lawbreakers."
"He is consecrated to Odin," the judge repeated solemnly--"if Odin desires him. We will ask the god."
All gazed in astonishment, the fisherman with a faint thrill of hope, at the old man, who now continued:
"It is dishonorable and shameful for the man to swing among the branches, between the sky and the mountain top. And hitherto he has been brave--only he could not be strong enough to bear the weeping of his child. He will die useless to his people, if he hang high aloft on the tree. Well then, we will ask Odin if, perchance, he will forgive him. You all, like the accuser himself, at first wished to let the act pass unpunished. That will not do. To the Lofty One we must offer his right; but--perhaps--he will not take it. I advise that Fiskulf shall venture upon a deed in which, for his people's welfare, he will fall, inevitably fall, unless Odin himself take pity on him and bear him away in his floating mantle."
"Speak, speak! What may I do?" cried the fisherman, with sparkling eyes. "All! All! Gladly will I die by the spear. Only not the rope of shame!"
"You shall be the first, in advance of all the others, to leap on the proudest Roman galley and--you understand how to kindle flames so well--set fire to its sails."
"Yes, yes! That he shall! Hail to the Duke!" shouted thousands of voices.
Fiskulf sprang forward to the judge's chair, lifted both hands to him, and cried: "I thank thee, Duke! Ay, thou knowest the will of Odin! The proudest Roman galley--the General's vessel in Arbor, is it not? Well: I do not yet know how I am to reach the ship on the other side of the lake; but I will die, or accomplish it."
"I will provide for that," said the Duke. "You need not go to the ship: Odin will bring the galley to you! Then do as I have told you."
"Gladly! Gladly! Oh, give me back my weapons!"
At a sign from the judge the heralds restored to him the spear and shield markedF, which lay on the stone steps, and he returned to the circle of his comrades, many of whom clasped his hand.
"A joyful duty now awaits you," the Duke began again: "a boy of noble family asks the bestowal of the sword, the first weapon granted. Many of us know him, and all who do, wish him well. True, the young hero is not very large; but I take my oath that I saw him yesterday pierce with his spear, at fifteen paces, a moderately thick linden-wood shield. And great was his courage, bold his daring when, dauntlessly risking his life and liberty, he scaled the wall of the Roman camp, brought back most important information and placed it in the Duke's hand."
"Who is it? Who is it?" asked many voices.
Adalo stepped forward, leading his brother by the hand: "Sippilo, my brave little brother."
Then the Duke spoke:
"I ask the assembly: Shall he receive the weapons? Is the young falcon fledged?" A pleasant smile illumined the face which could look so wrathful and threatening.
"Hail to him! Hail to the Adeling! Hail to the boy! Give him the weapons."
Sippilo flushed like a young girl, but the blush was very becoming.
"Will you grant him the favor of bestowing the weapons yourself, O Duke?" pleaded Adalo. "Then, when he grasps sword or spear, he must always remember the hero to whom he first owed them, and prove himself worthy of the giver."
"I will," said the judge, rising and beckoning to the boy.
Sippilo ascended the first of the steps leading to the Duke's chair. Hariowald took the little round shield lying before him and gave it to the lad, who seized it eagerly, passing his left arm under the upper bar of the shield and clasping the lower one with his hand. "I, Hariowald, son of Hariomar, Count of Linzgau, chosen by all the Alemanni Duke for this summer's Roman war, say to you, Sippilo, son of Adalger, of age to use weapons and worthy to receive them:
"With the shield I give, protect,Better than thine own breast,Dearer than thine own body and life,The noble AlemanniLand and nation.Shield runes, and runes of defence,Deep burned thy brotherIts solid framework within;They will hold and keepThe shield's shelter for theeSo long as thou thyselfDost hold and standFast by thy people."
"With the shield I give, protect,
Better than thine own breast,
Dearer than thine own body and life,
The noble Alemanni
Land and nation.
Shield runes, and runes of defence,
Deep burned thy brother
Its solid framework within;
They will hold and keep
The shield's shelter for thee
So long as thou thyself
Dost hold and stand
Fast by thy people."
Then he handed him the spear, saying:
"Runes of victory I, sure of triumph,Carved for thee myselfOn the sharp spear's handle.To mortal man neverLower it vanquished,Nor let its shaft be shattered.Some day, full lightly,From thy faithful handWhen, white-bearded, thou dost winOn thy shield the battle death'Mid blissful victory--Then, from thy faithful hand,Lightly will take itOn swan-wings downward to thee floating,Shining in beauty,Valhalla's fairest Valkyria,And bear thee, loyal one,Upward to Odin."
"Runes of victory I, sure of triumph,
Carved for thee myself
On the sharp spear's handle.
To mortal man never
Lower it vanquished,
Nor let its shaft be shattered.
Some day, full lightly,
From thy faithful hand
When, white-bearded, thou dost win
On thy shield the battle death
'Mid blissful victory--
Then, from thy faithful hand,
Lightly will take it
On swan-wings downward to thee floating,
Shining in beauty,
Valhalla's fairest Valkyria,
And bear thee, loyal one,
Upward to Odin."
Lastly, he put on the belt from which the sword hung in its sheath, saying:
"As the belt now girdles thee,So, as its own doth hold theeThe Alemanni army.As the belt is for theeOrnament and defence,So art thou, as one link,Ornament and defenceTo us, the Alemanni."
"As the belt now girdles thee,
So, as its own doth hold thee
The Alemanni army.
As the belt is for thee
Ornament and defence,
So art thou, as one link,
Ornament and defence
To us, the Alemanni."
Then Sippilo drew the short sword from its sheath, held the hilt toward the shining sun, and said:
"This bright sword will I wieldFor my free nation,For its rights, its renown,And for Sippilo's kinsmen!Should I e'er do aught else,May the keen, shining edge,The sharp blade, the wise blade--For this oath it knoweth--Deal my faithless heart a death-blow!Sun, thou dost see it;The Lofty One heard it,And Zio is witness,With the Alemanni'sHigh-crested army."
"This bright sword will I wield
For my free nation,
For its rights, its renown,
And for Sippilo's kinsmen!
Should I e'er do aught else,
May the keen, shining edge,
The sharp blade, the wise blade--
For this oath it knoweth--
Deal my faithless heart a death-blow!
Sun, thou dost see it;
The Lofty One heard it,
And Zio is witness,
With the Alemanni's
High-crested army."
The boy now leaped joyously down the steps and, proud of his new weapons, took his place beside his brother amid loud shouts of applause from the multitude, especially his kinsmen and those who had the stag's antlers inscribed on their shields.
"Now the next act of justice. One who is absent wishes to free his bondman in the assembly. Suomar, son of Suobert, who is on guard in the eastern marshes, liberates his slave Zercho. I have bought his freedom for the sake of good service rendered to the army; his master, to whom a messenger was sent, is willing to set him free; and Adalo, the Adeling, by his wish, will speak and act for him. Bring the bondman."
Then Zercho, who had been waiting outside the body of freemen, was led before the stone seat by two heralds. His eyes were sparkling with joy.
Adalo, holding in his hand a bow and arrow, stepped forward, saying: "As the representative of Suomar, your master, I announce in the open assembly that he has received from Hariowald, Count of the Linzgau, a faultless stallion four years old, two cows of Roman breed, twenty sheep, a bronze armlet seven times twisted, and a silver solidus; in exchange for which he frees you, Zercho, the Jazyge whom he bought as a prisoner of war from a dealer in Vindonissa. By my hand and word he liberates you: take the last blow which you have to bear as a slave." He gave him a light stroke on the cheek. "And see, look, all ye freemen: as I shoot this arrow, so free and far, unrestrained and unfettered, Suomar, who hitherto has been your master, leaves you. You may go forth as free as this arrow flies--free and restrained by no one!"
As he spoke he sent the arrow, winged with heron feathers, high into the air. The missile whirred from the long bow, whose string struck echoing against the beautifully polished wood. Zercho watched the arrow. High, high up it flew, till it vanished in the blue sky. But he did not see clearly; his eyes were swimming in tears; it was hard to force back a loud sob. From long years of custom, he was about to throw himself prostrate on the ground and, clasping the Adeling's feet, kiss his hands in token of gratitude. But the latter quickly stopped him, and the Duke said:
"You are free now, Zercho! Rejoice, freeman! For, though your master's hand was gentle, bondage is pitiable and withers strength and courage. Only the life of the free is life: the slave breathes, but he does not live."
Adalo handed him the bow, saying: "Here is this weapon, which proves your freedom before the whole people. Let it be the first one you carry in the army and for the people of the Alemanni, which has now become your nation too."
With radiant eyes and head erect the freedman now entered the ranks of the free.
A frown darkened the Duke's brow. "Now for the last judgment of the assembly! Other gods are drawing near, unlike those which have just viewlessly hovered above the boy's fair locks--terrible gods! Complaint is made against one of the district kings of the Alemanni."
"Ebarbold! Traitor! Rebel! Destroyer of the army! Oath-breaker!" So threatening voices rose from the throng.
"Peace! Silence in the assembly!" the judge commanded. "Where is the accuser?"
The King's weapon-bearer stepped forward, drew his sword, and said:
"I, Ebarvin, son of Erlafrid. For, like all the men of our league of peoples, I have sworn a terrible oath by all the gods and by the terrors of Hel to resist, denounce, and avenge rebellion and treachery against the league and the Duke of the Alemanni, wherever, however, and whenever I can. Well! For twenty winters I bore the shield of King Ebarbold's father, and for as many more the shield of this Ebarbold himself. Every word I utter against him falls heavily upon my heart; but still more heavily weighs the oath I swore to the Duke for the league of the Alemanni. Well then, I accuse King Ebarbold of oath-breaking, rebellion, and treason. Thrice have I warned him, thrice have I openly threatened to reveal his conduct to the Duke and to the whole people. He laughed at the threat; he would not believe it. He said: 'The skin lies nearer to your heart than the cloak; the Ebergau is dearer to you than the nation; your own lord is more to you than the Duke.' He was mistaken. So it was in former days, so it was for a long, long time; but this wrought woe to us all.
"We have learned the lesson at last: the Romans taught us with iron rods. We have learned it in bloody straits: the people, the league of the people, is the highest thing, for it alone protects all: the hand is more precious than the finger. But he wanted to persuade me and all his followers, nay, all the fighting men in our district; and when we refused, he tried to command us by virtue of his authority as King. He said that, if the popular assembly decided to wage war and the Duke set out on the march, we must not obey, but withdraw from the Holy Mountain, force our way if necessary, and induce the Romans to spare our district by giving hostages and submission."
A terrible roar rose from the ranks; weapons clashed; the wrath of the people burst forth furiously; several young men, brandishing their swords threateningly, sprang toward the accused, who stood, silent but defiant, directly before the judge's seat.
"Hold," cried the Duke, "down with your arms! Whoever wields them again in the place of the assembly, the place of the army, shall be punished at once."
He had started up, and now, from the upper step, he held his long dark mantle protectingly over the head of the threatened man. The tumult instantly subsided: the most hot-headed retreated into the circle in confusion.
"I ask you," the judge now began, "King Ebarbold, son--"
"Spare your words. Count of the Linzgau," interrupted the other, with a gloomy, but fearless glance. "It is all true. Kill me: you have the power to do so, therefore you have the right. I do not wish to live! Had that been my desire, believe me, I might have fled into my own district or to the Roman camp long before you deprived me, by your men, of the royal insignia of my race or watched my every step, while you merely disarmed the insignificant fisherman. True, according to the new law of the league, you might have had me bound--me, the son of many kings, the descendant of a god! Since I have learned the disloyalty of my most faithful follower, my own old shield-bearer, I feel a loathing for the times. I no longer wish to live among a people, according to a law, which permits the horrible thing to happen that the native of a district values its King, the follower his lord, less than the empty sound of the word 'league,' the brief authority of a Duke from another district. I am too old and too proud to learn this new law. You, old man, with your greed for power, long ago, in your bloody thoughts, dedicated me to your savage Odin."
"Not I, you yourself, son of Ebor."
"Well then--slay me."
"Not I. You yourself have separated yourself from your people by such doctrines. Yes, it is better for such men as you to die than to live: the district kings, if they offer defiance, must be sacrificed to Odin, who, as King of the people, is above all our gods and all our peoples."
"My family," said the King proudly, "runs back through a hundred ancestors to the gods: not to that crafty one, whose secret wiles you are imitating, who scatters runes of discord among peoples and princes. We descend from the god of peace. Fro, who bestows fertility. He has set his golden-bristled boar for a sign upon the shields and helmets of us, his sons. I have ever honored him and peace above all."
"Aha, the god Fro," replied the old Duke, now incensed, for he could ill brook hearing his Odin upbraided, "the god Fro will have little cause to rejoice, when he looks down on his descendant dangling from the withered yew, like the long-billed snipe that is caught in a snare. For I ask the assembly,--his own words are the most open expression of guilt,--with what does the law threaten him?"
"The rope--the willow rope!" rang from a thousand voices. "The tree of shame! Hang him! Hang him up at once!"
"But between two dogs: wolves are too good for him."
A look of keen anguish flitted over the King's proud, bold face. He did not fear death, but disgrace. He shuddered slightly. The Duke had watched him intently.
"I, the judge," he now began slowly, "ought not to oppose this sentence, and the guilty man cannot. But consider, spearmen! It will bring little renown to our name among the other peoples, when the rumor spreads among them: a King of the Alemanni is swinging between the clouds and water for treason to the army. You have offered the humble fisherman the straw of hope that the Lofty One might save him from the death of shame, bear him to himself in Valhalla, or even--almost against possibility--after the fulfillment of the deed which you have assigned to him, spare his life.
"Well then, this King's guilt, it is true, is far greater than that caused by the father's love for his child; but honor in him the descendant of the god of harvests! Do not rouse Fro to vengeance, lest for many years he should blast our crops. The god of the boar with golden bristles is easily angered! And remember, too, with gratitude this man's father."
"A brave hero!" ran from lip to lip.
"He fell in the bloody battle of Strataburg, at the head of the wedge of his district. Fighting gallantly in the van of his people, he at last sank--fell backward on his shield, with many wounds in his breast; for he, the man who had the wild-boar's courage, would not turn his back to the foe. This hero is now looking down from Valhalla upon us; his heart is throbbing anxiously at this impending sentence of disgrace. Alemanni, do not let him behold his son hanging between dogs. Grant the King, as well as the fisherman, a deed of ransom!"
Ebarbold looked up with a grateful glance to the man whom he had so bitterly hated. The people were still silent: their wrath was fierce.
Then: "Suppose he should run away?"
"Suppose he should desert to the Romans in the midst of the battle?"
Two men uttered the questions at the same moment. A deep groan escaped the lips of the defiant King: "No one feared that from the fisherman! They ought not to deem me so base." He struck his brow with his clenched hand.
Then Ebarvin, his accuser, stepped forward, saying:
"These questions were hard and undeserved. Few among our people will suspect that from the King of the Ebergau. He spoke truly: he might have fled long ago, but he would not escape. I believe him. I have known him ever since he learned to speak: he has never lied. He wants to die, from resentment against the people's league, and perhaps also from remorse and shame."
The King, deeply moved, hastily turned away from the speaker and closed his eyes, but instantly opened them again with a defiant look.
"Well then, I, a free man of unblemished reputation, with broad lands in the Ebergau--I answer for him with life and limb, property and honor. I will swear for him that any deed of arms imposed by the people to ransom him from the rope King Ebarbold will perform, or he will fall upon his shield in doing it."
"I thank you, Ebarvin," said the tortured man, drawing himself up to his full height: this confidence was balm to his inmost soul.
"So be it! So be it!" shouted the multitude before the judge could put the question. "The Duke shall choose the deed!"
"Well then," said the latter without hesitation, "itischosen! In the Roman camp is a hero who is its head and its whole strength; if he fall, all their military power will be broken. Name the man!"
"Saturninus!" echoed from many voices. For the Tribune had repeatedly commanded the Roman troops in Germany, and many of the men now assembled on the Holy Mountain had formerly served beneath the Roman eagles.
"Ebarbold, bring us from the battle the head of Saturninus--and your guilt is pardoned. Will you do this, hero of the boar?"
"I will," replied the latter, with a deep sigh of relief. "Give me my sword; give me my weapons again." The shield-bearer handed him the sheathed sword. Tearing the blade from the scabbard, he held its point toward the sun, saying: "I swear by this blade, the sacred symbol of the one-armed god of war, that, in the next battle, I will slay the Tribune, or fall by his sword."
Loud shouts of applause now burst forth. All, even those whose resentment at first had been most bitter, were heartily glad that, instead of a disgraceful punishment, an honorable deed of ransom had been found for the proud King.
The Duke gazed down at the surging throng with satisfaction.