by Felix Dahn
CHAPTER IV.
An old woman, wrapped in a dark garment, sat almost motionless upon thebench in the warm sunshine. Thin locks of beautiful white hair escapedfrom beneath the edge of the brown cloak drawn over her head; her handsalone stirred with a slight, regular motion. When the youth's footstepsechoed on the sandy slope of the hillock, she paused in her work andbent forward to listen; then nodding, murmured under her breath:"That's why she slipped away."
"Hail to you, Waldrun!" said the youth, pausing before her. "Don't befrightened--it is I--"
"Adalo, the young noble," interrupted the old woman. "Only theevil-doers fear _you_."
"You recognize me?"
"When the gods blind the eyes, they give sight to the soul. Though yourlight footstep rarely rings near me now, I know it well. I often hearit as you hurry past our home, avoiding the house by taking a widecircuit. No one save Bruna, your tame bear, comes to us by daylightfrom the manor; for you have doubtless forbidden even your fair-hairedlittle brother to visit our house. But brutes are more loyal than humanbeings: often, very often, Bruna seeks my little maid and Zercho thebondman. When she brings us a wreath of the child's favorite flowerswound around her neck and growling, drags it off to her lap, we knowwell that the boy Sippilo, not you, sent it. By day you shun us! But--"She bent forward and lowered her voice to a whisper: the youth glancedaround in surprise; surely they were still alone--"but by night youoften approach stealthily."
Adalo flushed crimson, and sought to divert her thoughts. "Can you spinwithout seeing?"
"The youngest of the three great Sisters--who was born blind--spins thefuture of the whole human race. And what I am spinning is as familiarto my fingers as to my thoughts."
"What is it?"
"My shroud. But I do not think that Adalo, son of Adalger, came hitherto question Waldrun concerning her thoughts of death. Do you seek myson? Suomar has not yet returned from the Council."
"I do not seek him--he sends me. The Council--last night on Odin'sMountain--resolved to destroy all the houses and harvests." The youth'snoble, handsome countenance beamed with the fierce menacing joy ofbattle as he added: "_The Romans_ are coming."
"They will not tarry long," said the old woman, calmly going on withher spinning. "I have often seen them dash forward in all the pride ofstrength, and soon sink feebly back again."
"You women, those unable to bear arms, the slaves, and the cattle areto be received in two fortresses far away from the lake--one on Odin'sMountain in the west, the other among the eastern marshes. We shallform two divisions: one stationed in the east, the other in the west.Your son is assigned to the eastern band; he was sent directly from thecouncil to the swamps. The troop will go through the fords there andstrengthen the breastwork of logs around the meadows to prevent theentrance of the Italians."
"Then we must hasten eastward to the morasses. We shall be nearer tohim there."
Adalo hesitated. His face again crimsoned and he cast a keen glance atthe door of the house ere he began: "That was his first idea--and bythe decree of the people the fugitives were thus divided. But--some oneelse--a friend--counselled him not to hide you in the swamps, but--onthe Holy Mountain."
"You belong to the western band--on the mountain."
Adalo made no reply.
"You gave him that counsel, Adalo!"
"I do not deny it; you know that I mean kindly. You will be betterconcealed on the lofty wooded summit of Odin's Mountain than in themarshes. Life in the fever-breeding swamps is full of discomfort--thedisease often attacks the inhabitants--and it is not so safe. Theeastern band will not remain in your hiding place: Suomar himselfcannot protect you; concealment is your sole defence. But on Odin'sMountain, far up within the stone fortress, the gods of the landthemselves will shield you. And the life there in the woodland huts andtents built of green branches will be more comfortable and pleasant.And--" he spoke slowly and modestly--"I myself will be there to defendyou. Follow me,--to-morrow it may be too late,--follow me at once!"
Just at that moment two acorns fell rattling on the top of the rudestone table and rebounded to the earth. Adalo looked up. "A squirrel?"he asked.
"Yes. A _red_ one," added the old woman, nodding. "It often plays itssaucy pranks up there. They are sometimes very spiteful."
"Indeed they are," replied Adalo, laughing. "One which I once caughtnearly bit through my finger. There!"
Waldrun felt the fore-finger of his outstretched hand, then withoutreleasing it, said: "There is another scar close by. My naughtygranddaughter bit you years ago--do you remember? How did it happen?"
"It was at the spring festival. The west wind was blowing furiously,like the very breath of Odin. She ventured alone in your moulderingboat--the old one hollowed from a log--to cross the lake. The othersjeered at her--I pleaded. Every effort was vain. Springing into theskiff, she pushed off: if she passed beyond the rushes into the openwater she was lost. I ran after her, waded, swam, and dragged her fromthe boat, just as it upset. I carried her to the shore, while shewrithed and struggled, spitting like an otter, and, by way of thanks,bit my finger."
"And then," replied Waldrun reprovingly, "some spiteful tongue utteredthe saying,
"'Sharp is the squirrel's scratch, Bissula's bite is sharper.'
"The saying ran through the district, nay, all the provinces by thelake. Wherever my granddaughter went, to pick berries in summer, tocomb the flax, to glean, to mow, to thresh--everywhere the jeeringcouplet greeted her. That was not kind. Or wise!" she added in a lowertone.
"Mother Waldrun, you are right: it was not well done, but no harm wasmeant."
"Yes, yes, Odin placed the song in your reckless lips and gave you thewinged words, the biting jest. You cannot help it! Wherever you see atempting mark, the arrow of a mocking speech whizzes from your mouth."
"But unvenomed, unbarbed. A blunt little shaft like that with which westrike the pretty red-breast, Donar's favorite, not to harm it, nay,only to capture it unhurt and bear it home to our hearths that it maysing sweetly to us year after year."
"Beware! Everything that has the red hue is passionate, swift torevenge, and slow to forgive.
"Yes," replied the youth laughing. "How runs another verse?
"'Dost vex little Red Hair? I bid thee beware! The fair one fear. She's false and spits her ire Like the fox and the fire.'"
Scarcely was the last line uttered when, high among the topmost boughsof the lofty tree, a strange sound was heard. At the very summit thenoise resembled spitting and rattling, while below it was different,like something sliding down the trunk. The first sounds undoubtedlycame from a little squirrel, which, startled by some disturbance,chattering and hissing in fear or anger, sprang in a wide curve yetwith a sure leap from the topmost bough of the tree to a neighboringoak which stood at a considerable distance.
