by Felix Dahn
CHAPTER XXVI.
Ever since the preceding day the rain clouds, which had so long denselyveiled the mountain peaks and hung in gray curtains to the shore of thelake, had grown lighter and lighter. Scattered fragments still floatedover the forest; but the mists were dispersing from Sentis and Toedi.And before the sun of that day sank behind the wooded heights of thewestern shore, it burst through the cloud rack for the first time in along while, illumining lake and country for a few minutes with ablood-red glow. The fishes leaped greedily after the flies which weresunning themselves in the beams and flew feebly, with damp wings, closeto the surface of the water: then the radiant ball disappeared behindthe long cloud curtain.
The herons flew screaming from the rushes toward the land. The windseemed to be rising. The clouds swept across the sky, sometimes in onedirection, sometimes in another. The waves of the lake, obeying theformer course of the wind, rolled in a direction opposite to the cloudsabove them.
The Batavian mercenaries of the Lower Rhine were encamped outside ofthe northern gate of the camp, the Porta Praetoria, but a little towardthe west. The centurion, a man about forty years old, long in theservice of Rome, who was adorned with neck-chains and various badges ofhonor on his breast-plate bestowed for gallant deeds, was fanning thesmoking fire, which they were loath to have die out in the cold dampwoods.
"There!" he muttered, "there it goes. I invoked both gods, Vulcan andLoki, in vain. Vulcan won't help me, because I am a Barbarian; Lokibecause I serve the Romans. We mercenaries no longer have any gods toaid us, because we belong to no nation."
"Ha, Rignomer," laughed another in the group, a youth whose downy redbeard was just beginning to grow, "I care for only one god among themall--the god of victory."
"And he, Odin, is the very one who has deserted us, Brinno. Everywherethe Germans are conquering; that is, the peoples who are fightingagainst Rome, not we German mercenaries, who battle for the Caesar. Andin every conflict the men who bleed are we mercenaries."
"Because these cunning Romans always put us in the place which is mostseverely threatened," Brinno cried angrily.
"Because Odin is hostile to us," whispered the centurion. "We must nolonger fight for Rome against the other Germans. He no longer willsit."
"What do you mean by Germans? That's a word like Barbarians. The Romansinvented it, not we. What do I care for these Alemanni? I am aBatavian; a Frank, if you prefer the name."
"Yes, I do prefer it."
"It's newer."
"But stronger, because it is larger."
"What do I care, I ask again, for these thick-skulled Suabians? I canhardly understand what they say."
"But all we blue-eyed, yellow-haired men are sons of the dwellers inAsgard. We have all come here to the great waters front the East. Soour forefathers teach us; so the harpers sing. And everywhere, on theRhine and the Danube, the districts and peoples who formerly had suchbitter feuds are gathering. This is Odin's work. He is summoning thedescendants of Asgard to war against Rome. This is my last campaignunder the dragon standard. In a few days my time of service willexpire; then I shall go home and till my land on the Issala, where mymother and my brother and sisters live; till it with a better plough, aRoman one. And if I must fight again, I will fight for my land, againstRome. We Franks have too little room down there in the swamps of theRhine; we must go into beautiful Gaul."
"Well, this war of the Romans will soon be over. A bloodless victory."
"Who knows?" Here the centurion threw himself on the ground besideBrinno and whispered: "A man from my district, who formerly foughtunder the Emperor Valentinian by this lake against the Alemanni, toldme why in fear and horror he suddenly gave up the service and lost hispay: In a battle the Romans were vanquished. _One_ against whom no mancan lift his hand without forfeiting salvation forever dashed forwardon a gray charger at the head of the Alemanni wedge."
"What?" asked Brinno, half incredulously, half timidly: "_He_--he--himself?"
Rignomer nodded significantly: "In the form of a white-haired Duke; soruns the legend. When sore peril threatens the dwellers by the lake hedescends from the heavenly heights, warns them, conceals them from theeyes of the foe with his dark mantle of clouds; teaches them runes ofvictory on inaccessible mountains, and bears them suddenly away on theeagle wings of the tempest. Against him I will not fight. I vowed toserve the Imperator against men only. But hark! a tuba signal from ouroutposts. Whom are our mounted men bringing in?"
"A messenger from the Alemanni, it seems."
"Yes, a leader and two attendants. What a youth! Halt, young hero: ifyou wish to go into the camp to the General,--only one is permitted toride in,--I must first cover your eyes. Dismount! You will not? Wellthen, turn back again."
This was a severe blow to Adalo's hopes. He would so gladly have gazedkeenly about him in the Roman camp, scanned ditches, walls, gates,and--two persons within that frowning palisade. He sullenly dismounted.A thick woollen blanket was thrown in loose folds over his head like ahuge sack and fastened under his chin: Rignomer took him by the handand guided him to the gate, where a centurion of the Thracians receivedthe Barbarians' envoy.
Adalo's two companions also dismounted, tied the three horses to thenearest trees, and soon lay chatting with the Batavians. The bad Latinof the frontier, it is true, often had to aid the understanding of thedifferent dialects around the watchfire. With great exertion it had nowbeen rekindled, for it was growing very dark. Suddenly, from the forestpath by which the envoys had come, a strange growling was heard whichdrew nearer and nearer. The whole group, including the two Alemanni,started up in surprise.
"A bear?"
"So near the fire?"
"Slipped through our outposts?"
They seized the spears which stood stacked together. Then a Batavian,laughing loudly, came around the bend of the narrow path, pointingbehind him. "Look, comrades! A Sarmatian juggler with a tame she-bear!She dances to his big flute! It's very comical."
A cry of surprise escaped the lips of one of the Alemanni, whose eyesand mouth opened in astonishment: "That's surely--"
But his companion gave him a violent dig in the ribs with his elbow: "Ashe-bear! Yes. Didn't you ever see one?"
A man in the Sarmatian costume--black sheepskin with the wool turnedinside--now stepped into the firelight, leading by a leather thong alarge she-bear. Behind him, also clad in sheepskin, limped his boy,probably carrying in his bundle provisions for their journey; he was apoor cripple, who made his way forward slowly with the help of acrutch, and doubtless found it hard either to stand or to walk; forwhen the third Batavian, shoving him with the handle of his spear,invited him to come nearer to the fire, the poor lad, with a low cry,fell on the grass.
The soldiers, with Roman and German taunts, asked what _he_ could do.He did not stir.
"You can talk to him a long while," said his master, laughing. "The boyis deaf, and he is sick with fever. He is afraid of people. Let him liethere!"
The lad crept under the thickest underbrush, far away from the flames.He could scarcely be seen from the watchfire; all that was visible washis coal-black curly hair. Taking out a little earthen pot, he poured afew drops of some liquid on his lame foot and rubbed it with his hand.
