by Felix Dahn
CHAPTER XVIII.
Over the silent garden lay the enchantment of a warm, glorious summernight.
The innumerable stars shone magnificently in the cloudless heavens. Andnow in the east, above the walls of Juvavum, which had till now hiddenher from view, rose the full moon, pouring forth a flood of glory,showing in her fantastic light, so bright and yet so different fromday, the white house, the dark bushes, and the tall trees.
Numerous night-loving flowers in the gardens of the villas, and in themeadows around, whose cups were closed by day, now opened and exhaledtheir scent into the soft air.
The young German traversed the garden with agitated steps.
In the rose-bushes of the neighbouring gardens sang the nightingale, soloud, so quavering, so ardent, so impassioned, Liuthari would rathernot have heard it; and yet he could not help listening to the fervidtones.
The night wind played in his flowing locks, for, besides thebreast-plate, he had also left his helmet in the room, only taking withhim his spear, which served as a staff, and the round shield, on whichto lay his head, if he wished to rest.
But he found no rest.
With strong determination he went away from the house, which sopowerfully attracted him, towards the entrance where the stone slabslay about in confusion. As the store of stones had not been sufficientto fill up the entrance, the old slave had with the pick-axe taken uptwo slabs from the threshold, one of which bore the inscription. Onthis heap of stones Liuthari now sat in a deep reverie, just within theentrance, and looked at the stars and the soft light of the moon. Heforced himself to think of his parents at home, of the past day and itsvictory, of the daughter of Agilolf with the fine-sounding name--whatmight she be like?
All! it was of no use; he only deceived himself: through all thepictures of his thoughts, pushing them aside, so that they melted awayas mist, appeared that noble, pale face, the rhythmic symmetry of thatfigure.
"Felicitas!" breathed he lightly to himself.
Long, long sat he thus.
Suddenly the nightingale was silent.
Liuthari was quickly awakened out of his thoughts and dreams: in hothaste, their iron hoofs resounding on the hard pavement of the road,several horses came galloping from Juvavum; the practised ear of theGerman clearly distinguished two, perhaps three horses.
The young man sprang up, and seized the spear which was lying near him.
"Those are not Alemannian horsemen," said he. "Who else can itbe?--Fugitive Romans? or even--her husband?"
He stepped behind the pier of the entrance to the right, where his formand also his shadow was hidden, while the moonlight revealed clearly tohim the road and the footpath which led to the villa.
The hoof-strokes were now silent.
The watcher plainly saw how, at the turn oL the footpath, three riderssprang from their horses, and fastened them to a milestone.
The one, the tallest, wore a Roman helm, with a dark flowing plume, thetwo others the close-fitting headgear of the Moorish cavalry; theirwhite mantles floated in the night wind.
"That is scarcely her husband, and those are not slaves of this villa.And yet they are coming here. What may they be seeking? Shall I callHaduwalt? Bah! King Liutbert's son has often already stood againstthree enemies at once."
At this moment the one in the helmet reached the entrance.
"Wait here," he commanded, raising his short spear, "I alone will fetchthe woman; if I need you, I will call. But I think"----
"Halt! stand, Roman!" cried Liuthari, with levelled spear, springinginto the gateway in the full moonlight. "What seek you here?"
"A German! Down with him!" cried the three voices at once. But at thesame moment the leader stumbled two steps backwards, struck on thebreast by the spear of Liuthari.
If the armour-factory of Lorch had not supplied such excellent work,the point would have gone through and through the man. But it reboundedand--broke.
The German angrily dropped the now useless shaft.
"By Tartarus, that was a murderous blow!" cried Leo fiercely. "Prudenceis necessary. Raise the spears; we will throw together."
The three lances flew at once--all three the Alemannian stopped withhis shield. One, hurled with especial momentum and fury, penetrated thethreefold ox-hide and ash-wood of the shield, and wounded his arm nearthe shoulder.
The young man, full of strength, hardly felt the slight wound; but theshield, encumbered with three spear-shafts, he could no longerdexterously use.
"Haduwalt!" cried he now with a loud voice, "Waffena! Feindo! Help!"
At the same time he seized one of the lances in his shield, tore itout, and threw. The Moor at the right of the Tribune cried out and felldead to the ground.
"I will throw him down; thou, sir, stab him!" cried the other. It wasHimilco, the centurion.
"With the leap of the panther of his native deserts, he now sprang atthe throat of the German; but, quick as lightning, Liuthari had drawnthe short knife from his shoulder-belt. He thrust it into the browbetween the eyes of his assailant. The brown, muscular arms which hadseized the German's two shoulders as with the claws oL a beast of prey,loosened; without a sound the African fell backwards. But Liuthari hadnot time to draw out the deeply imbedded dagger-blade.
"Haduwalt! Help!" cried he loudly.
For already the third enemy, a most formidable opponent, had rushedupon him.
With a powerful sword-stroke he cleaved Liuthari's shield so that itsplit into two halves, and, with the clinging spears, fell right andleft from his arm.
And the Roman had, at the same time, stuck the sharp iron spike in thecentre of his convex shield, deep into the naked right arm of theking's son: the blood spurted out. He recoiled several steps from theweight of the blow, nearly stumbling over the stone slabs.
The furious enemy, well armed both for defence and offence, now steppedvictoriously into the entrance, pushing aside with his foot the twohalves of the shield, that his adversary should not draw out thespears.
With a keen look the Roman measured his adversary, who now drew hislast weapon, the short-handled battle-axe, from his girdle, and raisedit to strike. The towering stature of the young German must have seemedfearful to the Roman, in spite of the superiority of his arms.
"Why should we tear each other to pieces, barbarian? Why dost thouprotect this house so grimly? I will not contest it with thee; I willleave it to thee as soon as I have taken out one single thing."
"What thing? something belonging to thee? Thou art not the master ofthe house."
"I will leave thee the house. I come only for--a woman."
"_Thy_ wife? Felicitas? No! she is not thine"
Furiously the other cried: "What? Thou art already so intimate in thehouse! But neither is Felicitas _thy_ wife; and shall not become so.Felicitas shall be _mine_!"
"Never!" cried Liuthari, and he sprang forward and dashed his stonebattle-axe against the magnificent bronze helmet, so that it splitasunder where the plume was attached, and fell in pieces from the headof the wearer.
But alas! that head remained uninjured, while the axe, descending withsuch force on the metal, broke off at the handle. For a moment theTribune stood as if stupefied by the blow. But he saw immediately howhis opponent, now quite defenceless, did not turn his face for flight,but still stood before him.
With a wild, yelling, tiger-like shriek, in which thirst for blood andjoy of revenge sounded harshly together, he let his shield slip down,raised the short, broad Roman sword for a blow, and with the cry,"Felicitas is mine!" sprang on the German.
At that first outcry, Liuthari quickly bent forward, slightly raisingthe heel of his left foot, and seized one of the marble slabs lyingbefore him; and now, first swinging it high above his head, with thecry "Felicitas!" he hurled it with a good aim against the helmetlessforehead of the Tribune, as he sprang towards him.
Hoarsely groaning, clashing in his armour, the assailant fellbackwards; the sword escaped from his hand.
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Already Liuthari knelt on his breast, seized the blade, and raised itto force it into his throat.
But he breathed no more--he was dead. Liuthari rising, threw the swordaside, and looked proudly on the three slain enemies.
"For Felicitas!" said he. "Now to her. I think--I have deserved it."
He knelt down by the running stream, washed the smarting, stillbleeding wound of his right arm, tore some broad strips from the linenmantle of the dead centurion, bound them firmly around the wound, andthen trod with a light, elastic step the long path through the garden,back to the house.
