THE HERCYNIAN FOREST
What it was which had changed the nature of my dream so suddenly I
could not understand at first. Most curious fancies had come to me,
visions of what I had certainly never seen in all my hunting and
battling, but which were familiar enough to me and comprehensible,
until I awoke. There were boats with broad sails, though little of
the sea had we of the great forest ever looked upon, and there were
cities beside which our villages were but as the swamp villages of the
ever-toiling beaver. There was conflict, as well, yet that, I thought,
did not surpass in quality the manner of our own fierce battling, for
we were fighters of some zest.
I had been aroused by sounds quite apart from those which had come
to my fancy with sleep on the heaped leaves beneath the beech tree.
Most unlike either the sounds of the sea or of rude conflict were
those which reached my ears as I came slowly to a sense of wakening
being; they were of a kind all their own and having a quality much too
significant and close and threatening. It was a snuffling, blowing
sound which first aroused me as I lay with my eyes still closed, and
at last a grunting and snort and rumble which was half a bellow, and a
harsh pawing of the leaves and earth. My eyes opened most suddenly,
and what they saw brought a feeling in the middle of me which was most
uncomfortable. Within a yard of me, his head lowered, his nostrils
quivering and his eyes gleaming, pawing the ground in what was fast
becoming a rage at the thing before him, stood braced a monster
aurochs! The aurochs was most enormous of all the beasts we knew and,
when enraged, by far most to be dreaded, unless, it might be, the huge
brown bear, though the bear himself never dared face the aurochs. Here
was a situation for a man to awaken to, but after the first moment I
was not alarmed. I knew the nature of the aurochs well. Had he been in
pursuit of me, wounded, perhaps, by spear or arrow, nothing could have
turned the monster from his wrath, but here the case was different.
The beast had come upon me but by merest chance and, advancing only
in curiosity upon this thing lying prone, had encountered the dreaded
man-smell and had been so roused. I knew my need. I sprang to my feet
with arms outflung, emitting a most unnatural and blood-curdling roar,
and, even as I leaped, the startled brute, leviathan though he was,
whirled as on a pivot with a hoarse bellow which was rather a bleat
of fear, and went crashing into the forest whence I could hear the
crackling of the bushes hundreds of yards away.
I was all myself now, as assuredly I should be, after such a rude
awakening. I stood there, comprehendingly, Scar, warrior and hunter,
a strong man of the Cherusci, than whom there was not a braver tribe
among the scores which occupied the vast Hercynian forest and took part
in its fierce struggles.
A world in itself, a world of its own great kind, was this Hercynian
forest, extending boundlessly eastward from the Rhine River and north
to the German Ocean, and south until it reached far toward the great
sea of which we had slight knowledge, a huge and densely wooded land
of varied nature of mountain, hill and plain and, near its shores, of
deep rivers and endless marshes, but mostly vast and sullen forests in
which ranged many wild beasts and which, because of its huge extent,
sustained strong tribes and clans, who, though scattered widely in
villages or roving bands, made, together, a great host.
Whence we had come we did not know more than that we of the north were
of the Ingævones, a numerous people who in ages past had come from a
far country to the eastward, one so distant that years were required in
the hard migration, and the ways of which we had long since forgotten.
We had divided into tribes and had taken names for these and were
often at war with each other, having, up to this time, no sort of
confederation for need against a common enemy, such as lay beyond the
Rhine to the westward, or other nations on other sides. Of these we
knew many things, though not so clearly as we might have done, for with
them we had naught in common, being well satisfied with our homes and
manners in our forest fastnesses. That to the south and eastward there
were those who had great cities and who sailed the great southern sea
we knew, that to the west, beyond the Rhine, were the people of the
Gauls we knew, and that we were usually enemies to them, and this was
all. Our own drift as we grew, at least of the Cherusci, was northward
from the headwaters of the rivers called the Elbe and Weser. South and
east of us and near us lay the tribes with whom we sometimes had good
fighting.
And how could we in our deep green fastnesses know greatly of the
outside peoples? From the tales our fathers had told and from the
Gauls across the Rhine we had learned something, it is true. We knew
of the eastern peoples only that they were very old and very distant.
Of the Assyrians and Babylonians and the Egyptians that they still
existed, and that a race called the Phœnicians inhabited the land at
the eastern end of the great southern sea and made rare weapons such as
had sometimes come to us, and that they sailed and traded much. Grown
strong, too, were now an island people called the Greeks. We knew, too,
from our Gaulish neighbours whom we fought so often, that a new dread
had come upon even them and that far to the south, not distant from
the sea, a new nation appeared, arising swiftly, and that its people
were ever ready for war and very dangerous. Dwelling in a village they
called Roma--which was already becoming a mighty place--its people made
invasions upon the territories of their neighbours, though its clans
were ever fighting among themselves. All these things we learned, but
little heeded. What cared we for the stories of the peoples of past
ages? We wanted only our own great forest and our own gods, our own
wars, and no invasions from strangers from afar.
So all through the great forest lay our tribes and lived their various
wild lives, which nevertheless had much of order in their way and
cleanness of living and obedience to our laws. Of religion we had
something, though it did not bear upon us with unwholesome stress. For
what may have been the faith of our Asian ancestors we cared not.
Woden and Frigga and their retinue of lesser deities sufficed us and
appeared to serve us well.
Yet we, barbarians as we were called by the distant and older peoples,
lived lives such as in their uprightness of a kind might well have
compared with the lives of later and craftier ages. Clearly defined
were the lines or marks which showed the limit of each tribe’s wide
land, and so within them were the marks of each clan which had a
village. The villages, indeed, were almost little countries by
themselves, having scant relationship with each other, save at the
Folk-Moot--which, even now, was not an old thing, but which gave to
us a form and saved much bloodshed--though ties of blood were strong
and, among themselves, though so separated and each clinging to his
clan or village, the Cherusci dwelt in rude brotherly accord. It is
but fair to say as much of those of other tribes often our feudal
enemies. Of vices, we had but two, the lust for fighting and the
vast drinking of strong mead to glorious drunkenness. For the rest,
we obeyed the Folk-Moot, where such laws as we had were made when we
assembled, and regarded well the mark line and the lines which gave
the allotted portions or hides of land, and the rights to the nut
woods of oak and beech where fed the swine, and where were the rare
salt springs, and the name sign on the trees of him who had found wild
honey. In each family its head was lord. Furthermore--and who would
think it of so-called barbarians?--our women were well regarded, the
wife was the husband’s counsellor and friend, and purity and chastity
were held the rule for all. We were a strong and healthy race, great of
stature, fair or more often red of hair--which, man and woman, we wore
long,--and gray or blue of eye. The youth were trained to hardihood,
and the brood of either sex was ever a numerous and goodly one. What
wonder that there was among the multitude of forest dwellers no envy of
those of the outer world,--unless, it might be of their more finished
weapons,--and but a desire for our continued isolation? We were most
jealous of our lands. Even our villages were far apart and their wide
boundaries of surrounding wildness well defended. Of the many usages
and ways of ours I shall tell further.
There were certain clans who had no fixed abode, wandering long
distances and living in huts to be abandoned; but such as these had
become fewer and fewer and now most of the people lived in villages,
some little and some great, but all with broad lands about them, whose
boundaries were marked in many ways, some by scarred trees, sometimes
by stones and sometimes by other tokens. So, as well, were marked the
limits of the hides of lands allotted to each family, and these must by
no means be disregarded, either the village mark, or the limit of the
allotments. He who took an allotment, too, must, in token of possession
and defense, break a branch from some tree upon it, or seat himself
in the midst of the field, or build a fire upon it, for its ownership
was a grave matter and not to be considered lightly. Some tilling the
women did, though we were, as yet, but little farmers, and they also
wove and spun. As for the men, we lived first for the fighting and the
honour, and chiefly next, it seemed to me, for the feasting and deep
drinking, with hunting and fishing and the fashioning of weapons as our
only labour. Great were our feasts and it sometimes happened that they
had more to them than mere carousal, especially when the feast was to
one who had died valiantly in battle. There would be much eating and
drinking, it is true, but there would also be much praise of the dead,
which came generously from great hearts, and earnest prayers that Woden
would receive the hero kindly. It seems to me that it was to our honour
that we did not forget our dead, not even the little ones who passed,
and I recall me that I made and kept for a friend one for whom I had
heretofore cared slightly, because, when his child died, he had buried
in the grave of the little one its foolish playthings and had slain a
dog the child had loved and buried it also, that the dog might show the
helpless and timorous one the way to the country of the dead. Stark and
harsh and rough we were, but, in some things, we were most kindly and
but as children.
We had a kind of reverence for some of the things about us. The oak
tree we much regarded, and next to it the beech, not alone because they
gave acorns and nuts to our herds of swine and to ourselves in times
of strait, but because we held that they possessed a sort of sanctity.
Curious it was, too, that one insect should be so regarded. This was
the bee. Great was the value to us of the honey the bees furnished, our
only sweet, and of its use in the making of our strong mead. Hence came
the marking of the bee trees wherein was stored their honey. Heavily
was he punished who cut down and plundered a marked bee tree, but if
it were not marked by the first finder there was no punishment. So it
was that about the bee grew up a sort of faith. Bees, it was held, had
a language of their own and could understand what was said to them,
and it was not counted wise to kill one. To be a hunter of the trees
in which the bees concealed their stores was counted worthy of even a
warrior, and I was proud that at this I had been gifted with no mean
ability. Well must he know the wilds and be ready to fare patiently
and far who would discover where the creatures hid their treasure, and
shrewd must be his knowledge and close his nature to the wild things.
It may be that I was thus close, for I was somewhat a man apart and had
my dreaming ways. I had no wife. There had been one among the maidens,
deep-eyed and fair and strong and red of hair as I, whom I had loved
much and who would rest in the place in my arms, but our wood gods
had it otherwise. There came a time of fever, and she died, and after
she had been buried with my golden bracelet pledge on her round white
arm, I cared no more for women. My bed was in my brother’s house, and
his children cherished me, but I loved the woods and the chase and the
bee-hunting and was much away, with all my fancies, at some of which
the warriors laughed, saying that I was sometimes not unlike a dreaming
girl, though it had been I who brought home upon my spear the head of
the grim Suevi champion after one of our hardest battles.
All was not unbroken forest in our region; there were blue mountains
far to the south, and here and there were little plains, and in the
forest itself were sometimes clear spaces, flower-covered, where the
bees sought honey for their storing. I have clearly in mind a day when
I sought one of these smiling distant places.
Often have I questioned myself if it be meet or becoming in the strong
man to consider and often delight in the fair and curious things upon
which his eyes may rest, or feel the joyousness which comes to him
through other senses. Should not his thoughts and desires dwell only on
sterner and graver matters--the fight, the chase, the keen searching
for the honey stores and the protection of the herds? This puzzlement
I can by no means decide, but this I know that ever I follow my own
will carelessly, and so have had much pleasure without effort, save to
smell or look or listen. Why should I not? Does not the brawniest and
most soil or blood stained warrior smack his lips over the rich juices
of the cooked bird, and do not his eyes gleam as the mead runs down his
tickled gullet? Do I not myself enjoy these things, and why should not
I, if I have the mood, regale my other senses? Yet, as I have said, my
comrades would sometimes jeer at me and call me foolish names because,
forsooth, I rejoiced in the many glories of the world. Little cared
I! It was somewhat known of men that my thews were mighty, my spear a
sharp one and my axe of goodly weight, as had been proved in stubborn
battle, and so I fed my fancies when I willed. On a day of which I
speak they had food worth while, for surely there could be no fairer or
more bounteous place than this for their indulgence.
It was a clearing enclosed by forest on every side. A tornado may once
have stripped away the trees upon it, for it lay on rising ground, and
fire had doubtless swept it afterward. Upon it now was no growth save
many clumps of bushes, some of them in heavy bloom, and soft greensward
and flowers of a thousand kinds, of every hue which flowers may have.
Was it unworthy of me as a hunter and proved warrior that I stood
unmoving for a time and allowed my eyes to feed their fill upon such a
scene as this? Was it not, in its way, as good as the taste of deer’s
meat or as the gurgle of the heartening mead in the throat? And there
was more than the eyes alone could comprehend.
Myriads of eager bees were humming above that gay spread of flowers,
and the united sound of the commingled droning had such volume that it
made seem fainter the singing of the birds in the wood about, though
not many were to be heard at this hour of the day. A few generous ones
there were, though, their voices of such sweet quality as to commingle
softly with the mighty humming and seem almost to form a part of it.
Yet what idle talk is this? It seems but foolish to tell thus of the
flowers and bees and of our more peaceful doings, though, mayhap, it
will make more clear the colouring of the lives of us--the mighty
forest people. Was I like the weak Buoba, of the village, who was
not enduring in the chase and who had never been in battle, but who
sometimes made soft verses and who told strange tales and was, somehow,
not a little beloved? What of it? There was the sound in my ears, and
the ears were surely my own as was my fancy. And not alone were my
ears and eyes made glad, for there rose from that great field of bloom
such volume and drift of perfume as filled my nostrils to their utmost
depths and which, wafted through the forest by the wind, might well
call from a far distance the hosts of labouring bees. The fragrance,
I fancied for a moment, had its effect even on the great stag which
came from out the wood across from me and raised his head aloft and
sniffed the air, though it is more likely he was but assuring himself
against all danger ere he began his feeding. He did not dally at that,
and was setting me a good example, for certainly I had not come here
to regale my senses, so I strode into the sunny clearing as he, with a
great snort of alarm, bounded upward and then into the wood again. In
this field must begin my quest for the places of lofty beehives to be
plundered, and thus I set about it:
I had brought my weapons with me, for he is foolish who would go
unarmed into the forest, but other things I carried as well, since
there was much craft to be displayed in this hunting for the bee
stores. I had beeswax with me and a portion of honey in the comb, and
also a staff sharpened at one end, having at the other a fastened box
without a cover. The staff I thrust into the ground and the honeycomb
I placed in the box above. Then I found a flattish stone near by and
brought it to near the staff, and upon it, using my flint and the back
of my hunting-knife, kindled a tiny fire upon which I laid the wax.
Very soon the wax melted and there arose from it a little smoke and
an odour which was wafted to the myriads of incoming bees and at once
attracted them. Swerving from their course, they circled a little and
then settled down upon the awaiting honey, a prize of note for them,
since it would require no alchemy of theirs in fitting it for storage.
Then I had naught to do but to watch. One by one, each rioting bee
there gorged to the full and then, rising upon heavy wing, flew toward
the forest whence it had come, straight as the downward dropping of a
stone. Some flew in one direction and others on a different course,
but I followed with my eye the flight only of the company which seemed
most numerous. Straight toward the west they went, toward where I knew
was a swamp, beyond which was a forest of great oaks. Their home I
knew could not be in the swamp; hence somewhere in the oaks, most like
of all places. How deeply in the forest it might be I could not tell
as yet, but soon would know in a degree. Across the field I carried
the staff and stone and did just as I had already done, the bees, as
before, coming in numbers to the feast. Again I watched, noting most
carefully the direction of the flight of the group I had first chosen,
and saw that now they flew not straight toward the west, but a very
little to the north of it. Now I had become a menace to them! I knew
that their home and place of storage was at the point where the two
lines I had determined met, and it seemed, judging as best I might,
that it could not be a great way in the far-extending wood. Around
the swamp I went with all my gear. As I neared its western side I set
my staff again and watched the flight once more, then, faring still
farther until I had passed the western end some little distance, I did
the same and found, to my delight, that the two flights appeared to
come together at some point not more than some four or five hundred
yards within the depths of the towering oak wood. There I but circled
about, the bees coming to the honey now in hosts, and as soon as they
were laden flying almost directly upward. Very keenly I searched upward
now and found what I was seeking. Extending straight outward and upward
from the trunk of the mightiest of the oaks was a giant blasted limb,
and upon its side I could perceive a fissure in and out of which the
bees were coming and going in countless numbers. Mine was the bee tree!
I drew forth my short axe and cut the mark which all recognized as
mine, three crosses, one above another--we had no letters or written
language as yet, as had some eastern nations--deeply into the great
tree’s hole, and so made sure my prize. Venturesome would be he who
should cut down the tree thus marked by me. That toil should be my
own when I so decided, a great toil doubtless, but one worth bearing,
for the limb was huge and the bees a vast swarm, and within the lofty
hollow must be stored honey to sweeten the bread of many a feast and
supply the mead for many a score of brimming urus horns. Thus sought I
the honey!
Our houses were all of wood, and simply built. We had no glass for our
windows, and it was not uncommon that skins were hung before them, to
be held aside by thongs or left hanging down for protection against
storms or the cold, as the season and the weather might determine.
Inside, the furnishing was as rude and simple, but there were home life
and comfort there, except sometimes in winter, for with us the winters
were often bitter. That we did not suffer greatly at this season was
because of our practice in building our habitations. The better houses
rested upon logs reaching across above a great cellar which in winter
could be made the living-room, affording sure protection from the cold.
Somewhat lacking in pure air this underground hall might be, but here
was much companionship and merriment. Here mighty bows were fashioned
and here the women wove the spun linen which we wore beneath our robes
of skin and fur. There was rarely lack of food, and so the winters,
long and keen, were not greatly a terror to us. Our cattle and horses
and our herds of swine fared not so well, but, somehow, lived, for they
were hardened to the climate and to scant feeding upon mown marsh grass
and store of garnered mast.
It was not in the winter alone, however, that we were forced to guard
our various herds. The big brown bear had a fondness for the hog or
colt or calf, and was not inclined to make the attempt upon the family
of the huge wild boar when lesser prey was to be found, and the many
prowling wolves had tastes as trained. In winter especially were the
wolves menacing, for then they gathered in packs and were dangerous to
man and beast alike. The fierce lynx was another enemy.
Yet we could not grumble at the forest, which we loved. If it had its
perils it was none the less our provider and our protection. It gave
us nearly all we had, and, first of all, abundant food. There were the
aurochs and urus and wild hogs and the great stag and lesser deer,
and grouse and geese and ducks and various other game; and we were
shrewd hunters. Sometimes we made pits for the aurochs or the urus, and
sometimes hunted and slew them with bow and spear, though such latter
chase was always for those possessed of hardihood. The aurochs, the
monster bison, most ponderous creature of the forest, was not inclined
to attack man if unassailed, though his charge when it came could not
be stopped. But with the urus it was different. He would assail the
hunter whenever he perceived one, and few there were who dared to meet
his onset with the spear. The wild boar was scarcely less evil in his
temper. As for the hungry, lumbering brown bear, he often stole upon
or pursued man as the opportunity came, seeking only to devour.
We were well armed, though in a somewhat varied manner, for we had
little metal and there were few in our scattered villages who could
forge the weapons, and so it was that those possessed were cherished.
There were axes and spears and swords of copper, and more of bronze,
and a few of the new metal--iron, which men had but lately learned to
use, and all these were from our fathers or gained in battle, or, more
lately, through a trade drifting through many hands from the far people
who made fine weapons. So it came that a goodly sword or spear or axe
was a prize always to be sought and the gaining of which gave zest and
aim to many a raid and risk. My own sword had descended to me, but my
battle axe had not so long ago belonged to a chief of the rude Chauci,
the tribe to our west who had such a longing for possession of our salt
spring, greatest holding of our wide mark. Salt!
For the sake of salt we would submit to any labour, endure all hardship
or face any peril which might arise. Without it our life must be a
different thing and harder. Without it how could we preserve our meat
and fish and have the best provision for our grim winters? Our eating
had the greater flavor from it, and with it we were more assured of
having that which to eat. Honey was good and the mead from it arousing
and exalting, yet what gave they but pleasure?
The use of salt seemed as the line between the good and the bad,
between the foul and cleanly. The wolf and all the musky beasts of
prey abhorred it, while the wholesome ones, the aurochs and urus and
stag and deer, sought for it eagerly where the water seeped from the
spring into the long grass of the marshes. It had become to us a first
necessity, as it had to those of other tribes. It was like a symbol of
life to us, in that it preserved and saved from putrefaction. It had
become a part of our existence. What should we do without it? To our
direct and simple reasoning, it seemed a substance kindly and aiding,
apart from other things, and vaguely sanctified. It was thought that
from the salt springs prayers to the gods ascended more quickly than
from elsewhere, and, sometimes, when the land allowed, places of
shelter for worship were made beside them. So, the possession of a salt
spring--though there were many within the length and breadth of the
great forest--was something to be guarded and to be fought for to the
death. Many a spear had been thrown, many a sword thrust, many an arrow
sped, and many an axe had risen and fallen about the salt springs. What
wonder that we fought for them as we would fight for home and wives and
children--doing stern battle, to whatever end might come!
Our own spring, by what was our mischance, lay at a distance from our
village near to the border of the Chauci, of whom I have spoken, and
was a vast temptation to them. Our village would assuredly have been
built beside it but that the spring issued from a little rise of land
within the edge of a great marsh, with a damp lowland all about, such
location as might in no wise serve for a proper dwelling place. There
was no shelter near, and the winds came harshly from the distant sea.
Nevertheless, we builded a great shed beside the spring as a shelter
in time of the salt-making, and raised a barricade of logs upon the
forest side as some means of defense in case an enemy should make an
onslaught. As often as we needed it the most accustomed of the tribe
would make an encampment by the spring and there prepare the salt,
though in a way unlike that of our ancestors, who had been accustomed
to get the salt in a most curious manner, building a fire of logs and
quenching the flames with the salt water, and when it was out, raking
away the ashy crust found clinging to the embers. A better and far
easier way was ours, for we now had the kettles in which to do the
heating and condensing of the water into what we wanted. In autumn,
when the time came for putting aside the fish and meat for the winter,
a large company would go from the village to the salt-making, and the
gathering was made almost a festival. There had always been sufficient
force either with or of the workers, and no evil had ever come to them,
though, at other times, the Chauci had once or twice invaded the spring
and made salt there unknown to us. They also possessed a spring, but
it was not as generous of flow as ours nor so convenient for those who
lived the nearest to us. There had been murmurings and distrust over
this intrusion of the Chauci, but there had followed no encounter,
though the invasion was in violation of all tribal law, and though we
had often come in conflict with the Chauci.
It has been a prosperous and pleasant summer for us, yet somewhat of
a dull one, for there had been no conflicts and the older warriors
were disposed to grumble at what they termed either indifference to
honour or great slothfulness. Had not a band of the Harudes been
seen hovering about our southeastern mark, and had not there been a
disappearance of some scores of our half-wild cattle? Had not certain
most promising bee trees toward the line of the Juthungi been cut
down and despoiled, and was not either of these outrages sufficient
to demand some sort of raiding in reprisal? It was true that the
Juthungi had their home some distance from our borders and that we
were not assured that our cattle were taken by the Harudes, but should
such small lack of certainty prevent us from displaying our hardihood
and prevent us also from acquiring such booty as might come in our
way? Such chance, the seasoned veterans declared, would not have been
neglected in their own fine youth. I know not why, but all this passed
and there was no raiding, it may be because the dulness of the year was
somewhat broken by the festivals in honor of the youth who had arrived
at the dignity of fighting men, and by the consumption of much mead at
these same festivals. A serious occasion, albeit an auspicious and a
pleasant one, it was when the youth became of age to be counted among
young warriors. This year there was near a score to be thus exalted,
which gift of many was counted good as making the families stronger.
The youth were trained in warlike exercises, and happy the father who
could boast most sons. They were taught a contempt for death and that
the tie of kinship was ever to be observed. So strong, indeed, was the
need and the desire for kin, that when one lacked a family he sought
blood-brotherhood with some other, and, when this was agreed upon, each
would cut the palm of the hand and let the blood from the wound run
into a little hollow in the ground, so that from the blood commingled
might be pledged the brotherhood for life, to which they swore with
clasped hands. Kinship and brotherhood meant greater strength, and so
it was not strange that when new youth entered the elder ranks there
was rejoicing and much ceremony in the bestowal of arms, and afterward
much feasting. So it chanced that in this year of which I speak, with
many youth to be initiated, the ceremony over one almost overlapped
that of another, and that most of the warriors, drinking deeply and
boasting of fights which had been and would be, were somewhat careless
of the present. I know only that we had been at peace for all the
summer, and that, though I had found good hunting and had fortune in
the finding and marking of bee trees, I had myself a sense that time
was beginning to move with somewhat laggard feet. Moreover, there were
certain weapons which I desired renewed for my equipment and which I
could not get within the tribe. Yet I held my peace in the debates,
well knowing that after the initiation of the various youth the warrior
would be restless.
It is of these same youth that there is something curious to tell, a
thing beginning in mere love of the young for any wild performance
and the doing of that which the elders might look upon as childish or
unmanly, but which here had, in the end, a great result. I have said
that we had horses as well as horned cattle, but the horses, like the
cattle, were for food, and were rarely mounted, since the forest was
scarce the place in which they might be used with freedom. It was
counted almost effeminate in a man to ride when his strong legs should
be equal to any journey. The youth took small account of this; lightly
they held to elder views, and so a company of some score or more of
them had contrived to capture and tame to riding a number of horses,
performing some fine exploits with them in a broad clearing at a safe
distance from the village and from all surveillance. They rode well,
guiding the horses with their thonged bridles and flourishing their
long spears, as they had heard did the horsemen of the Gauls, and I,
who, because I had no family of my own, was somewhat of a friend and,
it may be, a too lenient mentor to them, felt a certain pride in their
performance and had no notion of betraying them. Indeed, I felt that I
somewhat aided and abetted them, and of this last I had no regret.
So drifted we up to the time of the first falling of the leaves.
The days passed and the autumn grew and the hunters were out and
the boatmen were on the rivers, fishing them even to the coast with
their nets of woven marsh grass, and soon we would have great store
of meat and fish for storing. It was time for the yearly salt making,
so a small company of the youth were sent ahead to the spring by
the marshes to prepare for the coming of such older ones as should
direct the boiling and other labour to be done. All were engaged in
the preparation, and the band departed shoutingly at dawn, for to the
spring it was a full half day’s journey.
That night the hunters came from the chase vaunting and heavy laden,
for they had met with great good fortune, having surrounded and slain
an aurochs of huge size, so adding at once no little meat for the
salting. Never was clan in better mood than was ours on that night of
much eating and drinking by the tired though noisy hunters. Well into
the night the revelry continued, when there came that which changed the
nature of the feasters. There were short, dull cries from the outside,
and then staggered into hall two of the youth who had gone with the
little company to the salt spring. One was bloody of head and face, and
each was, at first, too scant of breath to tell his tale. It soon came,
however, and was such as to make each warrior seize upon and brandish
aloft his weapons and swear an oath as to what would be the deadly
happenings of the morrow!
The Chauci had seized upon our salt spring, defying us at last, and had
done the deed most cruelly. Scarce had the youth reached the spring and
begun the cleaning of the boiling shed from its bed of drifted leaves,
and to make ready the places for the fires, when there appeared from
the nearby wood a band of Chauci who rushed upon them, casting their
spears and chasing swiftly with their other weapons. The youth, brave
enough but far outnumbered, fled into the marsh and across the neck of
it and so gained refuge in the forest at a point some distance from the
spring, but not before two had been slain. Hardly had they reached the
forest’s edge when they saw a larger force come from the wood and join
the first band of Chauci at the spring. Of these the two youth judged
there were at least three hundred. The fugitives had fled straightway
homeward, and deemed that the others who had escaped should soon be
with us, though of this they were not fully assured, since they had
scattered themselves for safety’s sake, and it was possible that the
Chauci might have pursued and captured or slain more of them. Happily
this was not so. The remaining fugitives came in before the morning
broke, all wearied from the long run and the hiding, and three of them
wounded by the thrown lances.
There was no more wassail, but, in its stead, swift and stern
preparation for what was soon to come. We of the elder warriors spent
little time in council or the devising of any plan, for we knew that
it could be only a stubborn grapple of almost equal forces, with no
advantage of ambush or surprise to either side. We could rally as many
of our clan as there were of the invading Chauci, and for more we
cared not. We would ask no aid from other villages of the Cherusci,
though, should we be beaten in the fight, there would doubtless follow
a war between the whole tribes, for blood is thick and the Chauci had
now been transgressors boldly; but, should we win, the matter would
doubtless end with that, since we would have had our vengeance and,
perchance, some booty with it. There were some who counselled marching
at once upon our foes, but it was decided by those among us who had
the leadership that the attack should be made in daylight, and so it
rested. All night, all through the village could be heard the sounds
of the sharpening of swords and spears and axes, and the pattering
of hammers studding and fastening more securely the leather on the
linden shields. The sun had scarcely risen before we had eaten and
were set out on our grim march. No able man in the village but was of
that avenging company, save some score of the riding youth of whom I
have already told and who, because I spoke for them, were allowed to
march apart, that they might, as their leader pleaded, come in upon the
Chauci from an unexpected side and by their sudden charge do more, if
might be, than if they marched and fought with all the rest. At first
this was denied them, but I had some dim reasoning that these reckless
ones had in mind what might avail exceedingly, and my earnest counsel
and demand that they be given the chance to show us what stuff for
warriors was within them at last prevailed.
No sign of the Chauci saw we until we came close upon what we knew must
be the battlefield. They were not ranged about the spring, but were
massed, as I had reasoned well they would be, in the thick wood near
to it, where they would have some measure of protection and where we
must attack them at a disadvantage, for the wood there, though dense
and heavy, was apart from the main forest, and could be reached only
by passing across a wide open space where we would be exposed to their
spear throwing and their arrow flights. Nevertheless we drew together,
holding our shields before us and so launched ourselves across the open
space.
It was a grim and furious charge and no man failed, but our foe had
the advantage. We gained the forest’s edge, but our spears and arrows
were turned aside by the close set trees and brush, while upon us in
the open rained such flight of weapons as could not be avoided or
long withstood, and not a few of the Cherusci fell. We had suffered
grievously when, with a blind and desperate rush, we entered the
wood fairly and there, though engaged now on more even terms, found
little better fortune. The Chauci, well knowing what must follow their
defeat, fought like savage beasts at bay, and most skilfully as well,
keeping together and meeting us with stroke and thrust as heavy and
in a rage as fearful as our own. Back and forth we swung together in
that dark killing-place, and, for a time, even the shouting and the
threatening ceased and there was only the harsh sound of weapons. We
fought unflinching, as Cherusci should, but were the more wearied of
the two forces, for we had marched far, and had now lost some of our
best warriors and, finally, there came a little yielding. Strive hardly
as we might, it did not cease, and soon, though with our mass unbroken,
we were forced into the field again, the Chauci pressing fiercely with
yells of triumph, until they, too, were in the open. Then followed such
fighting as had not been often seen or had been told of in the feast
hall!
Face to face, we stood in opposing ranks, Cherusci against Chauci, and
no man thought of aught save killing. We were now the lesser force,
but none gave that a thought. There were the Chauci, and they must be
slain! As for me, I had gone stark mad with the battle lust. Man after
man went down and another took his place, but we had the lesser weight,
they were as desperate as we, and we were driven back, though slowly.
Then came the sudden and amazing end!
From the main forest on one side rang out a shouting almost boyish, and
then from that green wood burst forth a score of beardless horsemen!
The ground was somewhat sloping, there was room for headway, and,
sweeping down in a mass together, the young spearmen burst in upon
and through the Chauci, as though they were but corn! Never before
in forest fray had been such hurling of ridden horses upon footmen.
What could withstand such charge of thundering beast, or the bent
spears, of which none failed to reach its man! Crumpled and split apart
and scattered were the Chauci by that fierce onslaught, and we, the
warriors, leaped after them and slew them as they fled, pursuing them
into the forest ways which led toward their home and overtaking many.
Well had the youth displayed their warrior blood, and, more than that,
had taught us much. Henceforth the horse would be exalted.
Foremost and swift was I in the grim pursuit, and overtook three of the
fleeing Chauci in a little glade, when they turned to face me. It was
a fight of but a moment. My axe descended on the one who seemed to be
the leader, and then came to me what was beyond all evil dreaming! Even
as my axe sank into the Chauci’s head one of the others, who had darted
aside as I made my rush, swung his long sword behind me foully and I
tottered and fell crumplingly to earth there, hamstrung and helpless
and a lost man forever! What mattered it that one who came panting
behind me cut down the knave who had crippled me? What more had life!
The pursuit by our warriors ended at last; they gathered together the
weapons of the slain Chauci and all the spoil of their camp, and,
afterward, made a litter in which they carried me, as they did the
others who could not walk. The march wound to the village, which was
reached at nightfall. Most carefully was I attended. Loud had been the
acclamation of me as foremost in the battle, and my leg was shrewdly
bound, as was also a little wound in my left arm, which, before, had
bled most steadily. Afterward I was placed upon a couch of furs in the
feast hall, where presently would be held the feast in celebration
of our victory. Sadly and sullenly I lay. Then came to me a wondrous
resolution! There came before my eyes a vision of one helpless and
crawling. Where were now the battle and the chase and the fair hunting
of the bee stores! What grayness lay before me! What held life for me
now, for me who in the morning had been at the crest of strength and
pride and who had hewn my way to greater honour through a warrior’s
day! What pitiful old age might come to Scar, the hamstrung! Yet, what
honour comes to the hero who dies laughing at death and fresh from
where much blood has flowed? I thought of her who was wearing my golden
armlet, sleeping quietly, and life seemed hollow at the best! I thought
of the long years of hobbling, and my mind became as iron, as my gorge
rose. They were making ready for the feast now and I called my friends
about me and told them I would feast with them, and directed where my
seat should be, as I drank deeply with them and that I should be lifted
to it, and they did as I commanded boisterously and acclaimingly, for
they knew well what I had in mind, though in the eyes even of those
warriors shone something of wonder with their pride. The feast began
and the vaunting and the shouting and the deep drinking, and then I
shouted loud, though I could not rise, and bade them hail and vaunted
of the brave day. Hoarsely and loudly I told them how I was about to
die cheerily, as a warrior should, before the eyes of fighting men,
laughing and showing to the youth the manner in which a hero passed to
Woden!
Lifted I then my wounded arm and tore away the bandage from where a
goodly vein was sheared apart, and opened it anew with my dagger,
and the red blood came out and ran with a soft patter to the floor as
I let the arm hang low beside me. Four brimming urus horns of mead I
quaffed then, and shouted and waved the horn above me and sang the
praise of the Cherusci, and the warriors shouted with me and would have
lifted me aloft but for my wounds. More deeply yet I drank, and more
boasted of the glory of the Cherusci, and still heard the ceaseless
dripping to the floor. The mead was bringing languor, and it seemed
to me that, because of this fine sleepiness, I spoke less bravely,
repeating much, and stumblingly, the words I had said before. Surely,
I thought, a better mead was never brewed! The lights flashed and the
warriors shouted over to me. I was warm, and my head nodded. Great were
we of the Cherusci and great the life of a warrior! My head sank on my
breast. The whimsy came; we warriors might be strong, but assuredly
grizzled and bent old Harling, who brewed our mead, was mightiest among
us! I bent forward prone on the table, with my head upon my unwounded
arm, the other yet dangling. Still came to my ears the patter of the
blood upon the floor. Strong was the mead!