Over the silent garden lay the enchantment of a warm, glorious summer
night.
The innumerable stars shone magnificently in the cloudless heavens. And
now in the east, above the walls of Juvavum, which had till now hidden
her from view, rose the full moon, pouring forth a flood of glory,
showing in her fantastic light, so bright and yet so different from
day, the white house, the dark bushes, and the tall trees.
Numerous night-loving flowers in the gardens of the villas, and in the
meadows around, whose cups were closed by day, now opened and exhaled
their 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, so
loud, so quavering, so ardent, so impassioned, Liuthari would rather
not have heard it; and yet he could not help listening to the fervid
tones.
The night wind played in his flowing locks, for, besides the
breast-plate, he had also left his helmet in the room, only taking with
him his spear, which served as a staff, and the round shield, on which
to lay his head, if he wished to rest.
But he found no rest.
With strong determination he went away from the house, which so
powerfully attracted him, towards the entrance where the stone slabs
lay about in confusion. As the store of stones had not been sufficient
to fill up the entrance, the old slave had with the pick-axe taken up
two slabs from the threshold, one of which bore the inscription. On
this heap of stones Liuthari now sat in a deep reverie, just within the
entrance, and looked at the stars and the soft light of the moon. He
forced himself to think of his parents at home, of the past day and its
victory, of the daughter of Agilolf with the fine-sounding name--what
might she be like?
All! it was of no use; he only deceived himself: through all the
pictures of his thoughts, pushing them aside, so that they melted away
as mist, appeared that noble, pale face, the rhythmic symmetry of that
figure.
"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 hot
haste, their iron hoofs resounding on the hard pavement of the road,
several horses came galloping from Juvavum; the practised ear of the
German 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 it
be?--Fugitive Romans? or even--her husband?"
He stepped behind the pier of the entrance to the right, where his form
and also his shadow was hidden, while the moonlight revealed clearly to
him 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 riders
sprang from their horses, and fastened them to a milestone.
The one, the tallest, wore a Roman helm, with a dark flowing plume, the
two others the close-fitting headgear of the Moorish cavalry; their
white 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 call
Haduwalt? Bah! King Liutbert's son has often already stood against
three 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 fetch
the woman; if I need you, I will call. But I think"----
"Halt! stand, Roman!" cried Liuthari, with levelled spear, springing
into the gateway in the full moonlight. "What seek you here?"
"A German! Down with him!" cried the three voices at once. But at the
same moment the leader stumbled two steps backwards, struck on the
breast 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 rebounded
and--broke.
The German angrily dropped the now useless shaft.
"By Tartarus, that was a murderous blow!" cried Leo fiercely. "Prudence
is necessary. Raise the spears; we will throw together."
The three lances flew at once--all three the Alemannian stopped with
his shield. One, hurled with especial momentum and fury, penetrated the
threefold ox-hide and ash-wood of the shield, and wounded his arm near
the shoulder.
The young man, full of strength, hardly felt the slight wound; but the
shield, encumbered with three spear-shafts, he could no longer
dexterously 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 it
out, and threw. The Moor at the right of the Tribune cried out and fell
dead to the ground.
"I will throw him down; thou, sir, stab him!" cried the other. It was
Himilco, the centurion.
"With the leap of the panther of his native deserts, he now sprang at
the throat of the German; but, quick as lightning, Liuthari had drawn
the short knife from his shoulder-belt. He thrust it into the brow
between the eyes of his assailant. The brown, muscular arms which had
seized the German's two shoulders as with the claws oL a beast of prey,
loosened; without a sound the African fell backwards. But Liuthari had
not time to draw out the deeply imbedded dagger-blade.
"Haduwalt! Help!" cried he loudly.
For already the third enemy, a most formidable opponent, had rushed
upon him.
With a powerful sword-stroke he cleaved Liuthari's shield so that it
split into two halves, and, with the clinging spears, fell right and
left from his arm.
And the Roman had, at the same time, stuck the sharp iron spike in the
centre of his convex shield, deep into the naked right arm of the
king's son: the blood spurted out. He recoiled several steps from the
weight of the blow, nearly stumbling over the stone slabs.
The furious enemy, well armed both for defence and offence, now stepped
victoriously into the entrance, pushing aside with his foot the two
halves of the shield, that his adversary should not draw out the
spears.
With a keen look the Roman measured his adversary, who now drew his
last weapon, the short-handled battle-axe, from his girdle, and raised
it to strike. The towering stature of the young German must have seemed
fearful to the Roman, in spite of the superiority of his arms.
"Why should we tear each other to pieces, barbarian? Why dost thou
protect this house so grimly? I will not contest it with thee; I will
leave it to thee as soon as I have taken out one single thing."
"What thing? something belonging to thee? Thou art not the master of
the 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 the
house! 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 stone
battle-axe against the magnificent bronze helmet, so that it split
asunder where the plume was attached, and fell in pieces from the head
of the wearer.
But alas! that head remained uninjured, while the axe, descending with
such force on the metal, broke off at the handle. For a moment the
Tribune stood as if stupefied by the blow. But he saw immediately how
his 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 and
joy 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 raising
the heel of his left foot, and seized one of the marble slabs lying
before him; and now, first swinging it high above his head, with the
cry "Felicitas!" he hurled it with a good aim against the helmetless
forehead of the Tribune, as he sprang towards him.
Hoarsely groaning, clashing in his armour, the assailant fell
backwards; the sword escaped from his hand.
Already Liuthari knelt on his breast, seized the blade, and raised it
to force it into his throat.
But he breathed no more--he was dead. Liuthari rising, threw the sword
aside, 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, still
bleeding wound of his right arm, tore some broad strips from the linen
mantle of the dead centurion, bound them firmly around the wound, and
then trod with a light, elastic step the long path through the garden,
back to the house.