As we have seen, the Romans were still ignorant whether the Barbarians
were aware of the bands approaching simultaneously from several
directions to menace the inhabitants of the forest with destruction.
Preparations had been made so secretly that the commanders believed it
possible to take the foe completely by surprise. For weeks not a German
had been allowed to pass the guards on the very outermost line of Roman
territory, which, it is true, had been greatly diminished in the course
of the last three or four generations. The right of traffic at the
stations on the southern shore had been withdrawn a still longer time,
on the pretext of alleged violations of the conditions of such
intercourse. Roman traders had not ventured recently within the
precincts occupied by neighbors who were justly irritated by such
severity.
The sentinels on the frontier reported that nothing unusual could be
seen from the watch towers. The people went about their work in field
and forest as usual, tended their numerous flocks, hunted or fished;
apparently they thought neither of defence nor flight.
Once, it is true, one of the _speculae_ reported that, late one night, a
fire had suddenly blazed upon a mountain peak probably several miles
from the lake and, after a short interval, as suddenly vanished. The
Alemanni called the towering height, whose summit was visible for many
a mile, the Sacred Mountain, the Holy Mountain, and Odin's Mountain,
and the name has clung to it tenaciously. True, in later times the
"sacred" related to Christian consecration; but at the present day the
stately castle on that majestic height bears the title of Heiligenberg.
On the spot where Odin's ash-trees then rustled, the breeze now sweeps
across the flower-beds of a beautiful garden.
The report was unheeded. Forest fires, even at night, were not unusual
among the Germans, who in their labor of clearing the ground often
required, in the place of the axe, the aid of the swifter flame. During
the next few days also everything remained quiet.
On the morning after that night--it was a few days prior to the Romans'
march across the height of Meersburg, already described--a youth
emerged from the dense woods stretching for miles in a northwesterly
direction toward the Holy Mountain, a youth whose figure was as
straight, tall, and slender as a young pine. The hood of lynx-skin
fluttering from his shoulders like a short cloak did not confine his
long fair locks, which fell in waves upon his shoulders, waves with
which the morning breeze played caressingly, as the youth stopped on
the crest of a low grassy hill that afforded a view of the lake.
Resting his right arm upon the oak handle of his spear, he leaned
forward, shading his eyes with his left hand from the glare of the
sunbeams on the smooth surface of the water, as he gazed intently
toward the southern shore. It was an eagle glance, proud, bold, and
keen, and the color of the eye was a light golden brown.
The red-tiled roofs of the Roman watchtowers and citadels opposite in
Arbon and the other stations (Constantia, etc.) shone brightly in the
morning sunlight. The utmost repose pervaded the whole scene. Neither
sail nor row-boat was visible: a huge kite, with an occasional stroke
of its broad pinions, was soaring in wide circles above the shallows
near the shore.
The young German turned his eyes in the direction of the gently rising
ground before him northwest of Friedrichshafen, now occupied by the
village of Jettenhausen. At that time the land had been cleared and
brought under cultivation. The hill was crowned by a stately wooden
structure, surrounded by a fence built breast-high for purposes of
defence; a pair of superb antlers adorned the ridge-pole. From the main
building itself and a small one adjoining it smoke circled upward
through holes in the roof: the inmates were doubtless preparing the
morning meal.
The youth made a movement in the direction of the hall, on which his
eyes had rested proudly, yet with an expression of almost sorrowful
earnestness, then he paused suddenly, saying to himself: "No! I will go
first to _her_." He hastened eastward through what was then a tract of
marshy woodland--now bearing the name of Seewald--crossing it in the
direction of the Tettnang forests. Often he was forced to leap from
rock to rock or from one mossy hillock to another, that he might not
sink waist-deep in the morass. But the young German seemed perfectly
familiar with the almost invisible path which, sometimes in the form of
a ford, sometimes as a bridge, led through the bog and the dense
underbrush. Swinging himself with a daring leap, aided by the handle of
his spear, across a tolerably wide stream which flowed through moss and
sedges to the lake--a startled red grouse flew upward with a shrill
cry--he soon saw before him the nearest settlement to his own stately
dwelling: for he was the lord of the manor he had left behind. In this
region neighbors lived more than a league apart; it was not until
succeeding generations that the scattered freeholds along the lake grew
into villages.
The little house in the forest--it might almost be called a
hut--nestled modestly at the foot of a low hill which sheltered it from
the northeast wind. The old roof was overgrown with dark green moss,
and the small stable forming part of the dwelling afforded room for
only a few head of cattle. Yet everything was neat and well-kept,
especially the little pasture in whose fenced inclosure stood several
fruit-trees, while the eye noted with surprise the presence in this
wilderness of several ornamental plants belonging to Rome or Southern
Gaul: the yew and--carefully tended--some fine roses. Across the top of
the ridge-pole was a four-pointed star, clumsily carved from pine-wood,
but unmistakable. Its beauty, however, had not been increased by its
having been smeared with the red lead used to color the house-mark cut
in it--evidently a recent act.
The youth's first glance as he came in sight of the little house was
unconsciously directed toward the star on the roof. When he saw the red
paint a smile curled the well-cut mouth, which was not yet wholly
concealed by the downy beard of early manhood. His second look sought
the top of the low hill, where an ancient oak, now steeped in the
golden sunshine, was waving its gnarled branches in the morning breeze;
long garlands of goat's beard, dangling from the boughs, swayed to and
fro. A circular wooden bench surrounded the trunk, and on the southern
side a few large stones had been arranged to form a sort of table.