Ever since the preceding day the rain clouds, which had so long densely
veiled the mountain peaks and hung in gray curtains to the shore of the
lake, had grown lighter and lighter. Scattered fragments still floated
over the forest; but the mists were dispersing from Sentis and Toedi.
And before the sun of that day sank behind the wooded heights of the
western shore, it burst through the cloud rack for the first time in a
long while, illumining lake and country for a few minutes with a
blood-red glow. The fishes leaped greedily after the flies which were
sunning themselves in the beams and flew feebly, with damp wings, close
to the surface of the water: then the radiant ball disappeared behind
the long cloud curtain.
The herons flew screaming from the rushes toward the land. The wind
seemed to be rising. The clouds swept across the sky, sometimes in one
direction, sometimes in another. The waves of the lake, obeying the
former course of the wind, rolled in a direction opposite to the clouds
above them.
The Batavian mercenaries of the Lower Rhine were encamped outside of
the northern gate of the camp, the Porta Praetoria, but a little toward
the west. The centurion, a man about forty years old, long in the
service of Rome, who was adorned with neck-chains and various badges of
honor on his breast-plate bestowed for gallant deeds, was fanning the
smoking fire, which they were loath to have die out in the cold damp
woods.
"There!" he muttered, "there it goes. I invoked both gods, Vulcan and
Loki, in vain. Vulcan won't help me, because I am a Barbarian; Loki
because I serve the Romans. We mercenaries no longer have any gods to
aid us, because we belong to no nation."
"Ha, Rignomer," laughed another in the group, a youth whose downy red
beard was just beginning to grow, "I care for only one god among them
all--the god of victory."
"And he, Odin, is the very one who has deserted us, Brinno. Everywhere
the Germans are conquering; that is, the peoples who are fighting
against Rome, not we German mercenaries, who battle for the Caesar. And
in every conflict the men who bleed are we mercenaries."
"Because these cunning Romans always put us in the place which is most
severely threatened," Brinno cried angrily.
"Because Odin is hostile to us," whispered the centurion. "We must no
longer fight for Rome against the other Germans. He no longer wills
it."
"What do you mean by Germans? That's a word like Barbarians. The Romans
invented it, not we. What do I care for these Alemanni? I am a
Batavian; 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 can
hardly understand what they say."
"But all we blue-eyed, yellow-haired men are sons of the dwellers in
Asgard. We have all come here to the great waters front the East. So
our forefathers teach us; so the harpers sing. And everywhere, on the
Rhine and the Danube, the districts and peoples who formerly had such
bitter feuds are gathering. This is Odin's work. He is summoning the
descendants of Asgard to war against Rome. This is my last campaign
under the dragon standard. In a few days my time of service will
expire; then I shall go home and till my land on the Issala, where my
mother and my brother and sisters live; till it with a better plough, a
Roman one. And if I must fight again, I will fight for my land, against
Rome. We Franks have too little room down there in the swamps of the
Rhine; 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 beside
Brinno and whispered: "A man from my district, who formerly fought
under the Emperor Valentinian by this lake against the Alemanni, told
me why in fear and horror he suddenly gave up the service and lost his
pay: In a battle the Romans were vanquished. _One_ against whom no man
can lift his hand without forfeiting salvation forever dashed forward
on 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; so
runs the legend. When sore peril threatens the dwellers by the lake he
descends from the heavenly heights, warns them, conceals them from the
eyes of the foe with his dark mantle of clouds; teaches them runes of
victory on inaccessible mountains, and bears them suddenly away on the
eagle wings of the tempest. Against him I will not fight. I vowed to
serve the Imperator against men only. But hark! a tuba signal from our
outposts. 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: if
you wish to go into the camp to the General,--only one is permitted to
ride in,--I must first cover your eyes. Dismount! You will not? Well
then, turn back again."
This was a severe blow to Adalo's hopes. He would so gladly have gazed
keenly 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 a
huge sack and fastened under his chin: Rignomer took him by the hand
and guided him to the gate, where a centurion of the Thracians received
the Barbarians' envoy.
Adalo's two companions also dismounted, tied the three horses to the
nearest trees, and soon lay chatting with the Batavians. The bad Latin
of the frontier, it is true, often had to aid the understanding of the
different dialects around the watchfire. With great exertion it had now
been rekindled, for it was growing very dark. Suddenly, from the forest
path by which the envoys had come, a strange growling was heard which
drew 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, pointing
behind 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 eyes
and mouth opened in astonishment: "That's surely--"
But his companion gave him a violent dig in the ribs with his elbow: "A
she-bear! Yes. Didn't you ever see one?"
A man in the Sarmatian costume--black sheepskin with the wool turned
inside--now stepped into the firelight, leading by a leather thong a
large she-bear. Behind him, also clad in sheepskin, limped his boy,
probably carrying in his bundle provisions for their journey; he was a
poor cripple, who made his way forward slowly with the help of a
crutch, and doubtless found it hard either to stand or to walk; for
when 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 boy
is deaf, and he is sick with fever. He is afraid of people. Let him lie
there!"
The lad crept under the thickest underbrush, far away from the flames.
He could scarcely be seen from the watchfire; all that was visible was
his coal-black curly hair. Taking out a little earthen pot, he poured a
few drops of some liquid on his lame foot and rubbed it with his hand.