Meanwhile the Batavians, Adalo's two companions, and the bear-leader
had lain chattering peaceably together around the campfire.
There was, in general, so total a lack of any feeling of unity among
the various German tribes that the Alemanni did not think of openly
reproaching the Batavians, or even cherishing any secret resentment
because they were fighting under Roman standards against other Germans:
Alemanni mercenaries also fought against the German, as well as against
the other foes of Rome.
So the Roman bronze vessel, filled with dark red Rhaetian wine, was
passed to the two Alemanni also, and the Batavians gladly drank the
mead which Adalo's companions had brought in long wooden vessels
fastened on their backs. For in those days the thirst of the Alemanni
was great and frequent, and the brave fellows--hospitality in the
enemy's camp had not been expected--would have been reluctant to do
without liquor during the long hours consumed on the journey there, the
waiting, and the return.
The Sarmatian, with laudable impartiality, drank wine and mead by
turns. He, too, at a sign from Rignomer, had taken his seat by the
fire. The bear lay stretched at full length at his side, while he began
to throw sharp knives into the air and nimbly catch them again, to the
astonishment of the Batavians, who gave him small copper coins. His
lame companion was lying under the bushes, sleeping so soundly that he
snored.
"Ah," cried Rignomer, wiping his chin with his bare arm and returning
the little cask to the Alemanni, "may Fro reward you for the drink!
Nothing has tasted so good since I turned my back on the Issala and my
mother's earth-cellar. She brews it even stronger."
"Wine tastes still better," said his countryman.
"Better in the mouth, Brinno; but mead and ale taste better in the
heart: it's home drink. And the best part is not the moist wave that
runs down the throat, but the memory of many a happy hour of former
drinks, which hovers over it like the rustling of a heron's wings.
Well, Alemanni, when will it come to fighting? And will you seek us, or
must we hunt for you?"
"As the Duke chooses," replied the other, draining his cup--"and
all-ruling Odin."
The Batavian's face changed.
"Don't name him to me! I fear _him_; you wearers of hair I don't. I've
seized many a man of you with the left hand by his Suabian tail, and
thrust the short Roman sword into his throat with my right. But I fear
the wearer of the mantle! He is hostile to us mercenaries. It seems to
me as though he were hovering in the air opposing us, wherever we
fight. There, Juggler, drink again. And then show (we've seen _your_
tricks) what your bear has learned. Ought not your boy in the bushes
yonder, the lame fellow, to have something too? But where is he?"
"Ho, Zizais, dog of a cripple, are you deaf as well as dumb? Where are
you hiding? Look, there he lies over by the spring, nearer to the
ditch: he has a fever, and went for water. Now stir yourself, my brown
dancing maid."
He whispered in the ear of the animal which, growling, rose on its hind
legs; the juggler put his long staff in its fore-paws, and now the
clumsy creature turned slowly in a circle, keeping time to a monotonous
melancholy tune which he first played on his huge flute and then sang,
beating time on a bronze cup with a knife-blade. The Romans laughed
loudly at the clumsy dancer.
"What is the dainty damsel's name?" asked Rignomer.
"Bruna. She can prophesy too. Take heed! Ask what you choose."
Taking the staff from the bear's paws as he spoke, he laid his hand on
her head. The animal now dropped down on her fore-paws and looked up
intelligently at her master, who thrust some bread into her mouth.
"Well, you wise Wala," laughed Rignomer, "will the Romans conquer in
the next battle?"
The Sarmatian lightly stroked the animal's head against the hair: the
bear, growling angrily, shook her head.
The Batavian started, the laugh died on his lips. "She is Donar's
friend," he said dejectedly. "He speaks through her. I thought so."
He spoke as if the battle had already been fought and lost.
"Well," said the juggler consolingly, "I'll question her for you.
Bruna, clever wood spirit, look sharply at this hero: Will he come out
of this war safe and go back to his mother who brews the good mead?"
He lightly stroked the bear from the forehead down toward the tail:
Bruna nodded assent.
"I thank thee, Donar," cried Rignomer cheerily. "What do I care for the
Romans' victory? I'm going home soon. Hark ye, fellow, the clever
fortune-teller pleases me. Will you sell her?"
The Sarmatian looked thoughtful. The question was evidently unexpected.
"Not willingly--not cheaply--" he said hesitatingly, wishing to gain
time for reflection. "I live by her tricks even more than by my own."
"You are right, Rignomer," Brinno observed. "It's often very dull in
camp when we're not on duty. She would amuse us."
"And I'd like to startle the Romans, the proud legionaries who look
down scornfully upon us auxiliaries, but always send us to the
bloodiest posts in battle."
"I suppose the creature came from these forests?" asked Brinno.
The juggler nodded.
"Aha," cried Rignomer, laughing, "then we must have her. We'll take her
to little Bissula: the brown German to the red one."
"Who is Bissula?" drawled the juggler.
"The most charming girl I ever saw," cried Brinno quickly.
"Yes! Every one who sees her is fond of her," Rignomer went on.
"Especially we Germans!"
"So are the Romans, I think; at any rate, most of them. But she often
sits gazing so sadly toward the woods, as if longing for something. Her
countrywoman will amuse her. I'll buy the animal from you."
"No, no! I don't want to part with her. But,"---his eyes
sparkled--"I'll tell you. Take me, the bear, and--" (he was going to
say my boy, but as he no longer saw him lying beside the spring, nor in
his former place, he checked himself) "into the camp for a few days,
till you are tired of the toy."
But both mercenaries shook their heads.
"That won't do! You jugglers and animal tamers are regarded as
professional spies."
"The Tribune would have us flogged if we even let you pass through the
gate of the camp."
"Well," replied the bear-leader, "I won't sell her, but I'll leave the
creature with you a few days; I'll soon come back for her."
"Without pay? That's suspicious!" said Brinno.
"Not without pay!" the other interposed quickly. "Not on any account! I
earn my living by her. You must pay me."
"Very well. But listen: is the beast perfectly tame?"
"Perfectly. If she gets a little unruly, you need only buckle the broad
collar here--do you see?--a little tighter."
"I see."
"Don't neglect to tell everybody who has anything to do with the
animal," warned the Sarmatian.
"Especially the little one," said Brinno. "It would be a pity to have a
hair of her head harmed."
"If only people do nothing to injure her, this clever countrywoman
won't bite them."
Steps echoed from the camp: Adalo was being escorted back.
"Zizais, where are you? We must go!" called the Sarmatian, turning
toward the bushes to search for the boy, who came limping slowly out of
the thicket.
The woollen blanket was now removed from the envoy's head; with a
gloomy face he swung himself upon his horse, his two companions did the
same, and all three soon vanished in the darkness of the forest.
The clank of weapons sounded at the gate; the Thracian spearmen were
coming to relieve the Batavians. At the same moment the bear-leader and
the cripple emerged from the thicket at the left; the former gave the
animal to Rignomer, who tried to drag it with him by the leather collar
toward the camp. But the bear resisted, growling and bracing herself on
her hind paws, as she looked beseechingly with her intelligent eyes at
her master.
"Come, come, Bruna," urged the latter--"they are good people (he
stooped and whispered in her ear) won't you go yet? Didn't you
understand?"
He scratched his head in perplexity. Then the cripple limped forward,
took from his moleskin knapsack a narrow long blue kerchief,--it looked
like a girdle,--and handed it to his master. The latter, laughing, gave
it to the Batavian.
"Yes, yes. That will help. Hold it before the animal. No! Not in front
of her eyes: her nose. There! See how she sniffs? She is getting the
scent. Are you surprised? Yes, the cloth belonged to Bruna's dearest
playfellow. Go on slowly. You see, she is following like a lamb. Well,
greet the Roman camp for me, Bruna: I'll soon come for you."