The Duke had already taken the roll of papyrus from the boy's hand and
spread it open on the table. His eye sparkled with the joy of victory.
"What do I read here? 'Four squadrons of mailed horsemen at the Porta
Decumana, all the baggage also piled at the Porta Decumana.
"'The wall eight feet high.
"'The ditch five feet deep.
"'The weakest point the corner in the northwest'--and so it continues
for a long time!
"Thanks to thee, god of wishes. Thou hast sent this, no one else, to
thy sons. Look here! A plan of the entire camp! Exact: all the
measurements. And here, marked on the margin, the strength of all the
troops horsemen, foot-soldiers, carters; and their distribution in
the camp. Look here, Adalo! Even the great pine, the tree of the
earth-goddess, is noted. What is this beside the tree? What stands
there above the stones of sacrifice which cover the turf near the tree?
A tent, empty, without soldiers, filled with provisions!
"In this page I hold victory. Go now, Zercho: your reward shall be
paid. As I promised, I will buy your freedom, whatever sum your master,
Suomar, may ask: he cannot give it to you, his lands are not large, and
you are his most valuable property."
"O mighty, generous lord, I thank you!"
"Then you can return, a free man, to your own people, to Sarmatia. That
will be your wish?"
But Zercho shook his unkempt head. Tears filled his eyes: "No," he
said. "I will stay here, my lord, if Suomar will let me keep the little
patch of ground I have always tilled--I had to give him only the
twelfth sheaf from it--and the hut of woven willow branches by the
lake. I would rather stay."
"Strange! Do you feel no longing for your home, your own people?"
"Home! We Sarmatians have none like yours, you patient, plough-guiding
men, which you occupy beside the immovable hearthstone, rooted to the
earth. Our home is the steppe, the broad, free steppe, which can be
measured neither by the eye nor the steed. Ah! it is beautiful." The
man's eyes sparkled, and suddenly Zercho, usually so dull and taciturn,
was overwhelmed by an enthusiasm which, to the listeners' astonishment,
gave his words wings. "Yes, it is more beautiful, more magnificent than
all the Roman and German lands I have ever seen. When, in the spring,
the sun has kissed away the last snow; when the moor laughs; when the
steppe blossoms; when by day hundreds of hawks scream at once in the
blue air, and the wild stallions, which have never borne a rider, neigh
so terribly and dash so furiously past the tents, trampling over
everything in their path as they pursue the trembling mares, till the
heart of the boldest man might quiver with fear and yet also with joy
at sight of such fierce, uncurbed strength! And oh, the nights, when
the thousands and thousands of heavenly spirits look down from above,
far, far more star-gods, shining far more brightly than here with
you; and when, in the darkness, the cranes and wild-swans pass like
thick clouds--for there are so many that they cast shadows in the
moonlight--like resonant, clanging clouds high in the air!
"Doubtless the steppes of Sarmatia are more beautiful than any other
lands and the lives of the Jazyges on their swift steeds are freer than
other lives. But Zercho--Zercho no longer suits the steppe. I am like
the bird, the wild bird of the moor, which boys keep for years in a
small cage where it cannot spread its wings. If it is set free, nay,
flung into the air, it drops down and lies still; it can no longer fly,
it has forgotten how. So, toiling with the plough for many years and
staying in one place has fettered me. Zercho can no longer ride as the
Jazyges ride, vying with the wind; Zercho can no longer sleep every
night on a different patch of earth and, if there be nothing better to
eat, catch locusts and lizards. I am used to grain and bread, the fruit
of the lands I have ploughed myself. I have no wish to leave them. And
my family? I saw them all--all six--die before my eyes in one night,
the terrible night when the faithless Romans--those slayers of the
people, those murderous wolves!--suddenly attacked our encampment with
the round, straw-thatched huts, by the Tibiscus, during an armistice.
The bright blaze of the hurdles lighted them well in their work of
slaughter. My father killed, my mother hurled into the flames of the
straw tent, my two sisters--oh, horrible!--tortured to death, my two
brothers leaping into the stream which flowed red with blood! And I--I
saw it all, stretched before the hut, my head cleft by a sword stroke,
defenceless, motionless. So I lay the whole starlit night, asking the
thousand gods above there: 'Why? Why? Why?' But, when day dawned, the
slave dealers who, like the ravens of the air and the wolves of the
steppe marshes, follow the Romans on every battle-field, came and trod
on all the Jazyges who lay there, to learn whether they were still
alive. I quivered under their feet, was flung into a cart, and carried
with them many, many days and weeks. At last the kind-hearted Suomar
bought and rescued me. For never, though I was a bondman, did he call
me 'dog,' like the dealers. He treated me like--like a human being. And
when the little mistress grew up, Suomar's farm became my home. And I
will stay down in the willow hut beside the lake as a free man, so long
as I live, if I am allowed to do so. And when Zercho's death hour
comes, the little red sprite (for we must rescue her, Adeling, and we
will) shall close my eyes with her hand, and then they shall bury me in
the open country, in the pastures by the lake. The cranes will pass
over me at night with rustling wings and clanging cries, high in the
air, and I shall hear it under the thin covering of turf and, in my
death sleep, dream that I am lying in the blossoming, fragrant steppe
grass."
He stopped. His cheeks were flushed; his ugly face was transfigured;
never in his whole life had he uttered so many words at once.
The Duke held out his hand, saying: "No, Zercho, you are no dog. You
have a heart, almost like the Alemanni's. Different, it is true, but
not evil."
Adalo said nothing, but he clasped the bondman's other hand and pressed
it warmly. Sippilo turned away: he did not want to let any one see his
eyes.
"You have a lucky hand, boy," cried the Duke. "I can read your wishes
in your eyes. Yes, you shall share the battle for the victory which
your bold artifice has done so much to win."
Sippilo rushed to the old Commander-in-chief and clasped both his
hands: "You diviner and fulfiller of wishes! I can imagine Odin like
you! Last autumn Adalo refused me the sword, because"--he hung his
head--"because I could not pierce with my spear the willow-woven
Hermunduri shield in our hall. Pshaw, I was only a child then; but at
the spring festival I pierced the old Roman shield which Suomar gave me
for a target."
"I had bored six holes in it and stopped them up again," Zercho
whispered to the Duke; "but let him go. I'll protect him."
Hariowald dismissed the bondman and the lad.
"Well," urged Adalo vehemently, "in this sheet you hold in your hands
the victory,--you said so yourself,--so let us fight at last."
But the Duke silently shook his head.
"Consider. 'Hasten' was her last word! Tonight?"
"No. What is one girl in comparison to a whole nation?"
"I beseech you! I implore you! You are my friend--my kinsman."
"I am Duke of the Alemanni."
"Well then," cried Adalo, deeply incensed, "delay. I will save her--I
alone! There is a way, known only to myself and to you. I will use it."
He turned to rush from the tent, but quickly, with a threatening look,
the old noble barred his way. "Stop, boy! Do not stir from this place.
Will you rob your people of certain victory for the sake of a pair of
blue eyes?"
"I will not rob them of it! I will only appear to-night in the Roman
camp,--I alone,--and bear her out of it in these arms, or leave my life
there."
"Whether you live or die, the secret will be discovered--the surest way
to victory in our attack."
"You will conquer, with or without Adalo, in other ways. I will save
the girl I love before it is too late."
He tried to force himself past the Duke, but the old man seized him by
both shoulders with an iron grasp and forced him to stand.
"And I will accuse you before the popular assembly, like that
treacherous king; I will have you hung between two wolves to a bough of
the accursed withered yew."
"Do what you choose after I have saved her or died with her," cried the
frantic youth, wrenching himself free. But, with unexpected strength,
the old Duke flung him, reeling, back into the tent.
"I will have you bound hand and foot like a madman. You are mad. Freya
has bewitched you. Hear it, Adalger, high in Valhalla: Adalo, your son,
no longer heeds a hero's duty or manly honor. He must be bound with
willow withes, with ropes, that he may not become base and destroy his
people for a woman's sake."
Agitated, overpowered, crushed, Adalo sank prostrate, his hands
clenched in his long locks, moaning: "Bissula--lost--lost!"
The Duke, unobserved, cast a keen sympathizing glance at the youth. He
saw that he had convinced and conquered him.
Adalo went out, grave and thoughtful, to be alone with his grief.
* * * * *
In the course of the day a messenger secretly conveyed to the Roman
camp a letter from Adalo, addressed to Saturninus and Ausonius. The
young chieftain, on the pretext of inspecting the farthest outposts,
had gone with his envoy from the top of the Holy Mountain through the
whole seven fortifications encircling it to the last one at the foot,
and then ridden with him into the forest which stretched between it and
the Roman camp. Here he awaited the answer, his noble face pale and
disfigured by the long mental conflict through which he had passed.
When he heard in the distance the hoof-beats of the returning horse
(evening had come, and the mountain peaks oh the opposite side of the
lake were glowing with crimson light), he ran breathless to meet it.
"Well," he cried, "where is the answer to the letter?"
"They gave me no answer. Both the Roman generals--for I had them both
called, as you ordered--read your letter before me with great, great
astonishment. They talked together, with loud exclamations, in words I
did not understand, not Roman ones. Then both turned to me, the older
one, who was formerly in the country, speaking first: 'Tell your master
the answer is: Never.' And the younger man added: 'Not even for this
price.'"
Then Adalo suddenly fell prone like a young pine whose last prop above
the last root has been cut by the axe. He had dropped face forward. The
faithful attendant sprang from his horse, sat down on the grass, and
took the senseless youth's head in his lap. Adalo lay unconscious a
long time, fairly stupefied by grief. The stars were already shining in
the sky, and the bats darting through the trees, when, panting for
breath, he climbed the mountain.
"That was the last effort," he said to himself. "Nothing is left now
except death--death in battle, not to save her, alas! only her corpse:
for if shame be inflicted on her, she will not survive it."