A frown darkened the Duke's brow. "Now for the last judgment of the
assembly! Other gods are drawing near, unlike those which have just
viewlessly hovered above the boy's fair locks--terrible gods! Complaint
is made against one of the district kings of the Alemanni."
"Ebarbold! Traitor! Rebel! Destroyer of the army! Oath-breaker!" So
threatening voices rose from the throng.
"Peace! Silence in the assembly!" the judge commanded. "Where is the
accuser?"
The King's weapon-bearer stepped forward, drew his sword, and said:
"I, Ebarvin, son of Erlafrid. For, like all the men of our league of
peoples, I have sworn a terrible oath by all the gods and by the
terrors of Hel to resist, denounce, and avenge rebellion and treachery
against the league and the Duke of the Alemanni, wherever, however, and
whenever I can. Well! For twenty winters I bore the shield of King
Ebarbold's father, and for as many more the shield of this Ebarbold
himself. Every word I utter against him falls heavily upon my heart;
but still more heavily weighs the oath I swore to the Duke for
the league of the Alemanni. Well then, I accuse King Ebarbold of
oath-breaking, rebellion, and treason. Thrice have I warned him, thrice
have I openly threatened to reveal his conduct to the Duke and to the
whole people. He laughed at the threat; he would not believe it. He
said: 'The skin lies nearer to your heart than the cloak; the Ebergau
is dearer to you than the nation; your own lord is more to you than the
Duke.' He was mistaken. So it was in former days, so it was for a long,
long time; but this wrought woe to us all.
"We have learned the lesson at last: the Romans taught us with iron
rods. We have learned it in bloody straits: the people, the league of
the people, is the highest thing, for it alone protects all: the hand
is more precious than the finger. But he wanted to persuade me and all
his followers, nay, all the fighting men in our district; and when we
refused, he tried to command us by virtue of his authority as King. He
said that, if the popular assembly decided to wage war and the Duke set
out on the march, we must not obey, but withdraw from the Holy
Mountain, force our way if necessary, and induce the Romans to spare
our district by giving hostages and submission."
A terrible roar rose from the ranks; weapons clashed; the wrath of the
people burst forth furiously; several young men, brandishing their
swords threateningly, sprang toward the accused, who stood, silent but
defiant, directly before the judge's seat.
"Hold," cried the Duke, "down with your arms! Whoever wields them again
in the place of the assembly, the place of the army, shall be punished
at once."
He had started up, and now, from the upper step, he held his long dark
mantle protectingly over the head of the threatened man. The tumult
instantly subsided: the most hot-headed retreated into the circle in
confusion.
"I ask you," the judge now began, "King Ebarbold, son--"
"Spare your words. Count of the Linzgau," interrupted the other, with a
gloomy, but fearless glance. "It is all true. Kill me: you have the
power to do so, therefore you have the right. I do not wish to live!
Had that been my desire, believe me, I might have fled into my own
district or to the Roman camp long before you deprived me, by your men,
of the royal insignia of my race or watched my every step, while you
merely disarmed the insignificant fisherman. True, according to the new
law of the league, you might have had me bound--me, the son of many
kings, the descendant of a god! Since I have learned the disloyalty of
my most faithful follower, my own old shield-bearer, I feel a loathing
for the times. I no longer wish to live among a people, according to a
law, which permits the horrible thing to happen that the native of a
district values its King, the follower his lord, less than the empty
sound of the word 'league,' the brief authority of a Duke from another
district. I am too old and too proud to learn this new law. You, old
man, with your greed for power, long ago, in your bloody thoughts,
dedicated me to your savage Odin."
"Not I, you yourself, son of Ebor."
"Well then--slay me."
"Not I. You yourself have separated yourself from your people by such
doctrines. Yes, it is better for such men as you to die than to live:
the district kings, if they offer defiance, must be sacrificed to Odin,
who, as King of the people, is above all our gods and all our peoples."
"My family," said the King proudly, "runs back through a hundred
ancestors to the gods: not to that crafty one, whose secret wiles you
are imitating, who scatters runes of discord among peoples and princes.
We descend from the god of peace. Fro, who bestows fertility. He has
set his golden-bristled boar for a sign upon the shields and helmets of
us, his sons. I have ever honored him and peace above all."
"Aha, the god Fro," replied the old Duke, now incensed, for he could
ill brook hearing his Odin upbraided, "the god Fro will have little
cause to rejoice, when he looks down on his descendant dangling from
the withered yew, like the long-billed snipe that is caught in a snare.
For I ask the assembly,--his own words are the most open expression of
guilt,--with what does the law threaten him?"
"The rope--the willow rope!" rang from a thousand voices. "The tree of
shame! Hang him! Hang him up at once!"
"But between two dogs: wolves are too good for him."
A look of keen anguish flitted over the King's proud, bold face. He did
not fear death, but disgrace. He shuddered slightly. The Duke had
watched him intently.
"I, the judge," he now began slowly, "ought not to oppose this
sentence, and the guilty man cannot. But consider, spearmen! It will
bring little renown to our name among the other peoples, when the rumor
spreads among them: a King of the Alemanni is swinging between the
clouds and water for treason to the army. You have offered the humble
fisherman the straw of hope that the Lofty One might save him from the
death of shame, bear him to himself in Valhalla, or even--almost
against possibility--after the fulfillment of the deed which you have
assigned to him, spare his life.
"Well then, this King's guilt, it is true, is far greater than that
caused by the father's love for his child; but honor in him the
descendant of the god of harvests! Do not rouse Fro to vengeance, lest
for many years he should blast our crops. The god of the boar with
golden bristles is easily angered! And remember, too, with gratitude
this man's father."
"A brave hero!" ran from lip to lip.
"He fell in the bloody battle of Strataburg, at the head of the wedge
of his district. Fighting gallantly in the van of his people, he at
last sank--fell backward on his shield, with many wounds in his breast;
for he, the man who had the wild-boar's courage, would not turn his
back to the foe. This hero is now looking down from Valhalla upon us;
his heart is throbbing anxiously at this impending sentence of
disgrace. Alemanni, do not let him behold his son hanging between dogs.
Grant the King, as well as the fisherman, a deed of ransom!"
Ebarbold looked up with a grateful glance to the man whom he had so
bitterly hated. The people were still silent: their wrath was fierce.
Then: "Suppose he should run away?"
"Suppose he should desert to the Romans in the midst of the battle?"
Two men uttered the questions at the same moment. A deep groan escaped
the lips of the defiant King: "No one feared that from the fisherman!
They ought not to deem me so base." He struck his brow with his
clenched hand.
Then Ebarvin, his accuser, stepped forward, saying:
"These questions were hard and undeserved. Few among our people will
suspect that from the King of the Ebergau. He spoke truly: he might
have fled long ago, but he would not escape. I believe him. I have
known him ever since he learned to speak: he has never lied. He wants
to die, from resentment against the people's league, and perhaps also
from remorse and shame."
The King, deeply moved, hastily turned away from the speaker and closed
his eyes, but instantly opened them again with a defiant look.
"Well then, I, a free man of unblemished reputation, with broad lands
in the Ebergau--I answer for him with life and limb, property and
honor. I will swear for him that any deed of arms imposed by the people
to ransom him from the rope King Ebarbold will perform, or he will fall
upon his shield in doing it."
"I thank you, Ebarvin," said the tortured man, drawing himself up to
his full height: this confidence was balm to his inmost soul.
"So be it! So be it!" shouted the multitude before the judge could put
the question. "The Duke shall choose the deed!"
"Well then," said the latter without hesitation, "it _is_ chosen! In
the Roman camp is a hero who is its head and its whole strength; if he
fall, all their military power will be broken. Name the man!"
"Saturninus!" echoed from many voices. For the Tribune had repeatedly
commanded the Roman troops in Germany, and many of the men now
assembled on the Holy Mountain had formerly served beneath the Roman
eagles.
"Ebarbold, bring us from the battle the head of Saturninus--and your
guilt is pardoned. Will you do this, hero of the boar?"
"I will," replied the latter, with a deep sigh of relief. "Give me my
sword; give me my weapons again." The shield-bearer handed him the
sheathed sword. Tearing the blade from the scabbard, he held its point
toward the sun, saying: "I swear by this blade, the sacred symbol of
the one-armed god of war, that, in the next battle, I will slay the
Tribune, or fall by his sword."
Loud shouts of applause now burst forth. All, even those whose
resentment at first had been most bitter, were heartily glad that,
instead of a disgraceful punishment, an honorable deed of ransom had
been found for the proud King.
The Duke gazed down at the surging throng with satisfaction.