Meanwhile, incidents of grave moment had occurred in the Roman camp.
The friendly feeling between the two Roman Generals had become
strained, and Bissula's ingenuousness toward both was transformed into
fear and distrust. The two friends, once so intimately associated,
avoided each other and confined their intercourse and conversation
solely to matters absolutely required by the service. At the same time
the prisoner, now suspiciously watchful, perceived in Ausonius a
resentful bitterness toward the Tribune, very alien to his usual
good-nature. The latter, on the other hand, evidently was not angry;
even in his cool reserve he seemed to spare his older friend, nay, to
treat him with a sort of compassion.
The little maid herself was very unhappy. Her careless unconsciousness
was completely destroyed, and she did not know which of the two men
whose friendship seemed to be broken, if not by her, on her account,
she ought to avoid with the greater fear. This feeling grieved the
kind-hearted girl. She was also burdened by anxiety about the future,
by dread of the unknown, by rebelliousness--when she was powerless and
fully aware of it--against the restraint imposed by the will of
strangers upon her obstinacy, all threatening her immediately. For,
however the two Romans differed in everything else concerning the
prisoner, they seemed to unite in one thing: Bissula should never again
be free, never return to the forest hut by the lake, to the familiar
scenes of the neighborhood.
At these thoughts tears filled the eyes once so saucy or so proud. How
sadly she admitted to herself that her own folly and defiance were the
sole causes which had brought all this misfortune upon her! How kind,
how prudent, how loyal Adalo's advice had been! Yet these tears,
burning, bitter tears of remorse, nay, yearning, were a relief. Even
now, in the trouble for which she alone was to blame, he had not
abandoned her! The first greeting that reached her from her people had
come from him; he had sent the young brother whom he loved so fondly,
and whom therefore she loved for his sake, and Bruna too, her old
playfellow.
She had dissembled craftily before the soldiers, and wondered loudly at
the animal's "friendliness." But, as soon as she was alone in her tent
with the faithful beast, she clasped the huge head tenderly with both
white arms, kissed the broad forehead and lovingly patted the neck of
the bear, who growled affectionately in reply. Then she slipped her
hand through the collar, felt a depression in it, drew it up from the
shaggy skin to the light of the Roman lamp, perceived characters
scrawled on it, and read: "Through the gate to the lake."
Her heart throbbed warmly. So her friends had already consulted about
her escape! They were giving her the safest direction, the part of the
camp where her companions would wait for her. But they could not
possibly mean that she should try to make her way now, without further
delay, through the lake gate, that is, through the "Porta Decumana," so
closely guarded day and night. Not now! But when?
Evidently as soon as something happened which would render escape
possible; then she was to choose that direction. But what was to
happen? An attack of the Alemanni? Ausonius laughed at it. Even
cautious Saturninus had said: "Unless they fly over it like the
swallows that are now preparing for departure, they will not come into
this solid camp."
So she racked her little brains, pondering over all sorts of
possibilities which might bring her liberty against or with the will of
the Romans. Should she appeal to Ausonius again? No!
A strange timidity had taken possession of her ever since her last
interview with him. She had never cherished any affection for the
clever, eloquent man except the feeling a daughter has for a father;
but recently, in making the proposal to take her with him, his eyes had
rested on her so strangely. Never had he looked at her so before. It
was like the gaze Saturninus fixed upon her when he seized her outside
of the forest hut--but never again, not even when he told her that she
belonged to him and he would not release her.
So it happened that the sensitive girl, alarmed by the suddenly
discovered ardor of the older man, felt safer and more at ease with the
younger but undemonstrative one. She avoided Ausonius; she almost
sought Saturninus, to whom, at the beginning and during the whole
course of her captivity, she had learned to be grateful as to a
watchful guardian.
Often and often, since reading Bruna's message, she walked toward
the lake gate, without hoping to find it unwatched or carelessly
guarded,--the Tribune kept too strict a rule, too sharp an oversight
for that,--but to impress upon her mind the exact locality of the
streets and tents which might afford a hiding-place near the gate where
she might await, close at hand, the most favorable moment.
She had soon chosen for this purpose a towering heap of beams, gabions,
and boards piled one above another, which had not been used in building
the camp and had been left here: it rose high above her head, and when
behind it, she was concealed from the view of those at the gate or in
the street between the tents. But she never lingered long at the spot,
lest she might arouse suspicion.
Bissula sought from preference the opposite side of the camp, facing
the north, where the lofty pine-tree of the earth-goddess rose beside
the broad sacrificial stones of the altar, spreading out its mighty
branches, and from above the wall the eye could rove freely over the
forests to the distant peaks where, veiled by mists, the Holy Mountain
towered. Her thoughts always flew thither, not to the eastern marshes,
not to Suomar. She was often anxious about her grandmother, but Zercho
had certainly concealed her; and now that "the obstinate redhead" could
no longer say no, probably on the Holy Mountain.
"Therefore"--this was the excuse she willingly made to
herself--"_therefore_ I cannot help thinking constantly of the Holy
Mountain, Oh no! That isn't true. It is not for my grandmother's sake.
Adalo, Adalo, help!"
So she had called aloud the evening after the refusal to set her at
liberty, perched high among the branches of the pine-tree into which
she liked to climb to dream alone, and at the same moment stretched her
beautiful arms, with a gesture of longing entreaty, toward the
northwest, where lightning was flashing over the mountain peaks.
On the evening after the inspection (it was the day of the assembly on
the Holy Mountain) she walked through the streets of the camp, thinking
and dreaming of her liberation, also of her liberator. She had tied
faithful Bruna firmly to the poles of her tent; for there had
repeatedly been serious trouble when she took the animal with her: boys
belonging to the camp followers pelted her with stones, from safe
hiding-places, till she was greatly infuriated.
To Ausonius's nephew, especially, the bear showed intense antipathy,
rising on her hind legs and growling furiously whenever she saw him,
though he anxiously kept out of her way and never teased her. Only with
the utmost difficulty, by clasping her arms around the animal, had she
prevented Bruna from attacking him.
"Your she-bear understands Latin," said Saturninus, who had sprung to
help her, smiling. "She knew what Herculanus said when he swore that
some day she should pay in the amphitheatre at Rome, under the teeth of
his Thessalian dogs, for the mischief she meant to do him here."
"Bruna in Rome?" the girl cried defiantly. "No more--than Bissula in
Burdigala!" But as she spoke she almost wept from rage, hate, and fear.