Ausonius was deeply grateful to his preserver, certainly; and he had
wished to bestow a transcendent reward. Yet he was very keenly
exasperated by this rude, fierce, foolish, nay, ungrateful disdain. And
before the Tribune, too--the younger man.
This exasperation took full possession of him even amidst his deep
grief for his nephew's crime. From the day of his birth neither the
fates nor men had often denied any wish of this spoiled favorite of
Fortune. Even the desire for poetic talent had been granted by the
Muses, and, as he believed, in lavish abundance; while his
contemporaries denied him no recognition, but lavished on him every
honor for which he longed in any department. His imperial pupil loaded
him with the highest dignities and honors in the gift of the State; he
was one of the richest, most highly educated men in the Western Empire;
he was agreeable, vivacious, well-bred, almost handsome in feature, and
not yet very old. Thousands of the most aristocratic Roman women would
have considered themselves fortunate if--
And this Barbarian girl refused him! It was incomprehensible, and he
determined not to tolerate this "folly."
As she did not appear at breakfast at the usual hour, he sent Prosper
for her. The old man returned without having accomplished his errand.
Bissula was not in her tent, and could not be found anywhere in the
camp.
Ausonius was startled. Then he said to himself: "Oh, nonsense. She
cannot possibly escape from a walled Roman camp which is guarded by a
Saturninus." Yet he finished his early meal hurriedly and anxiously,
and went out to look for her, alone. He wished to spare his future
wife, which Bissula certainly was, the mortification of being dragged
by freedmen or slaves from some hiding-place into which her silly,
childish obstinacy might have led her. First he hastened to the
pine-tree: in vain. She was not concealed there; now, in broad
daylight, one could see through the branches distinctly. He went to her
tent and entered: it was empty. But as he was leaving it again he saw
the broad foot-prints of the bear, and followed the trail: it led
southward, to the lake gate, the Porta Decumana. He had nearly reached
it, when he met Saturninus.
"Turn back, I beg of you," said the latter kindly.
"Isn't she there?"
"Yes! I discovered her by accident, looking down from the wall. She has
hidden herself behind beams and rubbish near the Porta Decumana, like a
sick birdling which creeps into some corner to die alone with its head
under its wing. Give her time! Perhaps she will submit to it."
Ausonius yielded reluctantly as the Tribune, with gentle force, took
his arm, turned him in the opposite direction, and led him back. He was
thoroughly angry, and besides, felt ashamed in Saturninus's presence.
"Soon, I hope," he said angrily.
"Yes," replied the Tribune slowly. "Unless--unless some one else has
won her heart."
"That she positively denied. She was enraged at the mere question; and
falsehood is the perverse little thing's smallest fault. She is still
scarcely more than a child. You see how she behaves. Only a child, an
untutored child, could be led into such conduct."
But the Roman General shrugged his shoulders. "Let us wait. I would far
rather see her yours than a Barbarian's. But think of the offer made by
that Adalus! That can only--"
"Certainly. But it doesn't prove that she loves him."
He opposed with angry obstinacy a conjecture which might forever
frustrate his wishes, and rejected the suggestion of his friend the
more vehemently, the more persistently this fear, though repressed,
constantly returned to his mind.
"By the way," he asked the Tribune, to change the conversation, "what
do you mean to do with the prisoners? Let them both escape?"
"Impossible! My duty--"
"But my nephew must not die."
"It would be the best thing that could happen," growled the Illyrian,
"for himself and his opposite men (for this selfish fellow has no
fellow mortals). But I feared that it would be the result of your
indulgence. Well, comfort yourself. As I promised life to the slave,
the mere tool, the Caesar can send the instigator to the mines too. But
you are paying no heed to my words. Where are your thoughts?"
Ausonius had suddenly stopped. Thrusting the staff he carried violently
into the earth he exclaimed: "Listen! Suppose I should go to her
now--at once? Explain everything, persuade her? Last evening, in her
excitement, she probably did not hear or understand. Just think of
it--Consul!"
But his companion smiled and drew his reluctant friend forward: "Let
her alone, Ausonius. You will only frighten her more. Perhaps a German
fisher-lad is dearer to her heart than a Roman Consul."
"Inconceivable!"
"Yes, yes! Very intelligible. I will confess to you that she vehemently
entreated me--"
"What, what!--when?"
"Just now, when I climbed down the wall to her and tried to speak for
you. She besought me to protect her--from your wooing."
"Ungrateful girl!" exclaimed Ausonius wrathfully. This appeal to the
Tribune against him wounded him most bitterly; he had the feeling:
Youth naturally combines against age.
"Beware," replied the Tribune earnestly, "lest you should yourself be
very ungrateful." But this did not suit the Roman's deeply offended
vanity.
"Since you have now suddenly become--what shall I call it?--her
guardian or defender against me--"
"I did not seek the position."
"Nor did you decline it. Then tell your ward my firm, resolute will:
She must go with me to-morrow in one of Nannienus's galleys to the
Emperor at Vindonissa, then to Burdigala. I will follow your advice: I
will not go into the forests with you; grief, anger, too much
excitement of many kinds, are making me ill--I feel it. First of all, I
must obtain the dispensation from the Emperor to permit me, a Senator,
to marry my freedwoman. That is now the thing nearest to my heart. And
please see that it is clear to her, perfectly clear, that she has
obtained no legal right whatever from my words spoken yesterday about
liberation. You remarked at the time, very justly, that my words did
not make her free: the form required by law was lacking. The words were
merely a promise. If I choose, she is still my slave, but no longer
yours, tell her that. In Burdigala, after she has tasted Roman life,
let her choose which she would prefer: to become the Consul's wife, or
be his slave and a she-bear's playmate. I cannot force her to wed me,
but tell her that I will never permit her to return to her Barbarian
land."
Saturninus would have tried to soothe the excited man, but a loud
signal from the tubas summoned both leaders to the wall.
The Roman trumpets were joyously greeting the galleys under the command
of Nannienus which, with all their canvas spread to catch the southeast
wind, came swiftly nearer and nearer. It was a proud and imposing
spectacle.
After the gallant Comes of Britannia, himself a Breton skilled in
sailing, had discovered the culpable neglect of the ships and the fraud
of the guilty magistrates in Arbor, he had toiled night and day,
ceaselessly and untiringly, that he might take to his friend and
comrade, Saturninus, the ships and reenforcements on which his whole
plan for the encircling and destruction or unconditional surrender of
the Alemanni was based. So, in the course of these few days and nights,
he had actually succeeded in putting the dilapidated ships into
seaworthy condition; and, besides old trading vessels and fisher boats
of the largest size, he had a number of new galleys built which, though
by no means to be compared with the proud fleet of the Venetian or
Brigantinian lake which, a century and a half before, had ruled these
shores and waters, could yet render sufficient service in seeking out
the hiding-places of the Barbarians along all three sides of the land,
and intercepting any flight they might attempt across the lake from the
Tribune.
Nannienus's twenty high-decked ships of war, when not lying at anchor
but fighting at full speed, would sink, by the mere weight of their
shock, when driven by oars and sails, whole swarms of the little
Barbarian boats, if they had the temerity to attack them. And to each
of these large ships he had assigned two or three smaller flat-decked,
shallow boats, to land provisions and troops and facilitate intercourse
between the biremes (which required considerable depth of water when
they lay at anchor) and the shore, often bordered for a considerable
distance by marshes.
Probably more than sixty sail now appeared, in the full radiance of the
most brilliant September sunshine, opposite to the Idisenhang, some at
anchor, some in an unbroken chain forming a sort of bridge of boats
from the place of anchorage to the shore.
The various forms of the sails (for in the pressure of haste all sorts
of Barbarian ones had been added to the triangular Latin form of the
Romans--ancient Celtic used on the lake from primeval days, and
Alemannic) and their motley colors, principally dazzlingly white, but
many deep yellow, gleaming in the sunlight, swelled by the fresh
breeze; the surging, swarming life of the soldiers thronging from the
ships to the shore, and from the shore to the ships; the greetings of
old comrades; the joyful recognition of what had been accomplished in
Arbor; the threatening outcries against the Barbarians, who must now be
thoroughly extirpated--the whole presented a scene full of splendor,
life, movement, and warlike uproar.