Herculanus was mistaken: Ausonius was not slain. In the attempt to leap
from one cart to another he had fallen between them and slightly hurt
his foot. But Decius and some legionaries of the Twenty-second Cohort
had helped him up again and taken him at once to the Decumanian Gate.
Here, meanwhile, the Tribune had quickly made his arrangements,
gathering the fugitives arriving singly around a body of his Illyrians,
to whom he also entrusted the standard.
"Where is the ala of mailed riders whom I ordered here, forbidding them
to dismount? We need them now at the head of the sortie."
"Alas, Tribune, in the turmoil, in the pressure on the gate and the
walls, we all dismounted and fought on foot. Our horses are gone; they
dashed down the side streets."
"This is Herculanus's discipline of his men! So--we have no horsemen.
Well then, the spears to the front! The wounded in the centre! Here,
Ausonius, behind my troop! There. Draw back the bolts; throw the gate
open. We will fight our way through to the ships. Forward! On!"
Then the gate, hitherto so firmly defended, its right wing half
shattered, the left half burned, opened from within, and the Romans,
summoning their last strength, led by their able General in person, and
stimulated to a final supreme effort by his example and the prospect of
safety, burst out of the camp. The shock was terrible, and the effect
of the unexpected attack upon the Barbarians was very great. All who
had been standing on the narrow strip of ground between the gate and
the ditch were hurled into it. Adalo was not among the number; he had
gone back for a moment to direct the preparation of a bridge of logs
which was to lead directly to the gate; then he intended to have his
men run across with beams to batter the already weakened timbers and
break it down completely. So he escaped the fall into the ditch, which
Sippilo shared, but as in the plunge from the wall, uninjured. The boy
climbed nimbly up the southern side. He had lost the helmet in his
first tumble, but held fast to his spear and shield this time too.
For a moment, it is true, it seemed as if the Romans, as soon as they
had passed through the gate and obtained a view of the lake, would
disperse again in fresh terror; for meanwhile the attack on the ships
and the camp below had apparently succeeded.
Hitherto the defenders on the walls had waited longingly for Nannienus,
and looked in vain over the Barbarians and their flaring pitch torches
toward the lake. But now that they had reached the open country outside
the camp, they saw a vast conflagration on the shore. Surrounded by the
tumult of the battle raging immediately about them, they had been
unable to hear the noise of the conflict which had commenced below half
an hour before; but they now perceived all that Saturninus had long
since concluded by the absence of his brave friend: the fleet itself
was being most hotly assailed.
"The ships are burning! The camp is in flames! Our last refuge is
gone!" With these shouts, many sprang from the closed ranks, fled, and
were instantly overtaken by the Germans and struck down before their
comrades' eyes.
"You see how fugitives fare!" cried Saturninus. "Keep your ranks closed
if you want to save your lives. March in close order to the lake, and
we shall save ourselves and our friends."
This was a ray of encouragement, and the whole body followed their
brave leader, who was the first man to climb up the southern side of
the ditch. As soon as he reached the top his own name, shouted loudly
from the ranks of the Barbarians, fell upon his ear.
"Where is Saturninus, the General of the Romans?" called a voice in
Latin.
Brightly illumined by the flames of the burning camp, a leader of the
Germans, in the richest armor, pressed forward before his men. A
boar-helmet covered his head; a gray-bearded attendant held before him
a long shield on which he caught two well-aimed Roman spears at once.
"Where is Saturninus? I must find him!" repeated the German, springing
forward again and felling the nearest Thracian with his battle axe.
"Here," answered the Tribune. "But this is no time to negotiate."
"No, but to die!" shouted Ebarbold, his battle axe crashing upon the
huge curved shield of the Roman. It entered it without injury to the
bearer.
The King vainly struggled to draw out the weapon, it remained
motionless, and already the Roman's short, murderous broad sword was
quivering for the fatal stroke, when the gray-haired shield-bearer
sprang between them and threw the shield before his master.
But the Norian iron penetrated the boar hide and the wooden frame of
the shield to the old man's left breast. He fell on his back, borne
down by the weight of the blow.
Meanwhile Ebarbold had dropped the handle of the battle axe, drawn the
long unwieldy sword at his side, and swung it above the proud crest of
the Roman General's helmet; but before it fell, the short Roman sword,
red with the blood of the shield-bearer, pierced his throat and he sank
dying by the old man's side. "You--with me--for me!" he could say no
more.
"Did you think I would desert you? The King of the Ebergau must not
enter Odin's hall unattended. You shall not enter the door of Valhalla
unattended like some man of low degree. We--have--both--kept our
word--and together--with the honor of heroes we will go to Valhalla."
Ebarvin's head sank on the shoulder of his King. Both were silent in
death.
The Illyrian had sprung forward over the bodies of the two
Germans--first hewing off with his sword the handle of the battle axe
still sticking in his shield--amid the wild, exulting shouts of his
countrymen who had witnessed the struggle. But the men of the Ebergau
were dismayed by their leader's fall; they hesitated--stopped--yielded.
"Forward, down to the lake!" shouted the Tribune. "You see they are
giving way." It was a dangerous moment; for, confused by the retreat of
the Ebergau men, the band next behind them was wavering.