"Stand, men of the Linzgau!" shouted a clear, resonant voice, and a
youth with golden-brown locks fluttering around his handsome head
forced a passage through the Alemanni and Romans toward the Tribune.
But the Romans had neither the inclination nor the habit of letting
their General fight single combats with the Barbarian princes. A
gigantic Illyrian stepped from the left of the ranks in front of his
leader and aimed his spear at the youth's face. But the weapon did not
fly; before he could hurl it a German boy leaped from below against the
warrior, and thrust his little spear into the arm-pit, now unprotected
by his suit of mail. He fell with a loud cry.
"I thank you, little brother!" exclaimed Adalo and now, pressing close
upon Saturninus, he called to him in Latin: "Where is Bissula?"
But the Roman General had no thought to give to a Barbarian girl; the
recollection of the captive had darted only once through his brain with
the speed of lightning, when he heard her she-bear growling in the
camp. He made no reply, except to wave the sword still dripping with
Ebarbold's blood.
The Adeling's spear flew; Saturninus caught it on his shield; but being
burdened by the long lance, this was now so difficult to manage that he
let it fall, and sprang with a well-aimed sword thrust toward the
youth, who had instantly drawn his short battle-axe from his girdle.
Each was so furiously resolved to fell the other, that neither thought
of his own defence. So both struck, and both fell.
With his utmost strength--and it was great--the German had aimed at his
adversary's forehead: the latter involuntarily bowed his head, putting
the helmet forward, but the terrible stroke cleft this best work of the
Roman armorers at Trier, and pierced through the bronze and the double
leather of the lining to the skull. The helmet was found afterwards;
and this "Suabian stroke" was long celebrated in the hall of the stag's
antlers. But the lord of the hall seemed destined never to return to
it, but to follow Ebarbold and Ebarvin; for, at the same time, the
Roman's sword had penetrated the wooden shield of the German and cut
deep into his left shoulder.
Sippilo caught his brother's drooping head; several attendants grasped
his feet, and thus they bore him swiftly out of the battle.
Decius, springing from Ausonius's side, now took command of the Romans.
But he could no longer maintain order in the ranks. At their leader's
fall under Adalo's terrible blow the column scattered in a wild flight
down the hillside. The foremost ones, who had witnessed the duel,
dispersed to the right and left. The rear ranks still held firm, but
now they received an attack from behind, from the camp, and all was
over. This attack was led by Duke Hariowald. At last--far too late for
his battle fury--he, too, had crossed the camp and reached the Porta
Decumana.
The greatest obstacle to the pursuit was now what had formerly been the
principal cause of the hesitation, confusion, and dispersion of the
retreating Roman troops: namely, the luggage, the barricade of wagons.
Behind it, that is, between it and the lake gate, numerous Romans,
especially the German mercenaries, the Batavians, who were accustomed
to such methods of fighting, had again made a stand; and much time was
consumed before the Duke, by means of fire, axe-blows, and bloodshed,
forced a passage through it. He had at once sent bodies of his men
through the cross streets leading to the right and left; to go round
the obstacle and attack the defenders on both flanks. Herculanus had
watched, in mortal terror, from his hiding-place in the tent, the
Alemanni dashing down these cross streets. Many rows of tents were
already blazing; others were blocked with piles of luggage and tent
equipage left behind. It was long before the Duke and his men, breaking
their way through the citadel of wagons and driving its last defenders
before them, reached the Decumanian Gate; but then with his whole body
of troops, intoxicated by their victory, he fell upon the rear of the
Romans commanded by Decius.
All was lost. Decius succeeded in holding together only one very small
band of Illyrians, scarcely twenty men. These, with their wounded
General and Ausonius in their midst, burst through the ranks of the
Linzgau men, who for some time were occupied with the care of Adalo,
and fled directly south toward the lake. It was evident that the only
hope of escape was by the ships, for swift destruction was overtaking
all the fugitives, who scattered and fled to the right and left, the
east and west. Without leadership or direction, only keeping in general
toward the lake, they ran singly, in pairs, and in groups. Most of
them, in the darkness of the night, floundered into the marshes, where,
ignorant of the fords or the few higher portions, they sank, and were
either drowned or cut down by their pursuers.
As soon as Hariowald reached the open ground he heard of the King's
fall, to which he listened with a silent nod, and--from Sippilo's
lips--of the Adeling's wound.
"Severe?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In the shoulder; cut completely through."
"H'm!--Was he carried to his hall?"
"Yes."
"Take the blind old dame Waldrun to him at once from the Holy Mountain.
She knows the strongest herbs, and she also knows when and how they
must be gathered, without impatience or rough handling."
"She is already waiting at his hall."
"How did that happen?"
"She dreamed last night that this battle would end in victory, but that
she nursed my brother, who lay in her lap, sorely wounded. She insisted
that the Sarmatian should lead her to our hall before the battle began.
'I will wait there for the wounded man,' she said."
"But you are bleeding, too, my lad; there, in the arm."
"A spear grazed me. It isn't much."
"Enough for the first time! You are surely tottering."
"An arrow--in the calf of my leg--but it didn't go deep."
"You can scarcely stand. Go home at once, do you hear? I, command it by
the oath of loyalty to the Duke. Waldrun will have a healing herb for
you, too. Go!"
Assuming the direct leadership of the bands formerly commanded by
Ebarbold and Adalo, the Duke spread his whole force into the widest
possible front, to inclose the fugitives, and gave only one order:
"Drive them into the lake!" The command was received with shouts of
exultation, and faithfully obeyed. Hariowald had swung himself upon one
of the numerous riderless horses dashing through and around the camp;
his men eagerly followed his example, and thus the pursuit became a
wild chase on horseback and on foot down the descent from the heights
to the lake.
The blazing camp behind, and the blazing ships before them, cast a
terribly beautiful, flickering light over the savage, warlike scene.
But already, though still very dim, another light was stealing where
the red glare of the torches and the burning tents did not penetrate.
The night was no longer perfectly dark. Far away, in the extreme east,
dawn was glimmering; for more than two, almost three hours of the
September night had passed in the battle around the camp since the
criers had announced the second hour after twelve.