Hitherto Herculanus had remained concealed from both Romans and Germans
in the tent on the cross street where he had sought refuge. Now
everything around had become so still that he might have supposed the
camp to be deserted, but the cautious fugitive probably would not have
left the tent yet if the fire, and still more the smoke, of the
consuming leather had not driven him away. Peering timidly between the
folds, he glided out, and his first glance fell upon the hated girl to
whom he believed he owed his downfall. With a short, half stifled cry
of savage delight in vengeance, he sprang toward her, the quivering
dagger uplifted, when he saw that he was discovered. But Bissula had a
good start; he was obliged to pass the fifty paces of the cross street
before reaching the corner tent where she had just been kneeling, and
his aching feet would not permit him to follow as fast as his hate
desired.
Meanwhile Bissula fled like a hunted deer down the central street to
the gate; there she glanced back. Alas, he must have guessed the
direction of her flight, for he also ran toward the gate and saw her
pass out into the open country. He followed.
At first hate and revenge urged him recklessly on. But now, after
obeying these impulses, he said to himself while running:
"Ausonius is dead; I am his heir. And perhaps the few others who knew
of the incident died, too, in this hour, like Davus; only the Barbarian
girl lives. Has he, meantime, made her his heiress? Hardly! And even if
it were so, the will has probably burned with the other things in the
camp; and even if it should be saved, what harm can it do, if the
person named as heiress also perishes during this night of universal
slaughter? However that may be, she shall not--must not live."
He too had reached the gate. The gray dawn of day was already diffusing
sufficient pale light for him speedily to discover the flying figure on
the opposite side of the ditch; her white garments and fluttering red
locks betrayed her when the wind bore the glare from the burning camp
in her direction.
Herculanus leaped into the ditch, but uttered a cry of pain, and fell:
his feet were too lame. Climbing and dragging himself up with his
hands, with great difficulty and keen suffering he succeeded in
reaching the southern side of the trench. The fugitive had gained a
longer distance in advance. The Roman perceived this with furious rage
and, battling with the pain, forcing his reluctant feet to bear him
onward, he redoubled his efforts to overtake her.
Bissula was doubtless greatly terrified when, after passing through the
gate into the open country, she again saw flames rising before, as well
as behind her, and heard the din of the raging battle. She had learned
from Prosper the arrival of the ships and the camp made by the lake, so
she understood that the conflict was probably now roaring around the
galleys. Yet she unhesitatingly obeyed the impulse which led her away
from Herculanus straight down to the lake; there, though she would once
more encounter the horrors of war, she would surely find her own
people.
So she ran directly down the hill, always watching sharply to see if
she could not distinguish one of the Alemanni on her way. But the men
whom she met were not Alemanni; they were Romans, and lay dead or dying
on the earth. Once she was startled by a horse that dashed across her
path; trembling, she hid herself behind a clump of bushes; but the
steed bore no rider. Two, four, six masterless animals followed the
first, but neither Romans nor Alemanni, who might have threatened or
protected her, were visible far or near: flight and pursuit had long
since swept down to the lake. A furious struggle was still raging
below.
She was forced to stop a moment, her heart was beating so violently.
Looking back from the bushes, she saw a dark figure, now plainly
visible in the light of morning, still swiftly chasing her; nay, it
seemed as though, behind the first, a second pursuer had rushed from
the camp or risen from the ground.
Again she ran forward, confidently hoping to reach her people by the
lake before she was overtaken; for the child of the forest was skilled
in running and had a considerable start. But, after a few steps, fresh
terror seized her: she again heard, this time directly behind her, the
hoofbeats of a horse. At first she hoped it was another riderless
charger, but it followed directly upon her track, and she now heard, in
the language of the foe, all sorts of cries urging the animal on. A
frightful thought darted through her brain. At any cost, she must turn
to see whether--
Yes, her fears were verified. Herculanus had caught one of the horses
that crossed his path, thrown himself upon it, and was now pursuing the
girl, who was using the last remnant of her strength to fly. She
distinctly heard the heavy feet splash through the marshy pools of the
meadow land; heard, alas! louder and louder, therefore nearer and
nearer, the fierce shouts of the rider and the trampling of hoofs
winged by his excitement. The space which separated them grew shorter
and shorter very rapidly. Mortal terror overwhelmed Bissula; she
remembered how the cruel Roman had tried to kill her in the forest hut
like an animal slain for sacrifice.
In this approach of death one name, one only sprang to her lips.
"Adalo!" she shrieked, "Adalo! Help, save me, save Bissula!"
Vain appeal! No human being was visible far or near. No answer came.
There was no fighting on the strip of shore toward which she was
running, only far out on the lake blazing Roman galleys were floating,
pursued by the little boats of the Alemanni.
The terrible horse was already very near. She could hear the snorting
of the animal as it was urged forward with blows of the heels, shaking
of the bridle, and shouts, to more and more frantic speed. Then--oh,
rescue!--she saw in the gray light of morning, close to the shore,
hidden among the rushes, two boats of the Alemanni side by side. Those
were certainly no Roman vessels: there was neither triangular sail nor
lofty prow. Bissula even fancied that she distinguished on one the
sixteen-branched antlers, Adalo's house-mark. Yes, yes, there it was;
it was his fishing boat, and several men were bending to the oars. She
called loudly several times: "Help, Alemanni, help for Bissula!"
Oh, joy! They had heard her voice. The men were rowing with all their
might; both boats were flying toward the shore to meet her. And then,
more joy: she heard behind her a loud cry and a dull, heavy fall with a
splashing noise. She could not help looking back.
Yes, the horse, urged beyond its strength by the pitiless rider, had
fallen; it lay on its side, lashing out savagely with its hoofs. But
alas! Bissula had rejoiced too soon. The rider had sprung up unhurt and
was now running toward her--only a few steps away, brandishing his
dagger. The second pursuer appeared from behind the horse. And the boat
was still several ship's lengths out upon the lake. Without hesitation
the girl leaped into the water, waded as long as she could touch the
bottom, then with a strong push from the ground, spread out her
powerful white arms, well practised in the art, and swam toward the
nearest boat.
No girl on the northern shore excelled Bissula in swimming; but the
long flowing folds of her robe hampered her, winding about her feet as
soon as they were wet and preventing her from aiding the strokes of her
arms with those of the lower limbs. And, horror! splashes behind her
announced that her pursuer, or two of them, had followed her into the
lake, for she thought she twice heard a plunge or a heavy fall. This
fear paralyzed the last remnant of her strength; her arms also refused
to obey her will; she sank with her face low in the water.
Once more she raised herself from it; then she felt her pursuer seize
her long robe and drag her toward the land; but at the same instant his
grasp relaxed; a shrill death-cry fell upon her ear, followed by a low,
angry growl. Turning her head, she saw Herculanus sinking in the arms
of a huge blackish-brown beast.
"Bruna!" she called again; then her senses seemed to fail. There was a
strange roaring in her ears; the water filled her nose, mouth, and
ears, and she sank.
Just at that moment four strong arms seized her by the shoulders, and
the white hands flung high out of the waves for the last time. With
great, but tender strength she was lifted into the boat. Then she
opened her eyes: Ausonius and Saturninus stood before her. She shrieked
aloud in the anguish of the keenest disappointment; her eyelids closed,
her senses failed, and faintness overwhelmed her.