The imperial galley was preparing to tow Saturninus's boat. This plan
seemed best for the wounded General, who could not easily be lifted
upon the lofty deck of the ship. Engaged in this task, the other Romans
did not notice the young girl, who now sat up. Her first glance rested
on the Prefect. "Ausonius!" she said feebly. "Again captured by you."
"Saved by me--by us Romans," he answered, more sternly than he was
accustomed to speak, especially to her.
Strange changes had taken place in the character of the variable man.
He was not yet absolutely sure of his own feelings--how everything
ought to end between him and Bissula.
"True, you did not call my name or appeal to us for aid. You had
another deliverer in your mind. Yet you were not saved by the Alemanni,
but by us Romans."
"From your own nephew, he alone pursued me!" she answered vehemently.
"Punishment has overtaken him," replied the Prefect, shuddering. "Let
these thoughts pass. I saved you; I first recognized you and ordered
the boat to turn back, merely to rescue you. Thus I risked life and
liberty, for your wolfish people are certainly wild beasts and
murderers. So: life for life. There we are equal. But," he went on
gravely, earnestly, and kindly, yet with a stern, strange tone, as if
testing her, "but we have not yet done with each other, little maid.
You wounded me deeply, very deeply by your fierce, rude, childish
refusal. Almost as deeply as the poisoning plan of--the dead man. The
terrible events of the past night first taught me how I love you: I
thought constantly of you, your fate, your safety. Duty called me, but
I sent you my most faithful----"
"To prevent my escape!"
"To protect you, ungrateful girl. When I fell from the wagon under the
missiles of the Barbarians and thought death would come the next
moment, even then I thought only of you. I have proved it by the most
terrible test; my love for you is genuine, no mere caprice; it will end
only with my life. And so once more, not as a reward for your act of
rescue (I have repaid that), not as a favor or a gift--if the word
offended you--once more, for the last time in life (and consider well,
I will never set you free again) I ask you: will you be my servant, or
my wife? I beseech you--do you hear? I, Ausonius, beseech you: become
my wife!"
"Never! Never!" cried the girl starting up.
"Insolent!" replied the rejected lover, offended and deeply incensed:
"You forget you are again my captive--again in my power."
A glance from Bissula into the waves of the lake, here very deep, was
her only reply. Ausonius continued, without understanding the meaning
of the look, "Now I know the cause of this defiant, senseless refusal.
You deceived me when you said you had no lover."
"I have no one who loves me," she answered with the deepest sadness;
tears filled her eyes as she gazed fixedly into vacancy.
"You lie!" cried Ausonius. "That Adalo!" Bissula started. "He must love
you madly."
Bissula listened intently, gazing at him in astonishment; glowing shame
and happy terror filled her heart.
But the Roman went on: "Or would he, a free Prince of the Alemanni,
have solemnly made the proposal to Saturninus and me: 'Let the maiden
go unhurt. Adalo will take her place as captive.' Do you know what that
means? A slave for life?"
"He--he did that? For me?" Passionate delight flashed from her eyes,
her soul.
Ausonius gazed silently into her face. Then he said: "How he loves you,
this offer shows: how you love him, your radiant eyes betray. But," he
added, slowly and searchingly, "know this. He will no longer separate
us. You can become mine without breaking faith with him, for--" he
clasped her hand.
"What is it? What has happened to him? Speak!"
"He is dead."
"Oh!" shrieked Bissula, and, before Ausonius could stop her, she had
wrenched herself from his hold, sprung on the thwart of the boat and,
clasping her hands above her head with a gesture of silent anguish,
flung herself forward toward the water.
A strong arm caught her; it was Rignomer's.
"Stay, hot-hearted child!" he exclaimed kindly. But the girl struggled
furiously in his grasp, she was resolved to plunge into the deep lake;
the light boat rocked dangerously.
"Calm yourself," said Ausonius gravely and sorrowfully. "He lives."
"Oh, how cruelly you have played with me," cried the girl. The Batavian
now drew her gently down upon the thwart, and she burst into a flood of
tears; but they were tears of joy.
"It was no play, only a test. I see with grief that you really love the
fair-haired boy so fondly. If he had fallen, you would rather have
followed him to death than lived as my wife in splendor and happiness?
O Bissula, this is hard!"
"Father! Dear Father! Don't be angry. I cannot help it. But is it
certain? Does he live?"
"Yes. You cannot help it! That is true; I see it now. Be comforted. He
is alive. I saw him carried off the field by his followers. Saturninus
and he exchanged blows."
"Yes. Be calm, little one," the Tribune interposed good humoredly. "His
stroke was really no harder than mine. I am still alive, so he will
doubtless live too."
"Oh, Ausonius!" pleaded Bissula, raising both hands beseechingly. But
he did not let her finish the sentence. Passing his hand across his
eyes he murmured unheard by the others: "It is over. This hour has made
me an old man." Then he asked: "Where do you wish to be put on shore?
Opposite to Suomar's forest hut?"
"Thank you, my warmest thanks! But not there, farther to the left from
here; yonder under the willows, where a nobleman's hall stands on the
height."
"His!" exclaimed Ausonius.
"Which you saved for him," added Saturninus. "All very beautiful and
noble--almost touching!" the Tribune continued, trying to seem unmoved,
yet at the same time kindly stroking the hand of the young girl, in
whose eyes the dancing light of joy mingled with tears like May rain.
"Only I will not permit the Prefect Praetor of Gaul to return to that
shore full of murderous wolves. No, indeed I will not. Neither will I
risk the life of any Roman soldier. Who is to take her to the land?"
"I will go myself alone!" cried the eager girl.
"That some Roman murderous wolf may follow you again on your way to the
hall; they are still worse!" cried the voice of some one, in German.
"No, illustrious Tribune," it continued in Latin, "I will take the
child to her friends."
Rignomer now stepped from behind the sail which had concealed him. His
appearance was totally transformed: he had removed the Roman helmet
long before; now he had unbuckled the coat of mail and thrown around
him a brown Alemannic mantle which he had found in the boat. Instead of
the Roman weapons he carried over his shoulder a long iron-shod pole,
used for pushing and guiding boats while it could touch the bottom.
"You?" asked Saturninus. "You too will be a dead man if they catch
you--a warrior in the Roman service."
"Pardon me; I am one no longer. My time of service expired at
midnight--the last of the long seven years: what I did since--"
"It was----" replied Saturninus.
"Was done voluntarily. I shall not renew my oath of service. No, no! I
have had enough--more than enough of it. The Emperor still owes my pay
for the last month. I will let it go. I shall return to my mother, on
the Issala. But first I will take this runaway child to her people."
As he spoke he grasped her hand. "Jump over, little one. See, the other
boat is empty: they have all climbed up into the galley. Jump over!
Happily, we are going home!"
"So be it!" said Ausonius, without resentment but gravely: "Farewell,
Bissula! We part never to meet again."
He turned away. Bissula threw herself on his breast and, amid flowing
tears, kissed his noble brow. His face had never been so handsome.
"Ausonius, farewell!"
She sprang into the second boat, where Rignomer was already standing;
then she turned again toward the other one. This had been fastened by a
rope to the galley and now began to follow it as, propelled by many
oars, it swept toward the southwest.
"Father Ausonius, I thank you!" she called. But he did not hear. With
his face averted from his young friend, and his gray head pressed
against the mast, he was weeping bitterly.
The ship, dragging the boat in its wake, flew swiftly away.
* * * * *
The Batavian wielded the oars sturdily, and the light boat rapidly
approached the shore.
Bissula no longer watched the disappearing Roman galley, but with a
throbbing heart sprang into the bow of the boat, where Adalo's
house-mark, the sixteen-branched antlers, rose proudly; she could not
help stroking it tenderly. The next instant she turned, laughing and
clapping her hands joyously, and exclaimed: "Now, Rignomer, you shall
see for once what rowing means. We are moving far too slowly for me!"
Lifting two oars from the bottom of the light boat she put them
skilfully into the willow holders, seized them with both hands and,
standing erect, her face turned toward the shore, rowed with such
strength and skill that Rignomer exclaimed in wonder: "By Freya's eyes,
girl, you might become a boatman on the Issala any day! You can do this
too? A pity that you are not going with me to my mother!" The boat shot
to the land among the marshes. Bissula reached the ground with a long
leap before the Batavian could help her. The steersman had kept a
straight course for the nobleman's hall: they saw the stately wooden
mansion towering directly above them on the hill.
"Oh, Donar be thanked," cried the girl joyously. "He has saved his
favorite beast, as the she-bear saved me."
"What? What are you looking at in the mire?"
"See! Bear tracks; very fresh ones! She was not drowned; she ran yonder
to the right along the shore on the old path where Sippilo and I always
went to fish."
"Who is Sippilo?" asked the Batavian. "Another Adalo?"
"Oh, nonsense! A child. And just see; from here the tracks go directly
to the hall. Come! Don't walk! Leap! Spring up the hill!"
"No, little one," said the Batavian gravely. "You can run; I will not go
with you. You seem to know the way, to know it very well. There is no
human being in sight far or near. You can reach the hall safe without
me. Aha, there too, a huge stag's antlers tower from the roof. That is
the reason you were so pleased with the one on the boat's prow.
Farewell, little one! I won't go to the meeting--I mean yours with
Adalo and all the rest who belong to his clan."
"They would thank you for having done so much for me."
"Never mind the thanks. I did not do it for them."
"Where are you going?"
"Home. To the north and west. No, have no fear for me; I shall make my
way through. Here in my breast, little one, I carry the pay and the
price of the booty won in seven years; and on my shoulder is this pole.
One can go far with these two assistants. Farewell! And,"--he whispered
in her ear--"heed my words: never defy the man you call your Duke; for
he is--_he_!"
He patted her hair and her pretty round head with rough tenderness as
he spoke, and then sprang toward the west along the lake shore. Once he
stopped to look after her--he wanted to wave another farewell. But
Bissula did not see him. She was running, with glowing cheeks, up the
hill.