A Captive of the Roman Eagles Part 22

"'The ditch five feet deep.

"'The weakest point the corner in the northwest'--and so it continues for a long time!

"Thanks to thee, G.o.d of wishes. Thou hast sent this, no one else, to thy sons. Look here! A plan of the entire camp! Exact: all the measurements. And here, marked on the margin, the strength of all the troops hors.e.m.e.n, foot-soldiers, carters; and their distribution in the camp. Look here, Adalo! Even the great pine, the tree of the earth-G.o.ddess, is noted. What is this beside the tree? What stands there above the stones of sacrifice which cover the turf near the tree?

A tent, empty, without soldiers, filled with provisions!

"In this page I hold victory. Go now, Zercho: your reward shall be paid. As I promised, I will buy your freedom, whatever sum your master, Suomar, may ask: he cannot give it to you, his lands are not large, and you are his most valuable property."

"O mighty, generous lord, I thank you!"

"Then you can return, a free man, to your own people, to Sarmatia. That will be your wish?"

But Zercho shook his unkempt head. Tears filled his eyes: "No," he said. "I will stay here, my lord, if Suomar will let me keep the little patch of ground I have always tilled--I had to give him only the twelfth sheaf from it--and the hut of woven willow branches by the lake. I would rather stay."

"Strange! Do you feel no longing for your home, your own people?"

"Home! We Sarmatians have none like yours, you patient, plough-guiding men, which you occupy beside the immovable hearthstone, rooted to the earth. Our home is the steppe, the broad, free steppe, which can be measured neither by the eye nor the steed. Ah! it is beautiful." The man's eyes sparkled, and suddenly Zercho, usually so dull and taciturn, was overwhelmed by an enthusiasm which, to the listeners' astonishment, gave his words wings. "Yes, it is more beautiful, more magnificent than all the Roman and German lands I have ever seen. When, in the spring, the sun has kissed away the last snow; when the moor laughs; when the steppe blossoms; when by day hundreds of hawks scream at once in the blue air, and the wild stallions, which have never borne a rider, neigh so terribly and dash so furiously past the tents, trampling over everything in their path as they pursue the trembling mares, till the heart of the boldest man might quiver with fear and yet also with joy at sight of such fierce, uncurbed strength! And oh, the nights, when the thousands and thousands of heavenly spirits look down from above, far, far more star-G.o.ds, s.h.i.+ning far more brightly than here with you; and when, in the darkness, the cranes and wild-swans pa.s.s like thick clouds--for there are so many that they cast shadows in the moonlight--like resonant, clanging clouds high in the air!

"Doubtless the steppes of Sarmatia are more beautiful than any other lands and the lives of the Jazyges on their swift steeds are freer than other lives. But Zercho--Zercho no longer suits the steppe. I am like the bird, the wild bird of the moor, which boys keep for years in a small cage where it cannot spread its wings. If it is set free, nay, flung into the air, it drops down and lies still; it can no longer fly, it has forgotten how. So, toiling with the plough for many years and staying in one place has fettered me. Zercho can no longer ride as the Jazyges ride, vying with the wind; Zercho can no longer sleep every night on a different patch of earth and, if there be nothing better to eat, catch locusts and lizards. I am used to grain and bread, the fruit of the lands I have ploughed myself. I have no wish to leave them. And my family? I saw them all--all six--die before my eyes in one night, the terrible night when the faithless Romans--those slayers of the people, those murderous wolves!--suddenly attacked our encampment with the round, straw-thatched huts, by the Tibiscus, during an armistice.

The bright blaze of the hurdles lighted them well in their work of slaughter. My father killed, my mother hurled into the flames of the straw tent, my two sisters--oh, horrible!--tortured to death, my two brothers leaping into the stream which flowed red with blood! And I--I saw it all, stretched before the hut, my head cleft by a sword stroke, defenceless, motionless. So I lay the whole starlit night, asking the thousand G.o.ds above there: 'Why? Why? Why?' But, when day dawned, the slave dealers who, like the ravens of the air and the wolves of the steppe marshes, follow the Romans on every battle-field, came and trod on all the Jazyges who lay there, to learn whether they were still alive. I quivered under their feet, was flung into a cart, and carried with them many, many days and weeks. At last the kind-hearted Suomar bought and rescued me. For never, though I was a bondman, did he call me 'dog,' like the dealers. He treated me like--like a human being. And when the little mistress grew up, Suomar's farm became my home. And I will stay down in the willow hut beside the lake as a free man, so long as I live, if I am allowed to do so. And when Zercho's death hour comes, the little red sprite (for we must rescue her, Adeling, and we will) shall close my eyes with her hand, and then they shall bury me in the open country, in the pastures by the lake. The cranes will pa.s.s over me at night with rustling wings and clanging cries, high in the air, and I shall hear it under the thin covering of turf and, in my death sleep, dream that I am lying in the blossoming, fragrant steppe gra.s.s."

He stopped. His cheeks were flushed; his ugly face was transfigured; never in his whole life had he uttered so many words at once.

The Duke held out his hand, saying: "No, Zercho, you are no dog. You have a heart, almost like the Alemanni's. Different, it is true, but not evil."

Adalo said nothing, but he clasped the bondman's other hand and pressed it warmly. Sippilo turned away: he did not want to let any one see his eyes.

"You have a lucky hand, boy," cried the Duke. "I can read your wishes in your eyes. Yes, you shall share the battle for the victory which your bold artifice has done so much to win."

Sippilo rushed to the old Commander-in-chief and clasped both his hands: "You diviner and fulfiller of wishes! I can imagine Odin like you! Last autumn Adalo refused me the sword, because"--he hung his head--"because I could not pierce with my spear the willow-woven Hermunduri s.h.i.+eld in our hall. Pshaw, I was only a child then; but at the spring festival I pierced the old Roman s.h.i.+eld which Suomar gave me for a target."

"I had bored six holes in it and stopped them up again," Zercho whispered to the Duke; "but let him go. I'll protect him."

Hariowald dismissed the bondman and the lad.

"Well," urged Adalo vehemently, "in this sheet you hold in your hands the victory,--you said so yourself,--so let us fight at last."

But the Duke silently shook his head.

"Consider. 'Hasten' was her last word! Tonight?"

"No. What is one girl in comparison to a whole nation?"

"I beseech you! I implore you! You are my friend--my kinsman."

"I am Duke of the Alemanni."

"Well then," cried Adalo, deeply incensed, "delay. I will save her--I alone! There is a way, known only to myself and to you. I will use it."

He turned to rush from the tent, but quickly, with a threatening look, the old n.o.ble barred his way. "Stop, boy! Do not stir from this place.

Will you rob your people of certain victory for the sake of a pair of blue eyes?"

"I will not rob them of it! I will only appear to-night in the Roman camp,--I alone,--and bear her out of it in these arms, or leave my life there."

"Whether you live or die, the secret will be discovered--the surest way to victory in our attack."

"You will conquer, with or without Adalo, in other ways. I will save the girl I love before it is too late."

He tried to force himself past the Duke, but the old man seized him by both shoulders with an iron grasp and forced him to stand.

"And I will accuse you before the popular a.s.sembly, like that treacherous king; I will have you hung between two wolves to a bough of the accursed withered yew."

"Do what you choose after I have saved her or died with her," cried the frantic youth, wrenching himself free. But, with unexpected strength, the old Duke flung him, reeling, back into the tent.

"I will have you bound hand and foot like a madman. You are mad. Freya has bewitched you. Hear it, Adalger, high in Valhalla: Adalo, your son, no longer heeds a hero's duty or manly honor. He must be bound with willow withes, with ropes, that he may not become base and destroy his people for a woman's sake."

Agitated, overpowered, crushed, Adalo sank prostrate, his hands clenched in his long locks, moaning: "Bissula--lost--lost!"

The Duke, un.o.bserved, cast a keen sympathizing glance at the youth. He saw that he had convinced and conquered him.

Adalo went out, grave and thoughtful, to be alone with his grief.

In the course of the day a messenger secretly conveyed to the Roman camp a letter from Adalo, addressed to Saturninus and Ausonius. The young chieftain, on the pretext of inspecting the farthest outposts, had gone with his envoy from the top of the Holy Mountain through the whole seven fortifications encircling it to the last one at the foot, and then ridden with him into the forest which stretched between it and the Roman camp. Here he awaited the answer, his n.o.ble face pale and disfigured by the long mental conflict through which he had pa.s.sed.

When he heard in the distance the hoof-beats of the returning horse (evening had come, and the mountain peaks oh the opposite side of the lake were glowing with crimson light), he ran breathless to meet it.

"Well," he cried, "where is the answer to the letter?"

"They gave me no answer. Both the Roman generals--for I had them both called, as you ordered--read your letter before me with great, great astonishment. They talked together, with loud exclamations, in words I did not understand, not Roman ones. Then both turned to me, the older one, who was formerly in the country, speaking first: 'Tell your master the answer is: Never.' And the younger man added: 'Not even for this price.'"

Then Adalo suddenly fell p.r.o.ne like a young pine whose last prop above the last root has been cut by the axe. He had dropped face forward. The faithful attendant sprang from his horse, sat down on the gra.s.s, and took the senseless youth's head in his lap. Adalo lay unconscious a long time, fairly stupefied by grief. The stars were already s.h.i.+ning in the sky, and the bats darting through the trees, when, panting for breath, he climbed the mountain.

"That was the last effort," he said to himself. "Nothing is left now except death--death in battle, not to save her, alas! only her corpse: for if shame be inflicted on her, she will not survive it."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

But, eagerly as Saturninus watched for the galleys expected from Arbor, another was to learn their antic.i.p.ated departure long before he knew of it. This was Duke Hariowald.

On a wooded hill, the hill of Zio, named the Geerebuhl, east of the Holy Mountain, almost directly opposite to Arbor, a little band of Alemanni spies watched night and day, one, relieved every hour, gazing steadily across the lake at the Hill of Mercury, the nearest height south of Arbor on the southern sh.o.r.e of the lake.

The region around this harbor fortress, which was wholly under Roman rule, was inhabited by colonists of various tribes: among them many Alemanni whom capture, or voluntary surrender and removal, had led to the better-tilled, more richly cultivated southern sh.o.r.e.

At noon on the day of Adalo's secret message a slender, almost invisible column of smoke rose from the Hill of Mercury on the southern sh.o.r.e: instantly a thick grayish-black cloud of smoke ascended from the Geerebuhl on the north sh.o.r.e. This was clearly seen from the eastern side of the summit of the Holy Mountain,--the Hill of Mercury was _not_ visible from it,--and one of the guards who constantly watched the Geerebuhl, instantly rushed into the Duke's tent "Smoke is rising on Zio's Mountain! A high column of smoke."

Hariowald came out of his tent in full armor (during the past week he had scarcely removed it night or day), with his battle helmet on his n.o.ble head. This helmet was a very strange one: whoever unexpectedly saw it gleam before him might well be startled.