"Well, this war of the Romans will soon be over. A bloodless victory."

"Who knows?" Here the centurion threw himself on the ground beside Brinno and whispered: "A man from my district, who formerly fought under the Emperor Valentinian by this lake against the Alemanni, told me why in fear and horror he suddenly gave up the service and lost his pay: In a battle the Romans were vanquished. _One_ against whom no man can lift his hand without forfeiting salvation forever dashed forward on a gray charger at the head of the Alemanni wedge."

"What?" asked Brinno, half incredulously, half timidly: "_He_--he-- himself?"

Rignomer nodded significantly: "In the form of a white-haired Duke; so runs the legend. When sore peril threatens the dwellers by the lake he descends from the heavenly heights, warns them, conceals them from the eyes of the foe with his dark mantle of clouds; teaches them runes of victory on inaccessible mountains, and bears them suddenly away on the eagle wings of the tempest. Against him I will not fight. I vowed to serve the Imperator against men only. But hark! a tuba signal from our outposts. Whom are our mounted men bringing in?"

"A messenger from the Alemanni, it seems."

"Yes, a leader and two attendants. What a youth! Halt, young hero: if you wish to go into the camp to the General,--only one is permitted to ride in,--I must first cover your eyes. Dismount! You will not? Well then, turn back again."

This was a severe blow to Adalo's hopes. He would so gladly have gazed keenly about him in the Roman camp, scanned ditches, walls, gates, and--two persons within that frowning palisade. He sullenly dismounted.

A thick woollen blanket was thrown in loose folds over his head like a huge sack and fastened under his chin: Rignomer took him by the hand and guided him to the gate, where a centurion of the Thracians received the Barbarians' envoy.

Adalo's two companions also dismounted, tied the three horses to the nearest trees, and soon lay chatting with the Batavians. The bad Latin of the frontier, it is true, often had to aid the understanding of the different dialects around the watchfire. With great exertion it had now been rekindled, for it was growing very dark. Suddenly, from the forest path by which the envoys had come, a strange growling was heard which drew nearer and nearer. The whole group, including the two Alemanni, started up in surprise.

"A bear?"

"So near the fire?"

"Slipped through our outposts?"

They seized the spears which stood stacked together. Then a Batavian, laughing loudly, came around the bend of the narrow path, pointing behind him. "Look, comrades! A Sarmatian juggler with a tame she-bear!

She dances to his big flute! It's very comical."

A cry of surprise escaped the lips of one of the Alemanni, whose eyes and mouth opened in astonishment: "That's surely--"

But his companion gave him a violent dig in the ribs with his elbow: "A she-bear! Yes. Didn't you ever see one?"

A man in the Sarmatian costume--black sheepskin with the wool turned inside--now stepped into the firelight, leading by a leather thong a large she-bear. Behind him, also clad in sheepskin, limped his boy, probably carrying in his bundle provisions for their journey; he was a poor cripple, who made his way forward slowly with the help of a crutch, and doubtless found it hard either to stand or to walk; for when the third Batavian, shoving him with the handle of his spear, invited him to come nearer to the fire, the poor lad, with a low cry, fell on the gra.s.s.

The soldiers, with Roman and German taunts, asked what _he_ could do.

He did not stir.

"You can talk to him a long while," said his master, laughing. "The boy is deaf, and he is sick with fever. He is afraid of people. Let him lie there!"

The lad crept under the thickest underbrush, far away from the flames.

He could scarcely be seen from the watchfire; all that was visible was his coal-black curly hair. Taking out a little earthen pot, he poured a few drops of some liquid on his lame foot and rubbed it with his hand.

CHAPTER XXVII.

To Adalo's impatience the time seemed very long--in his wrath he believed the delay intentional--during which he was led through the s.p.a.cious camp till at last his guide stopped and removed the m.u.f.fler from his head. He found himself in the Prefect's tent. Ausonius, Bissula's friend, he instantly recognized, with a thrill of anger. A number of other army leaders were standing and sitting around him. They had had plenty of time to a.s.semble while the Barbarian was being guided in bewildering zigzag lines through the streets of tents.

He silently saluted Ausonius (it did not escape his eyes that his foe looked admiringly at him), who motioned to him to sit down on a camp stool. But the youth, with a defiant bearing, remained standing. In vain, gazing around the richly decorated s.p.a.ce, Adalo endeavored to discover some trace, not of Bissula herself--that was beyond his hopes--but of some garment or article that belonged to her. Nothing was to be seen except arms and papyrus rolls.

"You understand the language of Rome, since you have come without an interpreter?" Ausonius began.

Adalo nodded.

"Be welcome! We expected such a messenger. You desire peace?"

The young hero angrily flung back his handsome head so that his long locks rested on his shoulders, and answered with flashing eyes: "I offer to let you depart unmolested."

"Ha, insolent Barbarian!" cried Hercula.n.u.s.

But Saturninus wrathfully motioned to him to keep silence, and then asked very quietly: "Are we surrounded?"

"Not yet; but only because we did not desire it."

Saturninus cast a significant glance at the Prefect.

"Boasting!" replied the latter in Greek.

"And why haven't you destroyed us yet?" sneered Hercula.n.u.s.

"The result, Roman, is in the hands of the G.o.ds. We have not attacked because we, who do not fear battle, but rather--you know well--love it, this time desire peace; or our wise leaders, who think further than my comrades, desire it. The great league of the Alemanni wishes to end forever by a treaty not only this campaign but the whole war with you, which for generations has been burning or at least smouldering: we wish not a truce, but peace with Rome."

"Is this your idea, youth?" asked Saturninus, searchingly.

"I have already said it is the choice of our wise leaders, among whom I am not numbered. But I, too, perceive that intercourse with you across the frontiers, when the spears are leaning in the hall, will bring to our people many benefits. We have already learned much from watching you; we must learn still more."

"But why," interposed Ausonius, "if you perceive this, have you for centuries broken every armistice, every treaty? You Germans boast of fidelity as one of the virtues of your race, and we must praise the loyal service of your mercenaries under our standards. Why, here on the frontiers, are all your tribes of many names, Alemanni and Franks, Goths and Quadi and Marcomanni, the same in this unfaithfulness? Why, year after year, do you continually break peace and compact? Our cohorts, constantly compelled to wade through your forest marshes, upbraid you with fierce hatred as the falsest of the peoples. Why do you continually break over our frontiers, like a forest stream?"

"Like a forest stream! You have uttered the right words, though probably without knowing it. I will not answer that often we are not the breakers of the treaties, but, perhaps against the Emperor's will, your army leaders, your frontier officials. In defiance of the treaty they build citadels on our free land, and the supplies which, according to the treaties, you owe us, are withheld: especially the grain."

"Why," asked Saturninus eagerly, rising from his seat, "do you not raise for yourselves the grain you need?"

"We cannot. There is not land enough for our increasing population. The G.o.ds multiply our numbers wonderfully: it must be their will that we should grow and overflow our boundaries. Hundreds, nay, thousands of our young men emigrate every year to serve you as mercenaries and frontier guards. We often send forth a third of our young people, chosen by lot, to seek a new home where the flight of the birds and the will of the G.o.ds directs them: but all this does not avail."

"Then," Saturninus questioned, speaking more to himself than to the envoy, "it is not mere wantonness?"

"Do you think that mere wantonness would have driven, from the days of our earliest ancestors (the legends have treasured it loyally, sadly, and proudly) our almost naked heroes upon the spears of your mailed legions? Nay, had it been we youths only, we would always rather win what we need by blood--the foe's or our own--than by toiling with the plough. But do you believe that, from mere wantonness, whole nations, with their women and children, their men and maid-servants, their herds and wagons, would constantly press across your frontiers southward and westward; not as a warlike band on a foray in quest of booty, but on a weary pilgrimage, pressing forward because pressed by others, pushing because being pushed from the south and the east by other Germans and by Sarmatians; not quitting the old home, but maintaining it by those left behind till they too were obliged to yield--do you believe that mere wantonness has so often lured these hundreds of thousands to and beyond your frontiers, usually to certain destruction? Oh, no. It is not wantonness that impels us, but the most powerful of all the G.o.ddesses--Necessity. A man utters her name unwillingly; for the woman with the iron girdle is the only inexorable deity; she is the mother of the three Fates, who also revere her, and she often strangles with her iron girdle the mortals who mention her carelessly. Beware, Romans!

Before our faces stands only your Empire, one mighty in military power, it is true, but behind us threatens and urges the terrible mother of the Norns. We have no choice. The country has become too narrow; we must, come what may, pour out of the old bed in roaring torrents.

Therefore, clever Roman, you speak aptly of a forest stream. Believe me: we shall continually break over your frontiers, no matter how strongly they may be guarded with men and walls, until either all we countless German tribes are destroyed or until we have gained land enough to live upon. Not until then will there be peace."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The words uttered by Adalo, evidently from sincere belief, and with warm feeling, produced a deep impression. Hercula.n.u.s shrugged his shoulders scornfully. Saturninus, with a grave face, gazed silently into vacancy--into the future. After a long pause, Ausonius found words:

"I have never seen that side of the question. Is this your wisdom?"

"I say once more, it is the wisdom of our wise men; Duke Hariowald taught me. But the necessity of our people cries so loudly that even an inexperienced youth must understand its call: Land or destruction! So, in the name of our whole league of peoples, I ask (we Alemanni yield in courage to no race on earth), do you wish to gain us, our spears, forever against all your enemies, especially the false Franks, our evil neighbors and yours? Do you desire that?"

The Romans listened intently; no one interrupted him in his appeal.