CHAPTER LIII.
Meanwhile Bissula had recovered consciousness. The loud summons of thetubas, giving the signal for the sally of the Romans, had roused her.Raising herself in her hiding-place behind the beams and planks which,piled one above another to the height of a man, completely concealedher, she peered through the openings between them. Her heart throbbedwith joy as she saw the lake gate, hitherto so impenetrably andinexorably closed against her, now standing wide open. Cautiously,crouching like a kitten that tries to escape the hand outstretched toseize it, she glided to the western corner of her hiding-place andlooked out at the gate.
Yet, ardently as she longed for liberty, and familiar as was thefearless daughter of the forest by the lake with all the perils andhorrors of the primeval woods and the waves, she was but a girl, andhad never before witnessed the terrors of murderous battles. But nowBissula saw the bloody scenes, of which, hitherto, she had only heardfrom her uncle or some bard at a feast celebrating a victory: she saw,and trembled.
By the light of the two wings of the gate, now blazing furiously, thetorches of the Romans, and the bundles of faggots hurled among thetents by the Alemanni, she saw close at hand, beyond the ditch, thebloody, murderous conflict. She saw the meeting between the Romans, asthey burst from the camp, and the assailing bands of her own people;saw things which sent a thrill of horror through every vein.
Trembling in every limb she sank down, as though paralyzed, on a pileof lumber behind her, and gazed with dilated eyes, through the gate atthe terrible spectacle, from which, with all its horrors, she could notavert her gaze, or even lower her eyelids. Suddenly she saw Saturninus,then he vanished, hidden by his Illyrians, then reappeared, far in thevan. She recognized the King of the Ebergau,--he had given her a claspat the last spring festival,--then she saw him fall backward withoutrising again. The little figure at his side, with fair curls floatingaround his uncovered head, was Sippilo. So the plunge from the wall hadnot injured him.
Then a gigantic Illyrian, swinging a blazing torch,--a terribleweapon,--approached him from the side. The boy did not see the branduplifted above him; Bissula, forgetting all danger to herself, shriekedloudly. Then the soldier sank. For an instant she saw, by the glare ofthe torch, Adalo, who had rescued his brother, and she rejoiced at thespectacle, but the torch went out as its bearer fell. The brothersvanished from her sight. Directly afterwards she heard in loud, wailingtones the cry of many voices: "Adalo! alas for Adalo! alas for theAdeling!"
Horror and anxiety for her friend made her heart sink: she could get nofurther glimpse of him. And, from the camp behind her, a fresh uproararose, which swiftly drew nearer. It was Hariowald, now with his mendriving the last Batavians (Bissula recognized Rignomer) from thefortress of wagons, and the scattered Romans flying down all thestreets through the Decumanian Gate. She attempted to join the pursuingAlemanni, but their arrows and spears flew close about her; a stonefrom a sling fell crashing against a beam above her head and,terrified, she threw herself face downward on the ground and let thedangerous stream of foe and friend roar past her into the distance.
The camp soon became still, absolutely still. Outside the gate, too,the din of battle swept very swiftly down the hill toward the lake.Bissula rose again and looked through the gate. In the distance shesaw, though indistinctly, the surging ranks pour down the slope; shecould scarcely distinguish the figures, but her people's shouts ofvictory rang loudly in her ears. A rush of joy filled her heart and shecried exultingly: "Victory! Liberty! Hurrah!" But the next instant shesaid to herself reproachfully: "And Ausonius! And brave Saturninus!Alas! and Adalo!"
Her grief, her terrible anxiety for her lover drove her from herhiding-place even more powerfully than the longing for her liberation,and she resolved to venture across the dreaded battlefield, lately sofull of uproar, now so horribly silent. The camp was deserted. At leastit seemed so, as Bissula, stealing cautiously around the corner of thebarricade, looked in every direction. She thought, too, of the faithfulbear: "Bruna! Here, Bruna!" she called up the streets of the camp asloudly as she could; but no Bruna came. Though the burning tents stillgave light enough, she saw no upright figure near, either of friend orfoe. Only on the ground, here and there, some movement still remained.
A dead Celt lay directly across one of the streets, his helmet on hishead and the spear still in his rigid hand. With horror--she had neverbefore witnessed death, being only a few years old when she lost herparents--she cautiously stepped over the broad mailed breast, holdingup her garments that they might not brush against the corpse. "Threebounds," she thought, "and I shall reach the gate." She had alreadyraised her foot for a swift run, when a groan behind her reached herear. Involuntarily, though shaken by fresh fear, she looked around.Terrible things exert a strange compulsion which at the same timeattracts and repels. A Roman severely wounded lay a few steps behindher, his head resting on a tent-pole, his right arm propped on theground, and his left pressed against the gaping wound in his breast. Hemust have seen the girl, for, instead of moaning, he now called, inLatin, "Water, oh, pray give me some water!"
Bissula shrank in fear; besides, she dreaded to turn from the libertybeckoning outside the gate to go back into the camp. But her woman'sheart conquered the terror, and she glanced around her to see if shecould find means to quench the sufferer's thirst. Then her eyes fell onone of the huge tuns which, according to Roman camp regulations, alwaysstood filled with water beside each gate. It was so high that she couldscarcely look into it, but she pulled herself to the top with bothhands and saw that there was plenty of water inside. But where was sheto find a cup? All sorts of utensils lay scattered around, but neithergoblet nor vessel.
Then a thought flashed through her mind which at first made hershudder. But she bravely conquered the girlish fright, went to the deadCelt, loosed, with trembling fingers, the iron band which fastened thehelmet under his chin, drew it carefully, tenderly, as if the deadcould feel, from his head, then hastened to the cask, half filled it,and carried it with both hands, the long horse-hair of the cresttrailing on the ground. She walked slowly, that she might not spill toomuch, to the groaning man, who watched her movements with glassy eyesand opened his mouth eagerly. Kneeling by his side, she held the helmetsideways to his bearded lips. He drained it to the last drop, and witha long sigh of relief, laid his head back on the pole and said, with aneffort:
"Are you a Christian?"
The girl shook back her red locks defiantly: "Freya and Frigga protectme."
"No matter," replied the dying man, "Christ, the Saviour, girl, willreward you for this drink!"
Bissula rose slowly, her glance rested upon the nearest street of tentsto the left and, with a sharp cry of terror, she dropped the helmet andran as swiftly as she could, toward the gate. For, down that street,brightly illumined by the blaze of the burning tents, she saw, stealingtoward her, crouching like a beast of prey, with a dagger in hishand,--Herculanus.