Bissula. English, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  As we have seen, the Romans were still ignorant whether the Barbarianswere aware of the bands approaching simultaneously from severaldirections to menace the inhabitants of the forest with destruction.Preparations had been made so secretly that the commanders believed itpossible to take the foe completely by surprise. For weeks not a Germanhad been allowed to pass the guards on the very outermost line of Romanterritory, which, it is true, had been greatly diminished in the courseof the last three or four generations. The right of traffic at thestations on the southern shore had been withdrawn a still longer time,on the pretext of alleged violations of the conditions of suchintercourse. Roman traders had not ventured recently within theprecincts occupied by neighbors who were justly irritated by suchseverity.

  The sentinels on the frontier reported that nothing unusual could beseen from the watch towers. The people went about their work in fieldand forest as usual, tended their numerous flocks, hunted or fished;apparently they thought neither of defence nor flight.

  Once, it is true, one of the _speculae_ reported that, late one night, afire had suddenly blazed upon a mountain peak probably several milesfrom the lake and, after a short interval, as suddenly vanished. TheAlemanni called the towering height, whose summit was visible for manya mile, the Sacred Mountain, the Holy Mountain, and Odin's Mountain,and the name has clung to it tenaciously. True, in later times the"sacred" related to Christian consecration; but at the present day thestately castle on that majestic height bears the title of Heiligenberg.On the spot where Odin's ash-trees then rustled, the breeze now sweepsacross the flower-beds of a beautiful garden.

  The report was unheeded. Forest fires, even at night, were not unusualamong the Germans, who in their labor of clearing the ground oftenrequired, in the place of the axe, the aid of the swifter flame. Duringthe next few days also everything remained quiet.

  On the morning after that night--it was a few days prior to the Romans'march across the height of Meersburg, already described--a youthemerged from the dense woods stretching for miles in a northwesterlydirection toward the Holy Mountain, a youth whose figure was asstraight, tall, and slender as a young pine. The hood of lynx-skinfluttering from his shoulders like a short cloak did not confine hislong fair locks, which fell in waves upon his shoulders, waves withwhich the morning breeze played caressingly, as the youth stopped onthe crest of a low grassy hill that afforded a view of the lake.

  Resting his right arm upon the oak handle of his spear, he leanedforward, shading his eyes with his left hand from the glare of thesunbeams on the smooth surface of the water, as he gazed intentlytoward the southern shore. It was an eagle glance, proud, bold, andkeen, and the color of the eye was a light golden brown.

  The red-tiled roofs of the Roman watchtowers and citadels opposite inArbon and the other stations (Constantia, etc.) shone brightly in themorning sunlight. The utmost repose pervaded the whole scene. Neithersail nor row-boat was visible: a huge kite, with an occasional strokeof its broad pinions, was soaring in wide circles above the shallowsnear the shore.

  The young German turned his eyes in the direction of the gently risingground before him northwest of Friedrichshafen, now occupied by thevillage of Jettenhausen. At that time the land had been cleared andbrought under cultivation. The hill was crowned by a stately woodenstructure, surrounded by a fence built breast-high for purposes ofdefence; a pair of superb antlers adorned the ridge-pole. From the mainbuilding itself and a small one adjoining it smoke circled upwardthrough holes in the roof: the inmates were doubtless preparing themorning meal.

  The youth made a movement in the direction of the hall, on which hiseyes had rested proudly, yet with an expression of almost sorrowfulearnestness, then he paused suddenly, saying to himself: "No! I will gofirst to _her_." He hastened eastward through what was then a tract ofmarshy woodland--now bearing the name of Seewald--crossing it in thedirection of the Tettnang forests. Often he was forced to leap fromrock to rock or from one mossy hillock to another, that he might notsink waist-deep in the morass. But the young German seemed perfectlyfamiliar with the almost invisible path which, sometimes in the form ofa ford, sometimes as a bridge, led through the bog and the denseunderbrush. Swinging himself with a daring leap, aided by the handle ofhis spear, across a tolerably wide stream which flowed through moss andsedges to the lake--a startled red grouse flew upward with a shrillcry--he soon saw before him the nearest settlement to his own statelydwelling: for he was the lord of the manor he had left behind. In thisregion neighbors lived more than a league apart; it was not untilsucceeding generations that the scattered freeholds along the lake grewinto villages.

  The little house in the forest--it might almost be called ahut--nestled modestly at the foot of a low hill which sheltered it fromthe northeast wind. The old roof was overgrown with dark green moss,and the small stable forming part of the dwelling afforded room foronly a few head of cattle. Yet everything was neat and well-kept,especially the little pasture in whose fenced inclosure stood severalfruit-trees, while the eye noted with surprise the presence in thiswilderness of several ornamental plants belonging to Rome or SouthernGaul: the yew and--carefully tended--some fine roses. Across the top ofthe ridge-pole was a four-pointed star, clumsily carved from pine-wood,but unmistakable. Its beauty, however, had not been increased by itshaving been smeared with the red lead used to color the house-mark cutin it--evidently a recent act.

  The youth's first glance as he came in sight of the little house wasunconsciously directed toward the star on the roof. When he saw the redpaint a smile curled the well-cut mouth, which was not yet whollyconcealed by the downy beard of early manhood. His second look soughtthe top of the low hill, where an ancient oak, now steeped in thegolden sunshine, was waving its gnarled branches in the morning breeze;long garlands of goat's beard, dangling from the boughs, swayed to andfro. A circular wooden bench surrounded the trunk, and on the southernside a few large stones had been arranged to form a sort of table.