CHAPTER XIII
At sunrise the next morning the long-drawn notes of the horns aroused the sleeping camp of the Vandals.
Concealed from the eyes of the Romans by the first row of tents, the Barbarians' army was formed in order for battle within its own camp. The leaders had received written orders the evening before concerning their positions, and now executed them without confusion. A breakfast of bread and wine was served to the men wherever they stood or lay. The camp was a large one, narrow but very long, following the course of the little stream. Besides the soldiers, it had been compelled to shelter many women, children, and old men who had fled from Carthage and other districts occupied or threatened by the foe.
Now the blare of trumpets summoned the subordinate officers and the leaders of the thousands to the centre of the camp, where the King and his two brothers, mounted on their chargers, were in the midst of a large open space. With them, leaning against the shoulder of her splendid stallion, stood Hilda, a muffled spear-shaft in her hand; beside her, in full priestly insignia, Verus sat on horseback. Outside the leaders were massed the men with whom Zazo had reconquered Sardinia.
Again the blare of the trumpets echoed through the streets of tents, then Zazo rode a few paces forward. Thundering cheers greeted him. In loud, clear tones he began: "Listen, army of the Vandals. We shall fight to-day, not for victory alone; we are struggling for all we are and have,--the kingdom of Genseric and its renown, the wives and children in yonder tents, who will become slaves if we yield. To-day we must look death and the enemy closely in the eye. The King has commanded that this battle is to be fought by the Vandals with the sword only, not with bow and arrow, not with lance and spear. Look, I cast my own spear from me; you will do the same; with sword in hand, press close to the body of the foe." He dropped his lance; all the soldiers followed his example. "One spear alone," he added, "will tower aloft to-day in the Vandal army,--this."
Hilda stepped forward. Taking the shaft from her hand, he tore off the cover and waved high aloft a floating scarlet banner.
"Genseric's flag! Genseric's conquering dragon!" shouted thousands of voices.
"Follow this standard wherever it calls you. Do not let it fall into the hands of the enemy. Swear to follow it unto death."
"Unto death!" came the answer in solemn tones.
"That is well. I believe you. Vandals. Now listen to your King. You know that he has the gift of song and harp-playing. He has planned the order of battle wisely, skilfully; he has also composed the battle-song which is to sweep you into the conflict."
Then Gelimer, throwing back his long purple mantle, raised Hilda's--Teja's--dark triangular harp, and, to the accompaniment of its clear notes, sang:--
"On, on, Vandals brave,
Forward to battle!
Follow the standard,
The fame-heralded
Consort of Victory.
"Dash on the foemen!
Strive with and strike them,
Breast 'gainst breast pressing,
In close combat down!
"Guard ye, O Vandals,
The heritage noble
Of ancestors stainless,
Our kingdom and fame!
"Vengeance is preparing
High in the heavens
The avenger of right:
God crown with victory
The cause that is just."
"God crown with victory the cause that is just!" repeated the warriors, in an exulting shout, and dispersed through the streets of the camp.
The King and his brothers now dismounted from their horses, to hold another short council and to drink the wine which Hilda herself offered to them. Just at that moment, as Gelimer gave back the harp to Hilda, a strange figure pressed through the dispersing ranks; the King and the Princes gazed at it in astonishment. A tall man clad from head to ankles in a gown of camel's hair, fastened around the loins, not by a rope, but by a girdle of thick braided strands of a woman's light-brown tresses; no sandals protected the bare feet, no covering the closely shaven head. The cheeks were sunken; glowing eyes sparkled from deep sockets. Throwing himself before the King, he raised both hands imploringly.
"By Heaven! I know you, man," said Gelimer.
"Yes," cried Gibamund, "it is--"
"Thrasabad, Thrasaric's brother," added Zazo.
"The vanished nobleman whom we have long believed dead," said Hilda, with a timid glance at him, drawing nearer.
"Yes, Thrasabad," replied a hollow voice, "the miserable Thrasabad. I am a murderer, her murderer. King, judge me!"
Gelimer bent forward, took his right hand, and raised him.
"Not the Greek girl's murderer. I have heard the whole story from your brother."
"No matter; her blood rests on my soul. I felt that as I saw it flow. Lifting the beautiful body on a horse that very night, I dashed away with it from the eyes of men. Away, always deeper into the desert, till the horse fell. Then, with these hands, I buried her in a sand ravine not far from here. Her wonderfully beautiful hair I cut off; how often I have stroked and caressed it! And I prayed and did penance ceaselessly beside her grave. Pious desert monks found me there, watching and fasting, almost dead. And I confessed to them my heavy sin. They promised God's forgiveness if, as one of their brotherhood, I would do penance beside that grave forever. I took the vows. They gave me the dress of their order; I wound Glauke's hair around it to remind me always of my sin; and they brought me food in the lonely ravine. But since I heard of the day of Decimum and my brother's death; since the decisive conflict drew nearer and nearer; since you and the enemy pitched your camp close beside my hiding-place; since, two days ago, I heard the war horns of my people,--I have had no peace in my idle praying! Once I wielded the sword not badly. My whole heart yearned to follow once more, for the last time, the call of the battle trumpets. Alas! I dared not; I knew I was not worthy. But last night, in a dream, she appeared to me,--her human beauty transfigured into an angel's radiant loveliness, no longer any trace of earth about her; and she said: 'Go to your brothers-in-arms, ask for a sword, and fight and fall for your people. That will be the best atonement.' Oh, believe me, my King! I do not lie with the name of that saint on my lips. If you can forgive me for her sake--oh, let me--"
Zazo stepped forward, drew the sword from the sheath of one of his own warriors, and gave it to the monk. "Here, Thrasabad, son of Thrasamer! I will answer for it to the King. Do you see? He, too, is nodding to you. Take this sword and go with my men. You will probably need no scabbard. Now, King Gelimer, let the horns bray. Forward! at the foe!"