"Fly! Fly! All is lost!"
Most of the men had understood this and, with the same shouts, they now climbed up the wall or poured through the open gate.
Brinno alone had not fled from the post: at Rignomer's cry, also greatly alarmed, he had leaped behind the nearest tree, but here, looking sharply at the terrible horseman, he recovered his composure: "Nonsense!" he called after his flying comrades. "His horse has only four feet, not eight. That is not he!" He stepped forward bravely with levelled spear, but the next instant was thrown down by the Duke's charger and, directly after, about thirty mounted men leaped into the ditch, which was now no longer defended, and dashed to the right and left in pursuit of the fugitives who were running along the bottom. The space around the gate was almost empty, swept clean in an instant.
Hariowald himself had ridden straight toward the gate, but just before he reached it, it was flung back from within, shutting out several fugitives who were trying to enter. The Duke sprang from his horse; the intelligent animal instantly stood motionless. He beckoned to his mounted men and to a small band who, meanwhile, had reached the ditch on foot, to follow him to the left of the gate, where rose a huge stone. A large number of other foot-soldiers now also reached the gate and, mounting ladders they had brought with them (which, strangely enough, were exactly the length required to reach from the bottom of the ditch to the wall), or even climbing on one another's backs, endeavored to scale the wall or to break down the gate with axes.
But here they now encountered vigorous resistance. Arrows, spears, beams, stones flew down upon them: a battle was impending; the attempt to enter the gate with the fugitives had failed. Saturninus had closed it and shot the huge iron bolt with his own strong hand. Awakened by the furious baying of his dogs, he had made the round of the camp to test the watchfulness of the sentries, and was now directing the defence from the walls. His own hand flung down the first ladder raised.
But the battle was already raging at the same time on the other three sides of the camp.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Bissula, too, on whose burning eyes sleep had not descended, had soon perceived what was happening. She heard with joyous terror the battle cry of the Alemanni, the war horns of her people.
"There they are! They are coming!" she exclaimed exultingly. "Now to meet them!" With the words she ran out of her tent, leading her faithful companion by the collar. She was determined to seize the first opportunity, no matter how dangerous it might be, to escape from the precincts of the camp.
But this was far more difficult than Bissula had expected. She experienced the utmost trouble even in gaining the vicinity of the lake gate to which she was summoned. The regular squares of the Roman camp, intersected at right angles by the streets of tents, rendered the task still more arduous; for at all the streets and squares stood, in dense masses, the reserve troops not engaged in fighting on the walk. No matter whether their faces or their backs were turned toward her, those ranks could not be penetrated.