Just at that moment a long-drawn blast of a horn echoed from the summit of the mountain. Adalo started up.
"The Duke is calling. We are to consult about what is to be proposed in the people's council. Zercho, come with me. He wishes to question you about the number of the enemy's mounted men. You, Sippilo, take care of Mother Waldrun; that is all you can do for your Bissula."
"For the present," said the boy looking after his brother. "But I will take part in storming the camp fortress where the scoundrels hold captive the prettiest little bird--little gold-crested wren, no, little redbreast--in the land of the Alemanni." He raised his clenched fist threateningly.
CHAPTER XIX.
Outside of the Duke's tent also a huge fire was blazing, fed by slaves who were roasting on the ends of poles the haunches and back of a freshly killed stag. Adalo passed by, motioning to Zercho to wait, parted the sailcloth stretched over the wooden frame of the tent, and entered.
The roof was formed of interwoven pine branches; against the poles of the light timberwork hung and rested everywhere weapons of all kinds. Skins covered the turf floor which, opposite to the entrance, was raised until it formed a high seat; a curtain of heavy linen hung behind it, dividing from the front of the tent a small space used for a sleeping room. In the centre stood an iron tripod, running to a point at the top, into which was screwed a burning pine-torch that diffused a dim, flickering red light.
On the fur-covered high seat, with his back resting against the main column of the tent, sat Duke Hariowald. He greeted his young kinsman only by a glance and seemed to heed nothing except the eager words of another guest, a man about forty years old, who, clad in a boarskin and wearing on his head a "boar helm" with the animal's tusks, sat at his right.
The old Duke, a giant in height, towering nearly a head above Adalo's tall figure, was a man of singular appearance. The immense framework of his body appeared to belong to a much older race of men. His deep-set gray eye--the left one had been destroyed by a stone from a Balearican sling long before, and the empty socket had a sinister expression--was under a bushy, prominent arched brow; its fire was by no means dimmed, but curbed by the long habit of self-control. This ever perceptible rule of passions blazing fiercely in his breast gave the mighty man, who in spite of his sixty-five winters could not be called old, an air of mysterious majesty. His people looked up to him with reverence, with timid expectation, nay, with a slight fear of what he was planning in rigid secrecy. His eagle eye was inscrutable when he half closed it; when open, the flash that blazed from it was fairly blinding. The expression of the mouth was concealed by the magnificent silvery-white beard, sweeping over the breast-plate to the bronze belt, which framed the cheeks and mingled with the thick locks of hair of the same hue.
Like the eye, the strong, deep, resonant voice revealed, no matter how quietly the mighty man spoke, the sense of power held in check. He rarely moved his muscular limbs, and all his gestures had a calmness which was the result of long training. So he sat without a helmet, with his ample blue cloak floating from his shoulders, his bearing one of dignified composure. The majestic beauty of his finely formed head was plainly visible as he rested it against the tent-pole, listening intently. An immense spear rested in the curve of his right arm, its brass top rising above his shoulder, as the end touched the floor; he often stroked with a gentle, almost loving touch of the hand the runes of victory inscribed on the back of the ash handle.
"I am usually glad to greet you, son of Adalger," said the Duke's other guest, with a frowning brow, "but now I am most unwilling. I pleaded for peace--" The Duke remained silent. "Now you come and you--I know it--dream of nothing day and night save war with Rome."