So to gain information they turned again to the corpse of the horseman, and to his steed, yet trembling in every limb.
They saw that the horse had swum the stream, man and horse were running with water. Why had not the fugitive made use of the bridge below the town? Because he did not know if it were occupied? or because he did not wish to do so? Because he had striven to bring his news the most direct road? He had no other wound than that in the neck, caused by the deadly arrow, from which the blood had flowed over his shoulder and shieldless left arm. It was undoubtedly a missile like those the Germans carried; the three-barbed point had entered very deeply, the shot was given at a close range; the long shaft of alder-wood was winged with the feathers of the gray heron; the blade of his long cavalry sword was missing, the leather sheath hung empty at the right side of his girth; the spear, which the closed right hand still grasped, was broken at the first iron clasp by which the point was attached, by a powerful blow from a battle-axe, not from a sword; so that the rider had lost in close combat, helmet, shield, sword, and spear, and in flight had received the arrow shot by his pursuer. The dead man could be questioned no more.
But what had become of his comrades in arms?
Leo, the Tribune, had the day before sent out five of the Moorish cavalry to take possession of a hill, two hours' journey north-west of the town, which commanded a view of the country as far as the thick forest to the north. A half-fallen watch-tower stood there, which had last been repaired and occupied in the time of the Emperor Valentinian I., now a hundred years ago.
What had become of the other four Moors?
Nobody knew.
The citizens passed an anxious night. The watch went their rounds on the ramparts with torches, and small fires burnt at the spots where broad flagstones covered the surface of the earth and turf.
The fires were extinguished at dawn of the early June morning; the sentinels looked carefully out into the country in the full morning light; there was nowhere a trace of the enemy.
Peasants came as usual from all parts into the town to sell or to buy. They were astonished to find the gates closed. They were allowed to pass in singly, all being carefully examined to see if they were trustworthy people or spies, perhaps even barbarians in disguise.
But the inoffensive peasants were terrified at this unusual sharpness of the gate-watch; to question them was without rhyme or reason. They evidently knew nothing, and were much more zealous and anxious to inquire in the town what had taken place.