With a wild, yelling, tiger-like shriek, in which thirst for blood and joy of revenge sounded harshly together, he let his shield slip down, raised the short, broad Roman sword for a blow, and with the cry, "Felicitas is mine!" sprang on the German.
At that first outcry, Liuthari quickly bent forward, slightly raising the heel of his left foot, and seized one of the marble slabs lying before him; and now, first swinging it high above his head, with the cry "Felicitas!" he hurled it with a good aim against the helmetless forehead of the Tribune, as he sprang towards him.
Hoarsely groaning, clashing in his armour, the assailant fell backwards; the sword escaped from his hand.
Already Liuthari knelt on his breast, seized the blade, and raised it to force it into his throat.
But he breathed no more--he was dead. Liuthari rising, threw the sword aside, and looked proudly on the three slain enemies.
"For Felicitas!" said he. "Now to her. I think--I have deserved it."
He knelt down by the running stream, washed the smarting, still bleeding wound of his right arm, tore some broad strips from the linen mantle of the dead centurion, bound them firmly around the wound, and then trod with a light, elastic step the long path through the garden, back to the house.
CHAPTER XIX.
Having reached it he pushed carefully aside the yellow curtain of the outer door, letting the moonlight fall into the dark room.
At the entrance to the sleeping-room, before its red curtain, lay Haduwalt, snoring; by him, lying on its side, empty, was the amphora. Lightly, on tip-toe and with a beating heart, the young man advanced and cautiously divided the two halves of the red curtain. He then perceived, with a smile, the cunning arrangement of the thread; it was still fastened to the leathern belt of the guard; but the hand of the sleeper had opened; the ball lay on a stool by her couch. With a wide stride Liuthari stepped across the old man into the sleeping-room.