From the main forest on one side rang out a shouting almost boyish, and then from that green wood burst forth a score of beardless horsemen! The ground was somewhat sloping, there was room for headway, and, sweeping down in a mass together, the young spearmen burst in upon and through the Chauci, as though they were but corn! Never before in forest fray had been such hurling of ridden horses upon footmen. What could withstand such charge of thundering beast, or the bent spears, of which none failed to reach its man! Crumpled and split apart and scattered were the Chauci by that fierce onslaught, and we, the warriors, leaped after them and slew them as they fled, pursuing them into the forest ways which led toward their home and overtaking many. Well had the youth displayed their warrior blood, and, more than that, had taught us much. Henceforth the horse would be exalted.

Foremost and swift was I in the grim pursuit, and overtook three of the fleeing Chauci in a little glade, when they turned to face me. It was a fight of but a moment. My axe descended on the one who seemed to be the leader, and then came to me what was beyond all evil dreaming! Even as my axe sank into the Chauci’s head one of the others, who had darted aside as I made my rush, swung his long sword behind me foully and I tottered and fell crumplingly to earth there, hamstrung and helpless and a lost man forever! What mattered it that one who came panting behind me cut down the knave who had crippled me? What more had life!

The pursuit by our warriors ended at last; they gathered together the weapons of the slain Chauci and all the spoil of their camp, and, afterward, made a litter in which they carried me, as they did the others who could not walk. The march wound to the village, which was reached at nightfall. Most carefully was I attended. Loud had been the acclamation of me as foremost in the battle, and my leg was shrewdly bound, as was also a little wound in my left arm, which, before, had bled most steadily. Afterward I was placed upon a couch of furs in the feast hall, where presently would be held the feast in celebration of our victory. Sadly and sullenly I lay. Then came to me a wondrous resolution! There came before my eyes a vision of one helpless and crawling. Where were now the battle and the chase and the fair hunting of the bee stores! What grayness lay before me! What held life for me now, for me who in the morning had been at the crest of strength and pride and who had hewn my way to greater honour through a warrior’s day! What pitiful old age might come to Scar, the hamstrung! Yet, what honour comes to the hero who dies laughing at death and fresh from where much blood has flowed? I thought of her who was wearing my golden armlet, sleeping quietly, and life seemed hollow at the best! I thought of the long years of hobbling, and my mind became as iron, as my gorge rose. They were making ready for the feast now and I called my friends about me and told them I would feast with them, and directed where my seat should be, as I drank deeply with them and that I should be lifted to it, and they did as I commanded boisterously and acclaimingly, for they knew well what I had in mind, though in the eyes even of those warriors shone something of wonder with their pride. The feast began and the vaunting and the shouting and the deep drinking, and then I shouted loud, though I could not rise, and bade them hail and vaunted of the brave day. Hoarsely and loudly I told them how I was about to die cheerily, as a warrior should, before the eyes of fighting men, laughing and showing to the youth the manner in which a hero passed to Woden!

Lifted I then my wounded arm and tore away the bandage from where a goodly vein was sheared apart, and opened it anew with my dagger, and the red blood came out and ran with a soft patter to the floor as I let the arm hang low beside me. Four brimming urus horns of mead I quaffed then, and shouted and waved the horn above me and sang the praise of the Cherusci, and the warriors shouted with me and would have lifted me aloft but for my wounds. More deeply yet I drank, and more boasted of the glory of the Cherusci, and still heard the ceaseless dripping to the floor. The mead was bringing languor, and it seemed to me that, because of this fine sleepiness, I spoke less bravely, repeating much, and stumblingly, the words I had said before. Surely, I thought, a better mead was never brewed! The lights flashed and the warriors shouted over to me. I was warm, and my head nodded. Great were we of the Cherusci and great the life of a warrior! My head sank on my breast. The whimsy came; we warriors might be strong, but assuredly grizzled and bent old Harling, who brewed our mead, was mightiest among us! I bent forward prone on the table, with my head upon my unwounded arm, the other yet dangling. Still came to my ears the patter of the blood upon the floor. Strong was the mead!

CHAPTER XIV
ALESIA AND THE END

That there had been a sea fight was plain from the look of the deck, upon which blood was splashed about and gathered in some places into little pools, now turned to a dark purple in the sunlight which was shining down upon it pleasantly enough. Pleasant also was the breeze which was carrying the galley westward without any aid of man in the guiding. Of the fight itself, it seemed as if I could remember something, though but confusedly, for first it would appear that we were battling among trees or in open ground, and then again that we were thrusting and striking and grappling up and down a tossing and slippery deck and that hoarse shouting was mingled with the roar of a great wind. Now, there was neither much wind nor any shouting. I lay with my head upon some sort of a not uneasy pillow and looked upward into a sky without a cloud. I felt a stiffness in my limbs and there was inertness to me. I made shift to rise to my knees and at last to my feet, and looked about me weakly, and considered. Yes, assuredly, there had been a sea fight. My pillow, the quality of which I had not noted, showed that, for it had been old Regner, now lying motionless, who had borne my head upon his bosom while I lay senseless. A huge spear, which had entered at the shoulder, protruded from his side, and he had bled much, lying there transfixed so savagely. I found that I had wounds myself and that there was a great bruise on my temple which still somewhat affected me.

Slowly, as the wind blew coolly on my forehead, came back to me a knowledge of what had been our evil fortune and how it was that I, a man of some presence among our daring company, I, a Viking of the Angles, should be drifting thus wounded and alone in mine own ship, helpless to guide it. The crafty Romans had outwitted us and we had not been spared!

In our fast shield ship, not a very great one but swift upon its way, we had been lying in wait, as was our custom, in a small bay of the Gallic coast, awaiting the near passing of any vessel which seemed to offer booty. What came, we cared not greatly, for we feared no enemy we might encounter, though preferring much some laden Phœnician trader still venturing to Britain. In default of such rare prize we must content ourselves with a chance ship of the Veneti, who also had some traffic beyond the narrow sea.

Proud were we Vikings, for was not ours the blood of the bold races of the forest who had swept up the Elbe five hundred years ago and, dividing into kindred tribes, Jutes, Angles, and Saxons, had seized upon all Jutland and, from hunters and river fishers, had become most bold and skilful sailors and the most adventurous of rovers of the sea? Already there came dread to the dwellers at the riversides and all along the Gallic coast and, sometimes, even to the shores of Britain, when our shield ships showed their sails against the distant sky. No ship of the Gaul we feared, but we sought not acquaintance with the now frequent Roman galleys, since they were prone to come in squadrons. Ever we kept a lookout for them and cared not when they appeared if only there were space enough between us, for we could outsail them easily. This was not so much because we feared, as because there would be but little spoil to follow the taking of a ship containing only legionaries, and there was the further reason that, were we ourselves to be taken, we would die at once. To the Roman, and it must be said to most others, we were but ravening pirates, ruthless and dangerous as the sharks of the sea or the wolves of the land, and meriting only death. Little cared we! We had but inherited the ways of our ancestors from the time when they raided the lands, each of the other, in the German wood or seized upon the holdings which seemed good to them as they fought their way northward from the branched sources of the Elbe and Weser. Yet we were never cruel, and lacked not loyalty and faithfulness unto death to friend and blood kin.

We were not as yet a great force, we rovers of the sea, though each year our strength increased. Our sharp-prowed ships were swifter than those of others, our sails bore better, and our arms were stronger at the oars in failing winds, but as either clan or tribe we, as yet, made no great war. We were but bold adventurers, each captain fighting for himself and his own following. Of religion we knew but Odin and the strong gods with him. It was so among each tribe of us, the Jutes above us on the great horn of land called Jutland, we Angles next and the Saxons below and nearer the restless peoples of the vast forest. The Romans knew us not apart and called all us Northmen, Saxons, though we were not as one in our scant rulership, and sometimes had our battles over marks. But we were of the same proud blood and did not fight with each other when there could be found a common enemy, such as existed now, since the conquering and oppressing Cæsar had, in a great sea fight, overcome the fleet of the Veneti, who were traders and had more ships than any other Gallic tribe. Afterward the victor had built more ships of his own and landed in Britain and done much damage, besides exacting submission and hostages from those nearest the coast. After this there still remained a number of the Roman ships which sailed about the coast of Gaul but did not come into the northern sea. These we avoided though we still made forays along the Gallic shores, having no other place for profitable venture. With this Cæsar, we of the upper coast beyond the Rhine had made no war, nor had he made war on us, deeming us but barbarians of a land not worth the conquering and of a kind only to be done away with, if it might be, when his ships encountered ours and which had happened but few times, since, as I have said, we avoided all such meeting. Yet now, I knew as my memory came back, that we had indeed been tricked and had mingled most bloodily with these same Romans.