There was at the extremity of the Romans’ northern line a hill which could not easily be included in their works, and the outer Gauls had perceived this hill’s advantage. They took from their main army sixty thousand of their best men, and these, under command of Vergasillaunus, passed round and seized the hill at night. At noon, it was decided, this great force should make its charge. Then all would join the battle and all knew that, before the night fell, there would come an end either of free Gaul or of the dreadful Cæsar!
My axe was red with Roman blood. My arm was wearied and my body sore that night, and through the brief hours of rest I snatched I slept but fitfully. That my sleep would fail me in the night to come I had no fear, for I knew in my heart what must befall. It did not daunt me. What warrior had done better? What says the Havamal of Odin:
“Cattle die,
Kindred die,
We ourselves also die;
But the fair fame
Never dies
Of one who deserves it!”
At noon the battle burst with utmost fury, as Vergasillaunus hurled his force upon the Romans and, almost at the same time, we from within assailed the ramparts. Nothing could stay us. The ditches were filled with clay and hurdles, the walls were mounted, their defenders slain, the turrets cleared, and we burst fairly through the breached wall and struck our foes on even ground. What foaming struggle then, what vengeance sought for wrongs, what strokes for freedom! Should victory come to him, what mercy would he show, this harsh and treacherous Cæsar! Even I, who fought for my own hand and for my vengeance, could not but feel hate with the Gauls. For this man surely the gods must have a punishment. The noble Vercingetorix may grace his triumph, to be later murdered in a Roman dungeon; each Roman soldier may boast a Gallic slave; a servile populace may greet the conqueror madly, but certainly the evil day and evil end must come. May the daggers of false friends some time await him!
We raged ahead and slew, but ever came swinging into support the Roman legions in the way I knew so well from Britain. And no longer could we force them. Oh, for a thousand of my wild Jutlanders, Angle, Saxon, or Jute, I cared not, to hew a way with me into those solid ranks! There came a sudden rush and so close a press about me that I had not room for the swinging of my wet axe. The Roman short sword is most keen and, driven into a man’s side and cleanly through him, he must reach the earth. The feet of a host of charging legionaries passed over and beyond me, and there came to my ears their distant shout of triumph.
The blood is flowing from my side and I am weakening and dying. The Valkyrie are circling in the sky. It is the end. How will they appear to me and how receive me, Odin, the all-father; Thor, the hammerer; Balder, the beautiful, and Freyja and all the great queens and warriors of the past? That must be as it may be. I have fought well. And now even the gods are lost in mist. Strange visions are coming to me, visions of shining seas and the vast ocean, of warm, palm-clad lands and lands of ice and snow, of plains and forests and the dark mountain passes, of a thousand fierce encounters and of other and more gentle things. Above and beyond all, I see a creature, soft-furred of arm, dark-eyed and wild and beautiful of her kind, near to me in the lofty treetops and gazing at me gravely from between leaved branches!
THE END
COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
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