Herculanus was mistaken: Ausonius was not slain. In the attempt to leap from one cart to another he had fallen between them and slightly hurt his foot. But Decius and some legionaries of the Twenty-second Cohort had helped him up again and taken him at once to the Decumanian Gate. Here, meanwhile, the Tribune had quickly made his arrangements, gathering the fugitives arriving singly around a body of his Illyrians, to whom he also entrusted the standard.

"Where is the ala of mailed riders whom I ordered here, forbidding them to dismount? We need them now at the head of the sortie."

"Alas, Tribune, in the turmoil, in the pressure on the gate and the walls, we all dismounted and fought on foot. Our horses are gone; they dashed down the side streets."

"This is Herculanus's discipline of his men! So--we have no horsemen. Well then, the spears to the front! The wounded in the centre! Here, Ausonius, behind my troop! There. Draw back the bolts; throw the gate open. We will fight our way through to the ships. Forward! On!"

Then the gate, hitherto so firmly defended, its right wing half shattered, the left half burned, opened from within, and the Romans, summoning their last strength, led by their able General in person, and stimulated to a final supreme effort by his example and the prospect of safety, burst out of the camp. The shock was terrible, and the effect of the unexpected attack upon the Barbarians was very great. All who had been standing on the narrow strip of ground between the gate and the ditch were hurled into it. Adalo was not among the number; he had gone back for a moment to direct the preparation of a bridge of logs which was to lead directly to the gate; then he intended to have his men run across with beams to batter the already weakened timbers and break it down completely. So he escaped the fall into the ditch, which Sippilo shared, but as in the plunge from the wall, uninjured. The boy climbed nimbly up the southern side. He had lost the helmet in his first tumble, but held fast to his spear and shield this time too.

For a moment, it is true, it seemed as if the Romans, as soon as they had passed through the gate and obtained a view of the lake, would disperse again in fresh terror; for meanwhile the attack on the ships and the camp below had apparently succeeded.

Hitherto the defenders on the walls had waited longingly for Nannienus, and looked in vain over the Barbarians and their flaring pitch torches toward the lake. But now that they had reached the open country outside the camp, they saw a vast conflagration on the shore. Surrounded by the tumult of the battle raging immediately about them, they had been unable to hear the noise of the conflict which had commenced below half an hour before; but they now perceived all that Saturninus had long since concluded by the absence of his brave friend: the fleet itself was being most hotly assailed.

"The ships are burning! The camp is in flames! Our last refuge is gone!" With these shouts, many sprang from the closed ranks, fled, and were instantly overtaken by the Germans and struck down before their comrades' eyes.

"You see how fugitives fare!" cried Saturninus. "Keep your ranks closed if you want to save your lives. March in close order to the lake, and we shall save ourselves and our friends."

This was a ray of encouragement, and the whole body followed their brave leader, who was the first man to climb up the southern side of the ditch. As soon as he reached the top his own name, shouted loudly from the ranks of the Barbarians, fell upon his ear.

"Where is Saturninus, the General of the Romans?" called a voice in Latin.

Brightly illumined by the flames of the burning camp, a leader of the Germans, in the richest armor, pressed forward before his men. A boar-helmet covered his head; a gray-bearded attendant held before him a long shield on which he caught two well-aimed Roman spears at once.

"Where is Saturninus? I must find him!" repeated the German, springing forward again and felling the nearest Thracian with his battle axe.

"Here," answered the Tribune. "But this is no time to negotiate."

"No, but to die!" shouted Ebarbold, his battle axe crashing upon the huge curved shield of the Roman. It entered it without injury to the bearer.

The King vainly struggled to draw out the weapon, it remained motionless, and already the Roman's short, murderous broad sword was quivering for the fatal stroke, when the gray-haired shield-bearer sprang between them and threw the shield before his master.

But the Norian iron penetrated the boar hide and the wooden frame of the shield to the old man's left breast. He fell on his back, borne down by the weight of the blow.

Meanwhile Ebarbold had dropped the handle of the battle axe, drawn the long unwieldy sword at his side, and swung it above the proud crest of the Roman General's helmet; but before it fell, the short Roman sword, red with the blood of the shield-bearer, pierced his throat and he sank dying by the old man's side. "You--with me--for me!" he could say no more.

"Did you think I would desert you? The King of the Ebergau must not enter Odin's hall unattended. You shall not enter the door of Valhalla unattended like some man of low degree. We--have--both--kept our word--and together--with the honor of heroes we will go to Valhalla."

Ebarvin's head sank on the shoulder of his King. Both were silent in death.

The Illyrian had sprung forward over the bodies of the two Germans--first hewing off with his sword the handle of the battle axe still sticking in his shield--amid the wild, exulting shouts of his countrymen who had witnessed the struggle. But the men of the Ebergau were dismayed by their leader's fall; they hesitated--stopped--yielded.

"Forward, down to the lake!" shouted the Tribune. "You see they are giving way." It was a dangerous moment; for, confused by the retreat of the Ebergau men, the band next behind them was wavering.