Meanwhile the Batavians, Adalo's two companions, and the bear-leader had lain chattering peaceably together around the campfire.

There was, in general, so total a lack of any feeling of unity among the various German tribes that the Alemanni did not think of openly reproaching the Batavians, or even cherishing any secret resentment because they were fighting under Roman standards against other Germans: Alemanni mercenaries also fought against the German, as well as against the other foes of Rome.

So the Roman bronze vessel, filled with dark red Rhaetian wine, was passed to the two Alemanni also, and the Batavians gladly drank the mead which Adalo's companions had brought in long wooden vessels fastened on their backs. For in those days the thirst of the Alemanni was great and frequent, and the brave fellows--hospitality in the enemy's camp had not been expected--would have been reluctant to do without liquor during the long hours consumed on the journey there, the waiting, and the return.

The Sarmatian, with laudable impartiality, drank wine and mead by turns. He, too, at a sign from Rignomer, had taken his seat by the fire. The bear lay stretched at full length at his side, while he began to throw sharp knives into the air and nimbly catch them again, to the astonishment of the Batavians, who gave him small copper coins. His lame companion was lying under the bushes, sleeping so soundly that he snored.

"Ah," cried Rignomer, wiping his chin with his bare arm and returning the little cask to the Alemanni, "may Fro reward you for the drink! Nothing has tasted so good since I turned my back on the Issala and my mother's earth-cellar. She brews it even stronger."

"Wine tastes still better," said his countryman.

"Better in the mouth, Brinno; but mead and ale taste better in the heart: it's home drink. And the best part is not the moist wave that runs down the throat, but the memory of many a happy hour of former drinks, which hovers over it like the rustling of a heron's wings. Well, Alemanni, when will it come to fighting? And will you seek us, or must we hunt for you?"

"As the Duke chooses," replied the other, draining his cup--"and all-ruling Odin."

The Batavian's face changed.

"Don't name him to me! I fear him; you wearers of hair I don't. I've seized many a man of you with the left hand by his Suabian tail, and thrust the short Roman sword into his throat with my right. But I fear the wearer of the mantle! He is hostile to us mercenaries. It seems to me as though he were hovering in the air opposing us, wherever we fight. There, Juggler, drink again. And then show (we've seen your tricks) what your bear has learned. Ought not your boy in the bushes yonder, the lame fellow, to have something too? But where is he?"

"Ho, Zizais, dog of a cripple, are you deaf as well as dumb? Where are you hiding? Look, there he lies over by the spring, nearer to the ditch: he has a fever, and went for water. Now stir yourself, my brown dancing maid."

He whispered in the ear of the animal which, growling, rose on its hind legs; the juggler put his long staff in its fore-paws, and now the clumsy creature turned slowly in a circle, keeping time to a monotonous melancholy tune which he first played on his huge flute and then sang, beating time on a bronze cup with a knife-blade. The Romans laughed loudly at the clumsy dancer.

"What is the dainty damsel's name?" asked Rignomer.

"Bruna. She can prophesy too. Take heed! Ask what you choose."

Taking the staff from the bear's paws as he spoke, he laid his hand on her head. The animal now dropped down on her fore-paws and looked up intelligently at her master, who thrust some bread into her mouth.

"Well, you wise Wala," laughed Rignomer, "will the Romans conquer in the next battle?"

The Sarmatian lightly stroked the animal's head against the hair: the bear, growling angrily, shook her head.

The Batavian started, the laugh died on his lips. "She is Donar's friend," he said dejectedly. "He speaks through her. I thought so."

He spoke as if the battle had already been fought and lost.

"Well," said the juggler consolingly, "I'll question her for you. Bruna, clever wood spirit, look sharply at this hero: Will he come out of this war safe and go back to his mother who brews the good mead?"

He lightly stroked the bear from the forehead down toward the tail: Bruna nodded assent.

"I thank thee, Donar," cried Rignomer cheerily. "What do I care for the Romans' victory? I'm going home soon. Hark ye, fellow, the clever fortune-teller pleases me. Will you sell her?"

The Sarmatian looked thoughtful. The question was evidently unexpected. "Not willingly--not cheaply--" he said hesitatingly, wishing to gain time for reflection. "I live by her tricks even more than by my own."

"You are right, Rignomer," Brinno observed. "It's often very dull in camp when we're not on duty. She would amuse us."

"And I'd like to startle the Romans, the proud legionaries who look down scornfully upon us auxiliaries, but always send us to the bloodiest posts in battle."

"I suppose the creature came from these forests?" asked Brinno.

The juggler nodded.

"Aha," cried Rignomer, laughing, "then we must have her. We'll take her to little Bissula: the brown German to the red one."

"Who is Bissula?" drawled the juggler.

"The most charming girl I ever saw," cried Brinno quickly.

"Yes! Every one who sees her is fond of her," Rignomer went on.

"Especially we Germans!"

"So are the Romans, I think; at any rate, most of them. But she often sits gazing so sadly toward the woods, as if longing for something. Her countrywoman will amuse her. I'll buy the animal from you."

"No, no! I don't want to part with her. But,"---his eyes sparkled--"I'll tell you. Take me, the bear, and--" (he was going to say my boy, but as he no longer saw him lying beside the spring, nor in his former place, he checked himself) "into the camp for a few days, till you are tired of the toy."

But both mercenaries shook their heads.

"That won't do! You jugglers and animal tamers are regarded as professional spies."

"The Tribune would have us flogged if we even let you pass through the gate of the camp."

"Well," replied the bear-leader, "I won't sell her, but I'll leave the creature with you a few days; I'll soon come back for her."

"Without pay? That's suspicious!" said Brinno.

"Not without pay!" the other interposed quickly. "Not on any account! I earn my living by her. You must pay me."

"Very well. But listen: is the beast perfectly tame?"

"Perfectly. If she gets a little unruly, you need only buckle the broad collar here--do you see?--a little tighter."

"I see."

"Don't neglect to tell everybody who has anything to do with the animal," warned the Sarmatian.

"Especially the little one," said Brinno. "It would be a pity to have a hair of her head harmed."

"If only people do nothing to injure her, this clever countrywoman won't bite them."

Steps echoed from the camp: Adalo was being escorted back.

"Zizais, where are you? We must go!" called the Sarmatian, turning toward the bushes to search for the boy, who came limping slowly out of the thicket.

The woollen blanket was now removed from the envoy's head; with a gloomy face he swung himself upon his horse, his two companions did the same, and all three soon vanished in the darkness of the forest.

The clank of weapons sounded at the gate; the Thracian spearmen were coming to relieve the Batavians. At the same moment the bear-leader and the cripple emerged from the thicket at the left; the former gave the animal to Rignomer, who tried to drag it with him by the leather collar toward the camp. But the bear resisted, growling and bracing herself on her hind paws, as she looked beseechingly with her intelligent eyes at her master.

"Come, come, Bruna," urged the latter--"they are good people (he stooped and whispered in her ear) won't you go yet? Didn't you understand?"

He scratched his head in perplexity. Then the cripple limped forward, took from his moleskin knapsack a narrow long blue kerchief,--it looked like a girdle,--and handed it to his master. The latter, laughing, gave it to the Batavian.

"Yes, yes. That will help. Hold it before the animal. No! Not in front of her eyes: her nose. There! See how she sniffs? She is getting the scent. Are you surprised? Yes, the cloth belonged to Bruna's dearest playfellow. Go on slowly. You see, she is following like a lamb. Well, greet the Roman camp for me, Bruna: I'll soon come for you."