The Casque's Lark Part 20

"You have guessed right, Sampso," I answered her laughing and taking up my sword, my battle axe and my dagger; "there was a big fire in the camp of the Franks; those hospitable folks insisted that I draw near to the brasier; the evening was cool, and I hugged the fire a little too closely."

"I perceive that the announcement of battle throws you into a mirthful mood, my Schanvoch," put in my wife. "That is like you, I have long noticed it."

"And the announcement of battle does not sadden you, my Ellen, because you have a stout heart."

"I draw my strength from the faith of our fathers, my Schanvoch. It teaches me that we proceed to live in other worlds in the company of those whom we have loved in this," Ellen sweetly answered me while she and Sampso helped to buckle on my cuira.s.s. "That is why I put into practice our mothers' maxim that the Gallic woman never grows pale when her brave husband departs for battle, and that she reddens with joy at his return. And if he does not return, she is proud at the knowledge that he died as a brave man, and every evening she says to herself: 'One more day has pa.s.sed, one more step is taken towards those unknown worlds, where we shall meet our dear ones again.'"

"Let us not talk of absence but of return," said Sampso, offering me my casque, which she had so carefully polished with her own hands that she could have seen her sweet face in the burnished steel. "You have always been so lucky in war, Schanvoch, that I feel sure you will return to us."

"I rely on your faith, dear Sampso. I depart happy in the knowledge of your sisterly affection, and of Ellen's love. I shall return happy, above all if I shall have been able to leave a fresh mark on the face of a certain king of those Frankish skinners of human bodies, as a token of acknowledgment for the loyalty of the hospitality that he yesterday bestowed upon me. But here I am armed. A kiss to my little Alguen, and then to horse!"

As I was about to proceed to my wife's room, Sampso held me back, saying:

"Brother--what of the strange woman?"

"You are right, Sampso; I forgot all about her."

As a matter of precaution I had locked Elwig's room. I knocked at the door and called out to her:

"Shall I come in?"

I received no answer. Alarmed at the silence I opened the door. Elwig sat on the edge of the couch with her head in her hands, in the identical posture that I saw her last.

"Did sleep bring you rest?"

"There is no more sleep for me!" she answered brusquely. "Riowag is dead! I weep for my lover!"

"My wife and sister will take you at noon to Victoria the Great. She will treat you as a friend. I announced to her your arrival in our camp."

The sister of Neroweg, the Terrible Eagle, shrugged her shoulders with indifference.

"Do you need anything?" I asked her. "Would you eat or drink?"

"I want water--I am thirsty--"

Despite the priestess' refusal to eat, Sampso went for some provisions--a pitcher of water, some bread and fruits--and placed them near Elwig, who remained motionless and mute. I again locked the door and gave the key to my wife, saying:

"You and Sampso will take the poor woman to Victoria at noon. But be careful that she is not left alone with our child--"

"Do you fear anything?"

"Everything is to be feared from those barbarian women; they are as wily as they are ferocious. I killed her lover in defending myself against him; she is quite capable of strangling my child out of vengeance."

You came running in at that moment, my child. Hearing my voice from your mother's room, you left your bed and came half naked to me with your little arms outstretched, smiling with pleasure at the sight of my armor, the brilliancy of which pleased your eyes. Time pressed; I embraced you, your mother and aunt tenderly. I then proceeded to saddle my horse, my good and strong Tom-Bras,[2] whom I named in remembrance of our ancestor Joel, who also gave the name of Tom-Bras to the spirited stallion that he rode at the battle of Vannes. Sampso and your mother, the latter of whom took you in her arms, accompanied me to the stable.

Your aunt helped me to put on the bridle, and, caressing his sinewy neck, said to the war steed:

"Tom-Bras, do not leave your master in danger; save him with your swiftness, if need be; defend him like the brave Tom-Bras of old who, as he bore the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, attacked the Romans with his hoofs and teeth."

"Dear Sampso," I answered smiling as I leaped into the saddle, "do not give Tom-Bras bad advice by urging him to save me with his swiftness. A good war horse is rapid in pursuit, slow in flight. As to plying his teeth and hoofs, he does that to perfection; the Frankish horse that I captured, and that he almost tore to shreds in the stable, can testify to that. Tom-Bras is like his master; he abhors the Franks. Adieu, dear Sampso! Adieu, my beloved Ellen! Adieu, my little Alguen!"

Casting one more look at your mother who held you in her arms, I departed at a gallop to the parade ground, where the army was a.s.sembling.

The distant sound of the clarions, and the neighing of the horses, to which he responded, enlivened Tom-Bras. He bounded with vigor. I calmed him with my voice, I patted his neck so as to control his buoyant spirits and reserve his energy for the hard day's work ahead. When I was near the parade ground I perceived Victoria about a hundred paces ahead of me. She rode with an escort of several mounted officers. I quickly joined them. Mounted on a palfrey, Tetrik rode to the left of the Mother of the Camps; at her right rode a druid bard named Rolla, whom she greatly esteemed for his bravery, his n.o.ble character and his poetic talents. Several other druids were scattered among the various army corps, and were to march beside the chiefs at the head of their several detachments.

Coifed in the light bra.s.s helmet of the antique Minerva, which was surmounted with the Gallic c.o.c.k in gilt bronze holding an expiring lark under his spurs, Victoria sat with proud ease her beautiful steed, whose satin coat shimmered like silver. The housings of the prancing animal were, like its bridle, of scarlet color, they almost reached the ground and were partially covered by the long black robe of the Mother of the Camps, who seemed to inspire her mount with her own self-restraint and confidence. Her beautiful and virile visage seemed animated with martial ardor. A light flush suffused her cheeks; her bosom heaved; her large blue eyes shone with matchless brilliancy, under their long black lashes. Without being noticed by her, I joined the riders of her escort.

With their banners to the breeze and their platoons of trumpeters at their head, the cohorts pa.s.sed by us one after the other on their way to the parade ground. The officers saluted Victoria with their swords, the banners dipped before her, and soldiers, captains and chiefs, in short, the whole armed force cried in enthusiastic chorus:

"Greeting to Victoria the Great!"

"Greeting to the Mother of the Camps!"

Among the first soldiers of one of the cohorts that pa.s.sed us, I recognized Douarnek, one of the four oarsmen of the day before who was wounded in the back by an arrow. Despite his recent wound, the brave Breton marched in his place. I p.r.i.c.ked my horse, drew near him and said:

"Douarnek, the G.o.ds send a propitious opportunity to Victorin to prove to the army that, unworthy calumnies to the contrary notwithstanding, he is still worthy of his post."

"You are right, Schanvoch," the Breton answered. "Let Victorin win this battle, as he won the others, and in the joy of their triumph the soldiers will acclaim their general and forget many a disagreeable thing. We shall meet again, Schanvoch!"

Some Roman legions, our then allies, shared the enthusiasm of our own troops. As they pa.s.sed under the eyes of Victoria their acclamations also greeted her. The whole army, the cavalry on the two wings, the infantry in the center, was soon gathered on the parade ground, a vast field that lay without the camp. It was bounded by the Rhine on one side, on the other by the slopes of a high hill. A wide road was seen at a distance. It wound its way and disappeared behind some woody slopes.

The casques, the arms, the banners, all of which were surmounted by the Gallic c.o.c.k wrought in gilt copper, glistened in the rays of the sun, and presented the bright and cheerful sight that does so much to raise the soldier's spirits. From the moment that she entered the parade ground Victoria put her horse to a gallop in order to join her son, who, surrounded by a group of chiefs to whom he was issuing orders, was conspicuous in the very center of the field. No sooner had the Mother of the Camps, whose bra.s.s helmet, black robe and white steed pointed her out to all eyes, appeared before the front ranks of the army, than one loud, vast, ringing cry from fifty thousand soldiers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s saluted Victoria the Great!

"May that cry be heard of Hesus," my foster-sister said to the druid bard with deep emotion. "May the G.o.ds grant Gaul a new victory! Justice and right are on our side! We are not after conquest; we only defend our own soil, our hearths, our families, and our freedom!"

"Our cause is holy among holy causes!" answered Rolla, the druid bard.

"Hesus will render our arms invincible!"

We rode up to Victorin. It seems to me I never saw him handsomer, or of a more martial bearing than on that morning, clad in his brilliant steel armor and with his casque, ornamented, like his mother's, by the Gallic c.o.c.k and the expiring lark. Victoria herself, as she approached her son, could not keep from turning towards me and betraying her maternal pride with a look that, perhaps, only I understood. Several officers, the bearers of the young general's orders to the different army corps, left at a gallop in different directions. I drew near my foster-sister and said to her in a low voice:

"You reproach your son with no longer displaying that cool bravery that must distinguish the general of an army. And yet, watch and see how cool and collected he is. Do you not read in his masculine face the wise and cautious cast of mind of the general who will not rashly risk his soldiers' lives, or the fate of his country?"

"Your speech is sooth, Schanvoch; I saw him just as cool and collected at the great battle of Offenbach--one of his finest, one of his most fruitful victories. It was that victory that restored to us the Rhine for our frontier. It drove the accursed Franks to the other bank of the river."

"And to-day's battle will supplement the victory won at Offenbach, if, as I expect we shall, we drive off the barbarians for all time from our frontier."

"Brother," replied my foster-sister, "as always, you will not leave Victorin's side?"

"I promise you."

"He is now calm. But once the action is engaged, I fear the ardor of his blood, and his pa.s.sion for battle. You know, Schanvoch, I do not fear peril for Victorin, I am the daughter, wife and mother of soldiers; all I fear is that, carried away by the heat of action, and anxious, even at the risk of his life, to achieve great deeds, he put the success of this day in jeopardy, and by his death endanger the safety of Gaul, that may otherwise be firmly established by to-day's action."

"I shall use my full powers to convince Victorin that a general must preserve himself for his army."

"Schanvoch," my foster-sister remarked with a tremulous voice, "you always are the best of brothers!"

And looking towards her son, evidently anxious that none but myself be made aware of the anxious thoughts that struggled in her maternal breast, and her doubts concerning the firmness of his character, she added again, in a low voice:

"You will watch over him?"

"As over my own son."