The Casque's Lark; or, Victoria, the Mother of the Camps

Saying this he bent his knee.

"Adieu, my son. Come not back, unless you come back victorious over the barbarians!"

As she said these words, the Mother of the Camps stooped down from her horse and reached her hand to Victorin, who kissed it and rose.

"Be brave, my young Caesar!" the Governor of Gascony called out to my foster-sister's son. "The fate of Gaul is in your hands – and, thanks to the gods, your hands are powerful. Furnish me the opportunity to write an ode on this fresh victory."

Victorin remounted his horse. A moment later our army set itself upon the march, with the scouts on horseback riding ahead of the vanguard. Victorin placed himself at the head of the army. We had the bank of the Rhine on our right. A few light bodies of mounted archers rode forward as scouts, to the end of guarding our left wing against a surprise. Victorin called me to his side; I drove my horse abreast his own, and as he hastened the step of his mount we were soon beyond the escort that accompanied him.

"Schanvoch," he said to me, "you are an old and experienced soldier. I wish to explain my plans to you. I confided the plan to the chief who is to take my place in the event of my being killed. I wish you also to be posted on it. You will be all the better able to help in its execution."

"I listen. Speak, Victorin."

"It is now nearly three hours since the rafts of the Franks were seen by our scouts at about the middle of the river. Those rafts, towed by barks and loaded with troops navigate slowly. It must have taken them fully an hour to reach the bank and disembark on this side of the Rhine – "

"Your calculation is correct. But why did you not hasten the march of the army in order to arrive at the spot before the Franks disembarked? Landing forces are always in disorder. Their disorder would have favored our attack."

"Two reasons kept me from doing so. I shall tell them to you. How long, do you calculate, did it take the officer, who notified us of the enemy's approach, to ride in all haste from our advanced posts to Mayence?"

"About an hour and a half. It is nearly five leagues from there to Mayence."

"And how long will it take an army to cover the same distance, even at forced marches, but not rapid enough to be tired out and breathless when it reaches the spot and offers battle?"

"It would take about three hours and a half."

"Accordingly, you will perceive, Schanvoch, that it would have been impossible for us to have arrived in time to attack the Franks at the moment of their landing. Those barbarians' lack of discipline is surprising. They must have consumed considerable time in forming their ranks. This will enable us to arrive before and wait for them at the defile of Armstadt – the only military route open to them in order to attack our camp, unless they throw themselves across the marsh and the forests, where their cavalry, their principal arm, could not deploy."

"That is true."

"I temporized in order to give the Franks time to approach the defile."

"If they undertake the passage, they are lost."

"I hope so. With our swords in their loins we shall drive them back towards the river bank. Our hundred and sixty well armed barks, that left port under my orders and at the same time that we started on the march, will scatter the barbarians' rafts and cut off their retreat. Besides that, Captain Marion crossed the river with a picked body of men; he will effect a juncture with the friendly tribes on the other bank, and will march straight upon the Frankish camp, where the enemy must have left a strong reserve force together with all their wagons. These will all be destroyed!"

Victorin was thus engaged in unfolding to me his ably conceived plan of battle, when we saw several of the scouts, who were sent forward, running back to us at full gallop. One of these reined in his foaming steed and cried out to Victorin:

"The army of the Franks is advancing. It can be seen at a distance from the top of the hills. Their scouts approached the defile; they were all shot down by the arrows of our archers who were ambushed behind the shrubs. Not one of the Frankish scouts escaped with his life."

"Well done," replied Victorin. "Those scouts would have ridden back and warned the Frankish army of our approach. It might not then have entered the defile. But I shall ride forward and judge the enemy's position myself. Follow me, Schanvoch!"

Victorin put his horse to a gallop; I did likewise. The escort followed us; we quickly overtook and passed our vanguard, to whom Victorin gave the order to halt. We arrived at a place that dominated the defile of Armstadt. The rather broad road lay at our feet, hemmed in by two steep escarpments. The one to the right seemed cut with the pick, it rose so perpendicular over the road and formed a sort of promontory on the side of the Rhine. The escarpment to the left consisted of a rocky series of shelves, and served, so to speak, as the basis to the vast plateau through the heart of which the deep and wide gully was cut. The gully or road dipped gently till it ran out into a vast plain, bordered to the east and north by the curve of the river, to the west by woods and marshes, and behind us by the elevated plateau where our troops were ordered to halt. We presently distinguished at a great distance from where we stood and down in the direction of the plain, a large and confused black mass. It was the army of the Franks.

Victorin remained silent for a few seconds; he attentively examined the disposition of the enemy's forces and the field at our feet.

"My calculation and expectation did not deceive me," he observed. "The Frankish army is twice as large as ours. If their tactics were less savage, instead of entering the defile, as they will surely do, they would, despite the difficulty that accompanies that sort of assault, climb the plateau at several places simultaneously, and thereby compel me to divide my much inferior forces in order to attack them at a large number of places. Nevertheless, for greater certainty, and so as to lure the enemy into the defile, I shall resort to a ruse of war. Let us return to our vanguard; Schanvoch, the hour of battle has sounded!"

"And such an hour," I answered, "is always solemn!"

"Yes," he replied melancholically, "such an hour is always solemn, especially for the general, who, at this bloody game of war, plays with the lives of his soldiers and has his country's fate for stake. Come, let us ride back, Schanvoch – and may my mother's star protect me!"

I rode back with Victorin to our troops, asking myself due to what singular contradiction that young man, always so firm and so calculating at the great crises of his life, showed himself below mediocrity in the power to combat his foibles.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BATTLE OF THE RHINE

The young general was not long in rejoining the vanguard. After a hurried conference with the officers, the troops took their posts of battle. Three cohorts of infantry, each one thousand strong, received orders to march through the defile into the open plain, engage the vanguard of the Franks, and draw the bulk of the enemy's army into the dangerous passage. Victorin, several officers and myself stood grouped upon one of the highest bluffs that dominated the field on which the scrimmage was to take place. From where we stood we had a complete view of the immense Frankish army. Massed in a compact body, the bulk of their forces was still far away. A swarm of horsemen rode in advance and extended beyond the two wings. Our three cohorts had barely emerged from the pass into the plain when the Frankish horsemen rushed like a swarm of hornets towards them from all sides and sought to envelop them. Intent only upon taking the lead of one another, these horsemen gave the rein to their mounts, and tumultuously, without any order whatever, galloped towards our troops. When the former had drawn near enough, the latter formed themselves into a wedge in order to sustain the first shock of the cavalry; they were thereupon to feign a retreat back into the defile. The Frankish horsemen emitted such loud yells that, despite the considerable distance that separated us from the plain and the elevation of the plateau, their savage cries reached us like a muffled roar pierced from time to time by the distant notes of their wind instruments. As ordered, our soldiers did not yield to the first impetuous attack. In an instant we could see through the thick cloud of dust, raised by the Frankish horse, only a confused mass, in the midst of which our soldiers could be distinguished by their brilliant armor. Presently our troops began to operate their retreat towards the defile, yielding the ground before them foot by foot to the swarm of Frankish assailants, who received every moment fresh accessions from the cavalry of their vanguard, while their main body began to move at a quickened step.

"By heaven!" cried Victorin, his fiery eyes fixed upon the field, "our brave Firmian who commands those three cohorts seems to have forgotten in his ardor for the fray that he was steadily to fall back into the defile so as to draw the enemy in after him. Firmian is no longer retreating; he has stopped and does not budge back an inch – he will cause his troops to be uselessly sacrificed – "

And addressing one of the officers:

"Ride quick to Ruper, and order him to proceed with his three veteran cohorts to the support of Firmian's retreat. Ruper is to order the retreat to be made rapidly. The bulk of the Frankish army is now only a hundred bow-shots from the entrance of the defile."

The officer departed at a gallop. Obedient to the orders that he carried, the three veteran cohorts speedily emerged from the defile at the double quick; they hastened to join and sustain Firmian's troops; a little later the feigned retreat was effected in good order. Seeing the Gauls yield, the Franks set up a shout of savage joy, and charged impetuously upon our cohorts. The Frankish vanguard was soon close to the mouth of the defile. Suddenly Victorin grew pale. Anxiety was depicted on his face as he cried:

"By my father's sword! Can I have been mistaken as to the barbarians' plans? Do you perceive their movement?"

"Yes," I said, "instead of following their vanguard into the defile, the Frankish army has halted; it is forming into numerous separate columns of attack, and these are marching towards the plateau! Malediction! They are resorting to the skilful manoeuvre that you feared. Oh, we have taught the barbarians the art of war!"

Victorin did not reply. He seemed to be counting the enemy's columns of attack. Thereupon he galloped back to our main army and cried:

"My boys! It is not now in the defile that we are to await these barbarians – we shall have to fight them in the open field. Fall upon them from the height of the plateau that they are seeking to climb – drive their hordes into the Rhine! They are three to our one – so much the better! This evening, when we shall be back in camp, our mother, Victoria, will say to us: 'Children, you were brave!'"

At these words, Rolla, the druid bard, improvised the following war song, which he struck up with a powerful, resonant voice:

"This morning we say: —‘How many are there of these barbarous hordes,Who thievishly aspire to rob us of land.Of homes, of wives, and of sunshine?Yes, how many are there of these Franks?’"This evening we'll say: —‘Make answer, thou sod, red drenchedIn the blood of the stranger;Make answer, ye deep-rolling waves of the Rhine;Make answer, ye crows that flutter for carrion,Make answer – make answer!How many were they,These robbers of land, of homes, of wives and of sunshine?Aye, how many were there,Of these blood-thirsty, ravenous Franks?’"

And the several detachments of our troops ran up the plateau at the double quick to the refrain of the chant that flew from mouth to mouth until it reached the rearmost ranks.

Our army was promptly deployed on the crest of the plateau that dominated the vast plain whose edge was bordered by the curve of the Rhine in the distant horizon. Instead of awaiting the attack from that advantageous position, Victorin wished, by sheer audacity, to terrify the enemy. Despite our numerical inferiority, he issued the orders to pounce down upon the Franks from the crest of our elevated position. At the same moment, the enemy's column, which, deceived by the feigned retreat of our cohorts, had allowed itself to be lured into the defile, was being hurled back into the plain by the Gallic troops which confronted them. Our whole army thereupon reassumed the offensive, and not unlike an avalanche our full forces poured down from the summit of the plateau. The battle began; it was engaged all along the line.

I promised Victoria not to leave the side of her son. Nevertheless, such was the impetuosity with which, from the very start of the action, he dashed upon the enemy at the head of a legion of cavalry, that the flux and reflux of the melee at first separated me from him. We were at the time engaged hand to hand with a picked, well mounted and well armed body of Franks. Their soldiers wore neither casque nor cuirass; but their double jackets of hides covered with long hair and their iron-lined fur caps, were the equivalent of our own armor. These Franks fought with fury, often with stupid ferocity. I saw several allow themselves to be killed like animals while, at the hottest of the battle, they madly sought to hack off the head of some fallen Gaul with their axes in order to make to themselves a trophy of the gory spoils. I was defending myself against two of these horsemen, and my hands were full; a third barbarian, a warrior who had been unhorsed and disarmed, clinched my leg and sought to pull me off the saddle, and as he found his efforts vain bit me with such rage in the ankle that his teeth cut through the leather of my gaiter and penetrated to the very bone. Without neglecting my two mounted adversaries, I found time to deal a blow with my mace upon this third Frank's skull. Freed from him, I was vainly endeavoring to discover and join Victorin, when I descried Neroweg, the Terrible Eagle, only a few paces from me, in the melee which his gigantic stature overtowered. At the sight of that man, there thronged to my mind the recollection of the outrageous insults heaped upon me only the day before, which I had only partly avenged by smiting him over the head with a firebrand; my blood, already warm with the ardor of the fray, now seethed. Over and above the anger that Neroweg inspired in me by reason of his cowardly insults of the previous day, I experienced for the man an unexplainable, mysterious, profound hatred. It was as if I saw in him the incarnation of that thievish and ferocious race that sought to subjugate us. It was to me, strange and unaccountable as it may seem, as if I abhorred Neroweg by reason of the future as much as of the present; as if that hatred was to perpetuate itself not only between our two races of Franks and Gauls, but also between our families, individually. What shall I say to you, my child! I even forgot the promise I made to my foster-sister of watching over her son. Instead of any longer striving to find and join Victorin, I now only strove to draw close to Neroweg. I was bent upon having that Frank's life – he alone, among so many other enemies, incited in me personally the thirst for blood. I happened at the time to find myself surrounded by several horsemen of the legion at the head of which Victorin had just charged the Frankish army with such impetuosity. Our troops were steadily pushing forward at that point, the enemy was being crowded towards the Rhine. Two of the soldiers in front of me fell under the heavy francisque of the Terrible Eagle. I now saw him across that human breach.

Clad in a Gallic armor, the spoils of one of our captains who was killed at one of the previous battles, Neroweg wore a casque of gilded bronze, the visor of which partly covered his face, tattooed in blue and scarlet. His long copper colored beard reached down to the iron corselet that he had donned over his jacket of hides. Thick fleeces of sheep, held fast by criss-crossing strips of cloth, covered his legs from the thighs down to the feet. He rode a savage stallion from the forests of Germany, whose pale yellow coat was spotted with black. The tufts of the animal's thick mane fell below his square chest; his long tail, that streamed in the wind, lashed his sinewy haunches when he reared impatient under the restraint of his bit and silver-wrought reins, also the proceeds of some Gallic spoils. A wooden buckler ribbed with iron and roughly painted in yellow and red stripes, the colors of Neroweg's banner, covered the left arm of the Terrible Eagle. In his right hand he wielded his heavy francisque that now dripped blood. From his belt hung a sort of large butcher's knife with a wooden handle, together with a magnificent Roman sword with a hilt of chased gold, doubtlessly the fruit of some raid. Neroweg emitted a roar of rage as he recognized me. Rising in his stirrups he cried out:

"The man of the bay horse!"

Thereupon, striking the flank of his courser with the flat of his axe, he caused the animal to clear with an enormous leap both the bodies and mounts of the fallen horsemen who lay between us. The leap was so violent that when his horse touched ground again, the animal's head and chest struck the head and chest of my own mount. At the heavy shock the two animals were thrown upon their haunches and both fell over. Dazed at first by my fall, I quickly disengaged myself, took my stand firmly upon my feet and drew my sword, my mace having slipped from my hands with my fall. On his part, having had to disentangle himself from under his horse, as I was forced to do, Neroweg also rose to his feet and precipitated himself upon me. The chin-band of his casque had snapped with his fall, his head was bare, his thick red hair, tied over his head, floated behind him like the mane of a horse.

"Ha! This time, you Gallic dog," he cried out as he ground his teeth and aimed at me with his axe a furious blow that I parried, "this time I shall have your life and your skin!"

"And I, Frankish wolf, I shall once more put my mark on your face, whether dead or alive, so that the devil will recognize you!"

For a long time we fought with maddening fury, all the while exchanging insults that redoubled our rage.

"Dog!" cried Neroweg. "You carried off my sister!"

"I took her from your infamous love! In the bestiality of your unclean race it couples like animals – brother with sister!"

"Dare you insult my race, you bastard dog! Half Roman, half Gallic! My race will subjugate yours, vile revolted slaves! We shall clap the yoke back upon your necks – and we shall take possession of your goods, your lands, and your wives!"

"Just look yonder at your routed army, Oh, great king! Just take a look at your packs of Frankish wolves, as cowardly as they are ferocious – just look at them, fleeing from the fangs of the Gallic dogs!"

It was in the midst of such torrents of invectives that we fought with heightening rage without either being able to wound the other. Many a furiously aimed blow had glided harmlessly down our cuirasses; we seemed to manage our swords with equal dexterity. Suddenly and despite all the maddened rage of our duel, a strange spectacle drew away our attention for an instant. After our horses had rolled to the ground under the shock that they both received, they also rose to their feet. Immediately, as is usually the case with stallions, they rushed at each other neighing wildly, and with flashing eyes sought to tear each other to pieces. My brave Tom-Bras had raised himself on his haunches, and, holding the other steed by the neck between his teeth, was frantically battering his belly with his hoofs. Nettled at seeing his horse at the mercy of mine, Neroweg cried out without either he or I intermitting our battle:

"Folg! Will you allow that Gallic swine to vanquish you? Defend yourself with your hoofs and teeth! Tear him to pieces!"

"Steady, Tom-Bras!" I cried out in turn. "Disfigure and kill that horse, as I shall disfigure and kill his master."

I had hardly uttered these words when the Frank's sword penetrated my thigh between skin and flesh, and it did so at the very moment when I dealt him a blow over the head that would have been mortal but for the backward move that Neroweg made in withdrawing his sword from my thigh. My weapon thus missed its full aim, but struck him over the eye, and, by a singular accident, plowed his face on the side opposite the one which already bore my mark.

"I told you so! Dead or living the other side of your face would be also marked by me!" I cried at the moment when Neroweg, whose eye was put out by my blow and whose face was bathed in blood, precipitated himself upon me, roaring with pain and rage like an infuriated lion. Having calmly made up my mind to kill the man, I did not allow myself to be carried away with elation, but met his wrathful onset by throwing myself on the defensive, and watched for the opportunity to deal him a certain and mortal wound.

We were thus engaged when Neroweg's stallion rolled to the ground under the feet of Tom-Bras, whose rage seemed to increase with his success. The animal almost fell upon us. Half a foot nearer, and we would both have been thrown off our feet.

At the same instant, a legion of our reserve cavalry, the muffled sound of whose approaching tramp had struck my oars shortly before, hove in sight. In the impetuosity of its headlong dash, the heavily armed cavalry legion rode rough-shod and trampled over everything that lay in its path. The legion was three ranks deep, and approached with the swiftness of a gale. Both Neroweg and myself were doomed to be crushed to dust; the legion's line of battle was two hundred paces long; even if I had time to leap upon my horse, it would have been next to impossible to get in time out of the way of that long line of cavalry by endeavoring to ride, however swiftly, beyond the reach of either of its wings. Escape seemed impossible from the threatened shock. Nevertheless, I undertook it, despite my chagrin at not having been allowed time to despatch the Frankish king – so inveterate was my hatred of him! I took quick advantage of the accident, that, due to the fall of Neroweg's horse, interrupted our battle a second before, and I leaped upon the back of Tom-Bras that was near me. It required a rude handling of the reins and of the flat of my sword before I could cause my courser to desist from his infuriated assault upon the other stallion that he held under and kicked and bit unmercifully. Finally I succeeded. The long line of cavalry reaching far to my right and left was now only a few paces from me. I rushed ahead of it, adding with my voice and my spurs to the speed of Tom-Bras's rapid gallop; I rode on, keeping well in the lead of the legion, and from time to time casting a look behind to see the Frankish king, and what became of him. With his visage streaming blood he sought distractedly to run after me and wildly brandished his sword. Suddenly I saw him vanish in the cloud of dust raised by the rapid gallop of the legion of cavalry.

"Hesus hearkened to my prayer!" I cried out. "Neroweg must be dead. The legion has trampled over his body."

Thanks to Tom-Bras's exceptional swiftness, I was soon far enough in advance of the cavalry line that followed me to think of imparting to my course a direction that enabled me to take my place to the right of the legion's line. I immediately addressed one of the officers, inquiring after Victorin and the turn of the battle. He answered:

"Victorin is fighting like a hero. A rider who brought to our reserve the orders to advance said to us that never before did the general reveal such consummate skill in his manoeuvres. Being more than twice our numbers, and above all displaying unwonted military skill, the Franks fought stubbornly. All the indications are that the day is ours, but it shall have been paid for dearly. Thousands of Gauls will have bitten the dust."

The officer's report was correct. Victorin again fought with a soldier's intrepidity and the consummate skill of an experienced general. I found him, his heart overflowing with joy, in the midst of the melee. Miraculously enough, he had received only a slight wound. His reserve forces, skilfully managed by him, decided the fate of the battle. The routed Franks, rolled back three leagues with our triumphant forces pressing close upon their heels, were being crowded towards the Rhine despite the stubbornness of their retreat. After enormous losses a portion of their hordes were hurled headlong into the river, others succeeded in regaining their rafts in disorder, and in towing them with their barks from the shore. But at that moment the flotilla of a hundred and sixty large vessels fell upon the fleeing Franks on the river. Upon orders from Victorin, the flotilla had sped forward, doubled a tongue of land behind which it had kept itself concealed until then, and came into action. After a number of volleys of arrows that threw the Franks on the rafts into utter demoralization, our barks boarded the rafts from all sides. The episode that took place on the floating battlefield was the last, but not the least bloody of that day. The barks that towed the Frankish rafts were sunk under the blows of battle axes; the small number of Franks who survived this supreme struggle gave themselves over to the mercy of the river; clinging to some of the planks that were loosened from their rafts, they were carried helplessly down stream.