CHAPTER XIII
THE HERCYNIAN FOREST
What it was which had changed the nature of my dream so suddenly I could not understand at first. Most curious fancies had come to me, visions of what I had certainly never seen in all my hunting and battling, but which were familiar enough to me and comprehensible, until I awoke. There were boats with broad sails, though little of the sea had we of the great forest ever looked upon, and there were cities beside which our villages were but as the swamp villages of the ever-toiling beaver. There was conflict, as well, yet that, I thought, did not surpass in quality the manner of our own fierce battling, for we were fighters of some zest.
I had been aroused by sounds quite apart from those which had come to my fancy with sleep on the heaped leaves beneath the beech tree. Most unlike either the sounds of the sea or of rude conflict were those which reached my ears as I came slowly to a sense of wakening being; they were of a kind all their own and having a quality much too significant and close and threatening. It was a snuffling, blowing sound which first aroused me as I lay with my eyes still closed, and at last a grunting and snort and rumble which was half a bellow, and a harsh pawing of the leaves and earth. My eyes opened most suddenly, and what they saw brought a feeling in the middle of me which was most uncomfortable. Within a yard of me, his head lowered, his nostrils quivering and his eyes gleaming, pawing the ground in what was fast becoming a rage at the thing before him, stood braced a monster aurochs! The aurochs was most enormous of all the beasts we knew and, when enraged, by far most to be dreaded, unless, it might be, the huge brown bear, though the bear himself never dared face the aurochs. Here was a situation for a man to awaken to, but after the first moment I was not alarmed. I knew the nature of the aurochs well. Had he been in pursuit of me, wounded, perhaps, by spear or arrow, nothing could have turned the monster from his wrath, but here the case was different. The beast had come upon me but by merest chance and, advancing only in curiosity upon this thing lying prone, had encountered the dreaded man-smell and had been so roused. I knew my need. I sprang to my feet with arms outflung, emitting a most unnatural and blood-curdling roar, and, even as I leaped, the startled brute, leviathan though he was, whirled as on a pivot with a hoarse bellow which was rather a bleat of fear, and went crashing into the forest whence I could hear the crackling of the bushes hundreds of yards away.
I was all myself now, as assuredly I should be, after such a rude awakening. I stood there, comprehendingly, Scar, warrior and hunter, a strong man of the Cherusci, than whom there was not a braver tribe among the scores which occupied the vast Hercynian forest and took part in its fierce struggles.
A world in itself, a world of its own great kind, was this Hercynian forest, extending boundlessly eastward from the Rhine River and north to the German Ocean, and south until it reached far toward the great sea of which we had slight knowledge, a huge and densely wooded land of varied nature of mountain, hill and plain and, near its shores, of deep rivers and endless marshes, but mostly vast and sullen forests in which ranged many wild beasts and which, because of its huge extent, sustained strong tribes and clans, who, though scattered widely in villages or roving bands, made, together, a great host.
Whence we had come we did not know more than that we of the north were of the Ingævones, a numerous people who in ages past had come from a far country to the eastward, one so distant that years were required in the hard migration, and the ways of which we had long since forgotten. We had divided into tribes and had taken names for these and were often at war with each other, having, up to this time, no sort of confederation for need against a common enemy, such as lay beyond the Rhine to the westward, or other nations on other sides. Of these we knew many things, though not so clearly as we might have done, for with them we had naught in common, being well satisfied with our homes and manners in our forest fastnesses. That to the south and eastward there were those who had great cities and who sailed the great southern sea we knew, that to the west, beyond the Rhine, were the people of the Gauls we knew, and that we were usually enemies to them, and this was all. Our own drift as we grew, at least of the Cherusci, was northward from the headwaters of the rivers called the Elbe and Weser. South and east of us and near us lay the tribes with whom we sometimes had good fighting.
And how could we in our deep green fastnesses know greatly of the outside peoples? From the tales our fathers had told and from the Gauls across the Rhine we had learned something, it is true. We knew of the eastern peoples only that they were very old and very distant. Of the Assyrians and Babylonians and the Egyptians that they still existed, and that a race called the Phœnicians inhabited the land at the eastern end of the great southern sea and made rare weapons such as had sometimes come to us, and that they sailed and traded much. Grown strong, too, were now an island people called the Greeks. We knew, too, from our Gaulish neighbours whom we fought so often, that a new dread had come upon even them and that far to the south, not distant from the sea, a new nation appeared, arising swiftly, and that its people were ever ready for war and very dangerous. Dwelling in a village they called Roma—which was already becoming a mighty place—its people made invasions upon the territories of their neighbours, though its clans were ever fighting among themselves. All these things we learned, but little heeded. What cared we for the stories of the peoples of past ages? We wanted only our own great forest and our own gods, our own wars, and no invasions from strangers from afar.
So all through the great forest lay our tribes and lived their various wild lives, which nevertheless had much of order in their way and cleanness of living and obedience to our laws. Of religion we had something, though it did not bear upon us with unwholesome stress. For what may have been the faith of our Asian ancestors we cared not. Woden and Frigga and their retinue of lesser deities sufficed us and appeared to serve us well.
Yet we, barbarians as we were called by the distant and older peoples, lived lives such as in their uprightness of a kind might well have compared with the lives of later and craftier ages. Clearly defined were the lines or marks which showed the limit of each tribe’s wide land, and so within them were the marks of each clan which had a village. The villages, indeed, were almost little countries by themselves, having scant relationship with each other, save at the Folk-Moot—which, even now, was not an old thing, but which gave to us a form and saved much bloodshed—though ties of blood were strong and, among themselves, though so separated and each clinging to his clan or village, the Cherusci dwelt in rude brotherly accord. It is but fair to say as much of those of other tribes often our feudal enemies. Of vices, we had but two, the lust for fighting and the vast drinking of strong mead to glorious drunkenness. For the rest, we obeyed the Folk-Moot, where such laws as we had were made when we assembled, and regarded well the mark line and the lines which gave the allotted portions or hides of land, and the rights to the nut woods of oak and beech where fed the swine, and where were the rare salt springs, and the name sign on the trees of him who had found wild honey. In each family its head was lord. Furthermore—and who would think it of so-called barbarians?—our women were well regarded, the wife was the husband’s counsellor and friend, and purity and chastity were held the rule for all. We were a strong and healthy race, great of stature, fair or more often red of hair—which, man and woman, we wore long,—and gray or blue of eye. The youth were trained to hardihood, and the brood of either sex was ever a numerous and goodly one. What wonder that there was among the multitude of forest dwellers no envy of those of the outer world,—unless, it might be of their more finished weapons,—and but a desire for our continued isolation? We were most jealous of our lands. Even our villages were far apart and their wide boundaries of surrounding wildness well defended. Of the many usages and ways of ours I shall tell further.
There were certain clans who had no fixed abode, wandering long distances and living in huts to be abandoned; but such as these had become fewer and fewer and now most of the people lived in villages, some little and some great, but all with broad lands about them, whose boundaries were marked in many ways, some by scarred trees, sometimes by stones and sometimes by other tokens. So, as well, were marked the limits of the hides of lands allotted to each family, and these must by no means be disregarded, either the village mark, or the limit of the allotments. He who took an allotment, too, must, in token of possession and defense, break a branch from some tree upon it, or seat himself in the midst of the field, or build a fire upon it, for its ownership was a grave matter and not to be considered lightly. Some tilling the women did, though we were, as yet, but little farmers, and they also wove and spun. As for the men, we lived first for the fighting and the honour, and chiefly next, it seemed to me, for the feasting and deep drinking, with hunting and fishing and the fashioning of weapons as our only labour. Great were our feasts and it sometimes happened that they had more to them than mere carousal, especially when the feast was to one who had died valiantly in battle. There would be much eating and drinking, it is true, but there would also be much praise of the dead, which came generously from great hearts, and earnest prayers that Woden would receive the hero kindly. It seems to me that it was to our honour that we did not forget our dead, not even the little ones who passed, and I recall me that I made and kept for a friend one for whom I had heretofore cared slightly, because, when his child died, he had buried in the grave of the little one its foolish playthings and had slain a dog the child had loved and buried it also, that the dog might show the helpless and timorous one the way to the country of the dead. Stark and harsh and rough we were, but, in some things, we were most kindly and but as children.
We had a kind of reverence for some of the things about us. The oak tree we much regarded, and next to it the beech, not alone because they gave acorns and nuts to our herds of swine and to ourselves in times of strait, but because we held that they possessed a sort of sanctity. Curious it was, too, that one insect should be so regarded. This was the bee. Great was the value to us of the honey the bees furnished, our only sweet, and of its use in the making of our strong mead. Hence came the marking of the bee trees wherein was stored their honey. Heavily was he punished who cut down and plundered a marked bee tree, but if it were not marked by the first finder there was no punishment. So it was that about the bee grew up a sort of faith. Bees, it was held, had a language of their own and could understand what was said to them, and it was not counted wise to kill one. To be a hunter of the trees in which the bees concealed their stores was counted worthy of even a warrior, and I was proud that at this I had been gifted with no mean ability. Well must he know the wilds and be ready to fare patiently and far who would discover where the creatures hid their treasure, and shrewd must be his knowledge and close his nature to the wild things. It may be that I was thus close, for I was somewhat a man apart and had my dreaming ways. I had no wife. There had been one among the maidens, deep-eyed and fair and strong and red of hair as I, whom I had loved much and who would rest in the place in my arms, but our wood gods had it otherwise. There came a time of fever, and she died, and after she had been buried with my golden bracelet pledge on her round white arm, I cared no more for women. My bed was in my brother’s house, and his children cherished me, but I loved the woods and the chase and the bee-hunting and was much away, with all my fancies, at some of which the warriors laughed, saying that I was sometimes not unlike a dreaming girl, though it had been I who brought home upon my spear the head of the grim Suevi champion after one of our hardest battles.
All was not unbroken forest in our region; there were blue mountains far to the south, and here and there were little plains, and in the forest itself were sometimes clear spaces, flower-covered, where the bees sought honey for their storing. I have clearly in mind a day when I sought one of these smiling distant places.
Often have I questioned myself if it be meet or becoming in the strong man to consider and often delight in the fair and curious things upon which his eyes may rest, or feel the joyousness which comes to him through other senses. Should not his thoughts and desires dwell only on sterner and graver matters—the fight, the chase, the keen searching for the honey stores and the protection of the herds? This puzzlement I can by no means decide, but this I know that ever I follow my own will carelessly, and so have had much pleasure without effort, save to smell or look or listen. Why should I not? Does not the brawniest and most soil or blood stained warrior smack his lips over the rich juices of the cooked bird, and do not his eyes gleam as the mead runs down his tickled gullet? Do I not myself enjoy these things, and why should not I, if I have the mood, regale my other senses? Yet, as I have said, my comrades would sometimes jeer at me and call me foolish names because, forsooth, I rejoiced in the many glories of the world. Little cared I! It was somewhat known of men that my thews were mighty, my spear a sharp one and my axe of goodly weight, as had been proved in stubborn battle, and so I fed my fancies when I willed. On a day of which I speak they had food worth while, for surely there could be no fairer or more bounteous place than this for their indulgence.
It was a clearing enclosed by forest on every side. A tornado may once have stripped away the trees upon it, for it lay on rising ground, and fire had doubtless swept it afterward. Upon it now was no growth save many clumps of bushes, some of them in heavy bloom, and soft greensward and flowers of a thousand kinds, of every hue which flowers may have. Was it unworthy of me as a hunter and proved warrior that I stood unmoving for a time and allowed my eyes to feed their fill upon such a scene as this? Was it not, in its way, as good as the taste of deer’s meat or as the gurgle of the heartening mead in the throat? And there was more than the eyes alone could comprehend.
Myriads of eager bees were humming above that gay spread of flowers, and the united sound of the commingled droning had such volume that it made seem fainter the singing of the birds in the wood about, though not many were to be heard at this hour of the day. A few generous ones there were, though, their voices of such sweet quality as to commingle softly with the mighty humming and seem almost to form a part of it.
Yet what idle talk is this? It seems but foolish to tell thus of the flowers and bees and of our more peaceful doings, though, mayhap, it will make more clear the colouring of the lives of us—the mighty forest people. Was I like the weak Buoba, of the village, who was not enduring in the chase and who had never been in battle, but who sometimes made soft verses and who told strange tales and was, somehow, not a little beloved? What of it? There was the sound in my ears, and the ears were surely my own as was my fancy. And not alone were my ears and eyes made glad, for there rose from that great field of bloom such volume and drift of perfume as filled my nostrils to their utmost depths and which, wafted through the forest by the wind, might well call from a far distance the hosts of labouring bees. The fragrance, I fancied for a moment, had its effect even on the great stag which came from out the wood across from me and raised his head aloft and sniffed the air, though it is more likely he was but assuring himself against all danger ere he began his feeding. He did not dally at that, and was setting me a good example, for certainly I had not come here to regale my senses, so I strode into the sunny clearing as he, with a great snort of alarm, bounded upward and then into the wood again. In this field must begin my quest for the places of lofty beehives to be plundered, and thus I set about it:
I had brought my weapons with me, for he is foolish who would go unarmed into the forest, but other things I carried as well, since there was much craft to be displayed in this hunting for the bee stores. I had beeswax with me and a portion of honey in the comb, and also a staff sharpened at one end, having at the other a fastened box without a cover. The staff I thrust into the ground and the honeycomb I placed in the box above. Then I found a flattish stone near by and brought it to near the staff, and upon it, using my flint and the back of my hunting-knife, kindled a tiny fire upon which I laid the wax. Very soon the wax melted and there arose from it a little smoke and an odour which was wafted to the myriads of incoming bees and at once attracted them. Swerving from their course, they circled a little and then settled down upon the awaiting honey, a prize of note for them, since it would require no alchemy of theirs in fitting it for storage. Then I had naught to do but to watch. One by one, each rioting bee there gorged to the full and then, rising upon heavy wing, flew toward the forest whence it had come, straight as the downward dropping of a stone. Some flew in one direction and others on a different course, but I followed with my eye the flight only of the company which seemed most numerous. Straight toward the west they went, toward where I knew was a swamp, beyond which was a forest of great oaks. Their home I knew could not be in the swamp; hence somewhere in the oaks, most like of all places. How deeply in the forest it might be I could not tell as yet, but soon would know in a degree. Across the field I carried the staff and stone and did just as I had already done, the bees, as before, coming in numbers to the feast. Again I watched, noting most carefully the direction of the flight of the group I had first chosen, and saw that now they flew not straight toward the west, but a very little to the north of it. Now I had become a menace to them! I knew that their home and place of storage was at the point where the two lines I had determined met, and it seemed, judging as best I might, that it could not be a great way in the far-extending wood. Around the swamp I went with all my gear. As I neared its western side I set my staff again and watched the flight once more, then, faring still farther until I had passed the western end some little distance, I did the same and found, to my delight, that the two flights appeared to come together at some point not more than some four or five hundred yards within the depths of the towering oak wood. There I but circled about, the bees coming to the honey now in hosts, and as soon as they were laden flying almost directly upward. Very keenly I searched upward now and found what I was seeking. Extending straight outward and upward from the trunk of the mightiest of the oaks was a giant blasted limb, and upon its side I could perceive a fissure in and out of which the bees were coming and going in countless numbers. Mine was the bee tree! I drew forth my short axe and cut the mark which all recognized as mine, three crosses, one above another—we had no letters or written language as yet, as had some eastern nations—deeply into the great tree’s hole, and so made sure my prize. Venturesome would be he who should cut down the tree thus marked by me. That toil should be my own when I so decided, a great toil doubtless, but one worth bearing, for the limb was huge and the bees a vast swarm, and within the lofty hollow must be stored honey to sweeten the bread of many a feast and supply the mead for many a score of brimming urus horns. Thus sought I the honey!
Our houses were all of wood, and simply built. We had no glass for our windows, and it was not uncommon that skins were hung before them, to be held aside by thongs or left hanging down for protection against storms or the cold, as the season and the weather might determine. Inside, the furnishing was as rude and simple, but there were home life and comfort there, except sometimes in winter, for with us the winters were often bitter. That we did not suffer greatly at this season was because of our practice in building our habitations. The better houses rested upon logs reaching across above a great cellar which in winter could be made the living-room, affording sure protection from the cold. Somewhat lacking in pure air this underground hall might be, but here was much companionship and merriment. Here mighty bows were fashioned and here the women wove the spun linen which we wore beneath our robes of skin and fur. There was rarely lack of food, and so the winters, long and keen, were not greatly a terror to us. Our cattle and horses and our herds of swine fared not so well, but, somehow, lived, for they were hardened to the climate and to scant feeding upon mown marsh grass and store of garnered mast.
It was not in the winter alone, however, that we were forced to guard our various herds. The big brown bear had a fondness for the hog or colt or calf, and was not inclined to make the attempt upon the family of the huge wild boar when lesser prey was to be found, and the many prowling wolves had tastes as trained. In winter especially were the wolves menacing, for then they gathered in packs and were dangerous to man and beast alike. The fierce lynx was another enemy.
Yet we could not grumble at the forest, which we loved. If it had its perils it was none the less our provider and our protection. It gave us nearly all we had, and, first of all, abundant food. There were the aurochs and urus and wild hogs and the great stag and lesser deer, and grouse and geese and ducks and various other game; and we were shrewd hunters. Sometimes we made pits for the aurochs or the urus, and sometimes hunted and slew them with bow and spear, though such latter chase was always for those possessed of hardihood. The aurochs, the monster bison, most ponderous creature of the forest, was not inclined to attack man if unassailed, though his charge when it came could not be stopped. But with the urus it was different. He would assail the hunter whenever he perceived one, and few there were who dared to meet his onset with the spear. The wild boar was scarcely less evil in his temper. As for the hungry, lumbering brown bear, he often stole upon or pursued man as the opportunity came, seeking only to devour.
We were well armed, though in a somewhat varied manner, for we had little metal and there were few in our scattered villages who could forge the weapons, and so it was that those possessed were cherished. There were axes and spears and swords of copper, and more of bronze, and a few of the new metal—iron, which men had but lately learned to use, and all these were from our fathers or gained in battle, or, more lately, through a trade drifting through many hands from the far people who made fine weapons. So it came that a goodly sword or spear or axe was a prize always to be sought and the gaining of which gave zest and aim to many a raid and risk. My own sword had descended to me, but my battle axe had not so long ago belonged to a chief of the rude Chauci, the tribe to our west who had such a longing for possession of our salt spring, greatest holding of our wide mark. Salt!
For the sake of salt we would submit to any labour, endure all hardship or face any peril which might arise. Without it our life must be a different thing and harder. Without it how could we preserve our meat and fish and have the best provision for our grim winters? Our eating had the greater flavor from it, and with it we were more assured of having that which to eat. Honey was good and the mead from it arousing and exalting, yet what gave they but pleasure?
The use of salt seemed as the line between the good and the bad, between the foul and cleanly. The wolf and all the musky beasts of prey abhorred it, while the wholesome ones, the aurochs and urus and stag and deer, sought for it eagerly where the water seeped from the spring into the long grass of the marshes. It had become to us a first necessity, as it had to those of other tribes. It was like a symbol of life to us, in that it preserved and saved from putrefaction. It had become a part of our existence. What should we do without it? To our direct and simple reasoning, it seemed a substance kindly and aiding, apart from other things, and vaguely sanctified. It was thought that from the salt springs prayers to the gods ascended more quickly than from elsewhere, and, sometimes, when the land allowed, places of shelter for worship were made beside them. So, the possession of a salt spring—though there were many within the length and breadth of the great forest—was something to be guarded and to be fought for to the death. Many a spear had been thrown, many a sword thrust, many an arrow sped, and many an axe had risen and fallen about the salt springs. What wonder that we fought for them as we would fight for home and wives and children—doing stern battle, to whatever end might come!
Our own spring, by what was our mischance, lay at a distance from our village near to the border of the Chauci, of whom I have spoken, and was a vast temptation to them. Our village would assuredly have been built beside it but that the spring issued from a little rise of land within the edge of a great marsh, with a damp lowland all about, such location as might in no wise serve for a proper dwelling place. There was no shelter near, and the winds came harshly from the distant sea. Nevertheless, we builded a great shed beside the spring as a shelter in time of the salt-making, and raised a barricade of logs upon the forest side as some means of defense in case an enemy should make an onslaught. As often as we needed it the most accustomed of the tribe would make an encampment by the spring and there prepare the salt, though in a way unlike that of our ancestors, who had been accustomed to get the salt in a most curious manner, building a fire of logs and quenching the flames with the salt water, and when it was out, raking away the ashy crust found clinging to the embers. A better and far easier way was ours, for we now had the kettles in which to do the heating and condensing of the water into what we wanted. In autumn, when the time came for putting aside the fish and meat for the winter, a large company would go from the village to the salt-making, and the gathering was made almost a festival. There had always been sufficient force either with or of the workers, and no evil had ever come to them, though, at other times, the Chauci had once or twice invaded the spring and made salt there unknown to us. They also possessed a spring, but it was not as generous of flow as ours nor so convenient for those who lived the nearest to us. There had been murmurings and distrust over this intrusion of the Chauci, but there had followed no encounter, though the invasion was in violation of all tribal law, and though we had often come in conflict with the Chauci.
It has been a prosperous and pleasant summer for us, yet somewhat of a dull one, for there had been no conflicts and the older warriors were disposed to grumble at what they termed either indifference to honour or great slothfulness. Had not a band of the Harudes been seen hovering about our southeastern mark, and had not there been a disappearance of some scores of our half-wild cattle? Had not certain most promising bee trees toward the line of the Juthungi been cut down and despoiled, and was not either of these outrages sufficient to demand some sort of raiding in reprisal? It was true that the Juthungi had their home some distance from our borders and that we were not assured that our cattle were taken by the Harudes, but should such small lack of certainty prevent us from displaying our hardihood and prevent us also from acquiring such booty as might come in our way? Such chance, the seasoned veterans declared, would not have been neglected in their own fine youth. I know not why, but all this passed and there was no raiding, it may be because the dulness of the year was somewhat broken by the festivals in honor of the youth who had arrived at the dignity of fighting men, and by the consumption of much mead at these same festivals. A serious occasion, albeit an auspicious and a pleasant one, it was when the youth became of age to be counted among young warriors. This year there was near a score to be thus exalted, which gift of many was counted good as making the families stronger. The youth were trained in warlike exercises, and happy the father who could boast most sons. They were taught a contempt for death and that the tie of kinship was ever to be observed. So strong, indeed, was the need and the desire for kin, that when one lacked a family he sought blood-brotherhood with some other, and, when this was agreed upon, each would cut the palm of the hand and let the blood from the wound run into a little hollow in the ground, so that from the blood commingled might be pledged the brotherhood for life, to which they swore with clasped hands. Kinship and brotherhood meant greater strength, and so it was not strange that when new youth entered the elder ranks there was rejoicing and much ceremony in the bestowal of arms, and afterward much feasting. So it chanced that in this year of which I speak, with many youth to be initiated, the ceremony over one almost overlapped that of another, and that most of the warriors, drinking deeply and boasting of fights which had been and would be, were somewhat careless of the present. I know only that we had been at peace for all the summer, and that, though I had found good hunting and had fortune in the finding and marking of bee trees, I had myself a sense that time was beginning to move with somewhat laggard feet. Moreover, there were certain weapons which I desired renewed for my equipment and which I could not get within the tribe. Yet I held my peace in the debates, well knowing that after the initiation of the various youth the warrior would be restless.
It is of these same youth that there is something curious to tell, a thing beginning in mere love of the young for any wild performance and the doing of that which the elders might look upon as childish or unmanly, but which here had, in the end, a great result. I have said that we had horses as well as horned cattle, but the horses, like the cattle, were for food, and were rarely mounted, since the forest was scarce the place in which they might be used with freedom. It was counted almost effeminate in a man to ride when his strong legs should be equal to any journey. The youth took small account of this; lightly they held to elder views, and so a company of some score or more of them had contrived to capture and tame to riding a number of horses, performing some fine exploits with them in a broad clearing at a safe distance from the village and from all surveillance. They rode well, guiding the horses with their thonged bridles and flourishing their long spears, as they had heard did the horsemen of the Gauls, and I, who, because I had no family of my own, was somewhat of a friend and, it may be, a too lenient mentor to them, felt a certain pride in their performance and had no notion of betraying them. Indeed, I felt that I somewhat aided and abetted them, and of this last I had no regret.
So drifted we up to the time of the first falling of the leaves. The days passed and the autumn grew and the hunters were out and the boatmen were on the rivers, fishing them even to the coast with their nets of woven marsh grass, and soon we would have great store of meat and fish for storing. It was time for the yearly salt making, so a small company of the youth were sent ahead to the spring by the marshes to prepare for the coming of such older ones as should direct the boiling and other labour to be done. All were engaged in the preparation, and the band departed shoutingly at dawn, for to the spring it was a full half day’s journey.
That night the hunters came from the chase vaunting and heavy laden, for they had met with great good fortune, having surrounded and slain an aurochs of huge size, so adding at once no little meat for the salting. Never was clan in better mood than was ours on that night of much eating and drinking by the tired though noisy hunters. Well into the night the revelry continued, when there came that which changed the nature of the feasters. There were short, dull cries from the outside, and then staggered into hall two of the youth who had gone with the little company to the salt spring. One was bloody of head and face, and each was, at first, too scant of breath to tell his tale. It soon came, however, and was such as to make each warrior seize upon and brandish aloft his weapons and swear an oath as to what would be the deadly happenings of the morrow!
The Chauci had seized upon our salt spring, defying us at last, and had done the deed most cruelly. Scarce had the youth reached the spring and begun the cleaning of the boiling shed from its bed of drifted leaves, and to make ready the places for the fires, when there appeared from the nearby wood a band of Chauci who rushed upon them, casting their spears and chasing swiftly with their other weapons. The youth, brave enough but far outnumbered, fled into the marsh and across the neck of it and so gained refuge in the forest at a point some distance from the spring, but not before two had been slain. Hardly had they reached the forest’s edge when they saw a larger force come from the wood and join the first band of Chauci at the spring. Of these the two youth judged there were at least three hundred. The fugitives had fled straightway homeward, and deemed that the others who had escaped should soon be with us, though of this they were not fully assured, since they had scattered themselves for safety’s sake, and it was possible that the Chauci might have pursued and captured or slain more of them. Happily this was not so. The remaining fugitives came in before the morning broke, all wearied from the long run and the hiding, and three of them wounded by the thrown lances.
There was no more wassail, but, in its stead, swift and stern preparation for what was soon to come. We of the elder warriors spent little time in council or the devising of any plan, for we knew that it could be only a stubborn grapple of almost equal forces, with no advantage of ambush or surprise to either side. We could rally as many of our clan as there were of the invading Chauci, and for more we cared not. We would ask no aid from other villages of the Cherusci, though, should we be beaten in the fight, there would doubtless follow a war between the whole tribes, for blood is thick and the Chauci had now been transgressors boldly; but, should we win, the matter would doubtless end with that, since we would have had our vengeance and, perchance, some booty with it. There were some who counselled marching at once upon our foes, but it was decided by those among us who had the leadership that the attack should be made in daylight, and so it rested. All night, all through the village could be heard the sounds of the sharpening of swords and spears and axes, and the pattering of hammers studding and fastening more securely the leather on the linden shields. The sun had scarcely risen before we had eaten and were set out on our grim march. No able man in the village but was of that avenging company, save some score of the riding youth of whom I have already told and who, because I spoke for them, were allowed to march apart, that they might, as their leader pleaded, come in upon the Chauci from an unexpected side and by their sudden charge do more, if might be, than if they marched and fought with all the rest. At first this was denied them, but I had some dim reasoning that these reckless ones had in mind what might avail exceedingly, and my earnest counsel and demand that they be given the chance to show us what stuff for warriors was within them at last prevailed.
No sign of the Chauci saw we until we came close upon what we knew must be the battlefield. They were not ranged about the spring, but were massed, as I had reasoned well they would be, in the thick wood near to it, where they would have some measure of protection and where we must attack them at a disadvantage, for the wood there, though dense and heavy, was apart from the main forest, and could be reached only by passing across a wide open space where we would be exposed to their spear throwing and their arrow flights. Nevertheless we drew together, holding our shields before us and so launched ourselves across the open space.
It was a grim and furious charge and no man failed, but our foe had the advantage. We gained the forest’s edge, but our spears and arrows were turned aside by the close set trees and brush, while upon us in the open rained such flight of weapons as could not be avoided or long withstood, and not a few of the Cherusci fell. We had suffered grievously when, with a blind and desperate rush, we entered the wood fairly and there, though engaged now on more even terms, found little better fortune. The Chauci, well knowing what must follow their defeat, fought like savage beasts at bay, and most skilfully as well, keeping together and meeting us with stroke and thrust as heavy and in a rage as fearful as our own. Back and forth we swung together in that dark killing-place, and, for a time, even the shouting and the threatening ceased and there was only the harsh sound of weapons. We fought unflinching, as Cherusci should, but were the more wearied of the two forces, for we had marched far, and had now lost some of our best warriors and, finally, there came a little yielding. Strive hardly as we might, it did not cease, and soon, though with our mass unbroken, we were forced into the field again, the Chauci pressing fiercely with yells of triumph, until they, too, were in the open. Then followed such fighting as had not been often seen or had been told of in the feast hall!
Face to face, we stood in opposing ranks, Cherusci against Chauci, and no man thought of aught save killing. We were now the lesser force, but none gave that a thought. There were the Chauci, and they must be slain! As for me, I had gone stark mad with the battle lust. Man after man went down and another took his place, but we had the lesser weight, they were as desperate as we, and we were driven back, though slowly. Then came the sudden and amazing end!
From the main forest on one side rang out a shouting almost boyish, and then from that green wood burst forth a score of beardless horsemen! The ground was somewhat sloping, there was room for headway, and, sweeping down in a mass together, the young spearmen burst in upon and through the Chauci, as though they were but corn! Never before in forest fray had been such hurling of ridden horses upon footmen. What could withstand such charge of thundering beast, or the bent spears, of which none failed to reach its man! Crumpled and split apart and scattered were the Chauci by that fierce onslaught, and we, the warriors, leaped after them and slew them as they fled, pursuing them into the forest ways which led toward their home and overtaking many. Well had the youth displayed their warrior blood, and, more than that, had taught us much. Henceforth the horse would be exalted.
Foremost and swift was I in the grim pursuit, and overtook three of the fleeing Chauci in a little glade, when they turned to face me. It was a fight of but a moment. My axe descended on the one who seemed to be the leader, and then came to me what was beyond all evil dreaming! Even as my axe sank into the Chauci’s head one of the others, who had darted aside as I made my rush, swung his long sword behind me foully and I tottered and fell crumplingly to earth there, hamstrung and helpless and a lost man forever! What mattered it that one who came panting behind me cut down the knave who had crippled me? What more had life!
The pursuit by our warriors ended at last; they gathered together the weapons of the slain Chauci and all the spoil of their camp, and, afterward, made a litter in which they carried me, as they did the others who could not walk. The march wound to the village, which was reached at nightfall. Most carefully was I attended. Loud had been the acclamation of me as foremost in the battle, and my leg was shrewdly bound, as was also a little wound in my left arm, which, before, had bled most steadily. Afterward I was placed upon a couch of furs in the feast hall, where presently would be held the feast in celebration of our victory. Sadly and sullenly I lay. Then came to me a wondrous resolution! There came before my eyes a vision of one helpless and crawling. Where were now the battle and the chase and the fair hunting of the bee stores! What grayness lay before me! What held life for me now, for me who in the morning had been at the crest of strength and pride and who had hewn my way to greater honour through a warrior’s day! What pitiful old age might come to Scar, the hamstrung! Yet, what honour comes to the hero who dies laughing at death and fresh from where much blood has flowed? I thought of her who was wearing my golden armlet, sleeping quietly, and life seemed hollow at the best! I thought of the long years of hobbling, and my mind became as iron, as my gorge rose. They were making ready for the feast now and I called my friends about me and told them I would feast with them, and directed where my seat should be, as I drank deeply with them and that I should be lifted to it, and they did as I commanded boisterously and acclaimingly, for they knew well what I had in mind, though in the eyes even of those warriors shone something of wonder with their pride. The feast began and the vaunting and the shouting and the deep drinking, and then I shouted loud, though I could not rise, and bade them hail and vaunted of the brave day. Hoarsely and loudly I told them how I was about to die cheerily, as a warrior should, before the eyes of fighting men, laughing and showing to the youth the manner in which a hero passed to Woden!
Lifted I then my wounded arm and tore away the bandage from where a goodly vein was sheared apart, and opened it anew with my dagger, and the red blood came out and ran with a soft patter to the floor as I let the arm hang low beside me. Four brimming urus horns of mead I quaffed then, and shouted and waved the horn above me and sang the praise of the Cherusci, and the warriors shouted with me and would have lifted me aloft but for my wounds. More deeply yet I drank, and more boasted of the glory of the Cherusci, and still heard the ceaseless dripping to the floor. The mead was bringing languor, and it seemed to me that, because of this fine sleepiness, I spoke less bravely, repeating much, and stumblingly, the words I had said before. Surely, I thought, a better mead was never brewed! The lights flashed and the warriors shouted over to me. I was warm, and my head nodded. Great were we of the Cherusci and great the life of a warrior! My head sank on my breast. The whimsy came; we warriors might be strong, but assuredly grizzled and bent old Harling, who brewed our mead, was mightiest among us! I bent forward prone on the table, with my head upon my unwounded arm, the other yet dangling. Still came to my ears the patter of the blood upon the floor. Strong was the mead!