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

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE BATTLE OF THE RHINE.

  The young general was not long in rejoining the vanguard. After ahurried conference with the officers, the troops took their posts ofbattle. Three cohorts of infantry, each one thousand strong, receivedorders to march through the defile into the open plain, engage thevanguard of the Franks, and draw the bulk of the enemy's army into thedangerous passage. Victorin, several officers and myself stood groupedupon one of the highest bluffs that dominated the field on which thescrimmage was to take place. From where we stood we had a complete viewof the immense Frankish army. Massed in a compact body, the bulk oftheir forces was still far away. A swarm of horsemen rode in advance andextended beyond the two wings. Our three cohorts had barely emerged fromthe pass into the plain when the Frankish horsemen rushed like a swarmof hornets towards them from all sides and sought to envelop them.Intent only upon taking the lead of one another, these horsemen gave therein to their mounts, and tumultuously, without any order whatever,galloped towards our troops. When the former had drawn near enough, thelatter formed themselves into a wedge in order to sustain the firstshock of the cavalry; they were thereupon to feign a retreat back intothe defile. The Frankish horsemen emitted such loud yells that, despitethe considerable distance that separated us from the plain and theelevation of the plateau, their savage cries reached us like a muffledroar pierced from time to time by the distant notes of their windinstruments. As ordered, our soldiers did not yield to the firstimpetuous attack. In an instant we could see through the thick cloud ofdust, raised by the Frankish horse, only a confused mass, in the midstof 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 Frankishassailants, who received every moment fresh accessions from the cavalryof their vanguard, while their main body began to move at a quickenedstep.

  "By heaven!" cried Victorin, his fiery eyes fixed upon the field, "ourbrave Firmian who commands those three cohorts seems to have forgottenin his ardor for the fray that he was steadily to fall back into thedefile so as to draw the enemy in after him. Firmian is no longerretreating; he has stopped and does not budge back an inch--he willcause his troops to be uselessly sacrificed--"

  And addressing one of the officers:

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

  The officer departed at a gallop. Obedient to the orders that hecarried, the three veteran cohorts speedily emerged from the defile atthe double quick; they hastened to join and sustain Firmian's troops; alittle later the feigned retreat was effected in good order. Seeing theGauls yield, the Franks set up a shout of savage joy, and chargedimpetuously upon our cohorts. The Frankish vanguard was soon close tothe mouth of the defile. Suddenly Victorin grew pale. Anxiety wasdepicted 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, theFrankish army has halted; it is forming into numerous separate columnsof attack, and these are marching towards the plateau! Malediction! Theyare resorting to the skilful manoeuvre that you feared. Oh, we havetaught the barbarians the art of war!"

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

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

  At these words, Rolla, the druid bard, improvised the following warsong, 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 drenched In 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 thedouble quick to the refrain of the chant that flew from mouth to mouthuntil it reached the rearmost ranks.

  Our army was promptly deployed on the crest of the plateau thatdominated the vast plain whose edge was bordered by the curve of theRhine in the distant horizon. Instead of awaiting the attack from thatadvantageous position, Victorin wished, by sheer audacity, to terrifythe enemy. Despite our numerical inferiority, he issued the orders topounce down upon the Franks from the crest of our elevated position. Atthe same moment, the enemy's column, which, deceived by the feignedretreat of our cohorts, had allowed itself to be lured into the defile,was being hurled back into the plain by the Gallic troops whichconfronted them. Our whole army thereupon reassumed the offensive, andnot unlike an avalanche our full forces poured down from the summit ofthe plateau. The battle began; it was engaged all along the line.

  I promised Victoria not to leave the side of her son. Nevertheless, suchwas the impetuosity with which, from the very start of the action, hedashed upon the enemy at the head of a legion of cavalry, that the fluxand reflux of the melee at first separated me from him. We were at thetime engaged hand to hand with a picked, well mounted and well armedbody of Franks. Their soldiers wore neither casque nor cuirass; buttheir double jackets of hides covered with long hair and theiriron-lined fur caps, were the equivalent of our own armor. These Franksfought with fury, often with stupid ferocity. I saw several allowthemselves to be killed like animals while, at the hottest of thebattle, they madly sought to hack off the head of some fallen Gaul withtheir axes in order to make to themselves a trophy of the gory spoils. Iwas defending myself against two of these horsemen, and my hands werefull; 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 foundhis efforts vain bit me with such rage in the ankle that his teeth cutthrough the leather of my gaiter and penetrated to the very bone.Without neglecting my two mounted adversaries, I found time to deal ablow with my mace upon this third Frank's skull. Freed from him, I wasvainly endeavoring to discover and join Victorin, when I descriedNeroweg, the Terrible Eagle, only a few paces from me, in the meleewhich his gigantic stature overtowered. At the sight of that man, therethronged to my mind the recollection of the outrageous insults heapedupon me only the day before, which I had only partly avenged by smitinghim over the head with a firebrand; my blood, already warm with theardor of the fray, now seethed. Over and above the anger that Neroweginspired in me by reason of his cowardly insults of the previous day, Iexperienced for the man an unexplainable, mysterious, profound hatred.It was as if I saw in him the incarnation of that thievish and ferociousrace that sought to subjugate us. It was to me, strange andunaccountable as it may seem, as if I abhorred Neroweg by reason of thefuture as much as of the present; as if that hatred was to perpetuateitself not only between our two races of Franks and Gauls, but alsobetween our families, individually. What shall I say to you, my child! Ieven forgot the promise I made to my foster-sister of watching over herson. Instead of any longer striving to find and join Victorin, I nowonly strove to draw close to Neroweg. I was bent upon having thatFrank's life--he alone, among so many other enemies, incited in mepersonally the thirst for blood. I happened at the time to find mysel
fsurrounded by several horsemen of the legion at the head of whichVictorin had just charged the Frankish army with such impetuosity. Ourtroops were steadily pushing forward at that point, the enemy was beingcrowded towards the Rhine. Two of the soldiers in front of me fell underthe heavy francisque of the Terrible Eagle. I now saw him across thathuman breach.

  Clad in a Gallic armor, the spoils of one of our captains who was killedat one of the previous battles, Neroweg wore a casque of gilded bronze,the visor of which partly covered his face, tattooed in blue andscarlet. His long copper colored beard reached down to the iron corseletthat he had donned over his jacket of hides. Thick fleeces of sheep,held fast by criss-crossing strips of cloth, covered his legs from thethighs down to the feet. He rode a savage stallion from the forests ofGermany, whose pale yellow coat was spotted with black. The tufts of theanimal's thick mane fell below his square chest; his long tail, thatstreamed in the wind, lashed his sinewy haunches when he rearedimpatient under the restraint of his bit and silver-wrought reins, alsothe proceeds of some Gallic spoils. A wooden buckler ribbed with ironand roughly painted in yellow and red stripes, the colors of Neroweg'sbanner, covered the left arm of the Terrible Eagle. In his right hand hewielded his heavy francisque that now dripped blood. From his belt hunga sort of large butcher's knife with a wooden handle, together with amagnificent Roman sword with a hilt of chased gold, doubtlessly thefruit 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 andmounts of the fallen horsemen who lay between us. The leap was soviolent that when his horse touched ground again, the animal's head andchest struck the head and chest of my own mount. At the heavy shock thetwo animals were thrown upon their haunches and both fell over. Dazed atfirst by my fall, I quickly disengaged myself, took my stand firmly uponmy feet and drew my sword, my mace having slipped from my hands with myfall. On his part, having had to disentangle himself from under hishorse, as I was forced to do, Neroweg also rose to his feet andprecipitated himself upon me. The chin-band of his casque had snappedwith his fall, his head was bare, his thick red hair, tied over hishead, floated behind him like the mane of a horse.

  "Ha! This time, you Gallic dog," he cried out as he ground his teeth andaimed at me with his axe a furious blow that I parried, "this time Ishall 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 exchanginginsults that redoubled our rage.

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

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

  "Dare you insult my race, you bastard dog! Half Roman, half Gallic! Myrace will subjugate yours, vile revolted slaves! We shall clap the yokeback upon your necks--and we shall take possession of your goods, yourlands, and your wives!"

  "Just look yonder at your routed army, Oh, great king! Just take a lookat your packs of Frankish wolves, as cowardly as they areferocious--just look at them, fleeing from the fangs of the Gallicdogs!"

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

  "Folg! Will you allow that Gallic swine to vanquish you? Defend yourselfwith 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 mythigh between skin and flesh, and it did so at the very moment when Idealt him a blow over the head that would have been mortal but for thebackward 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, bya singular accident, plowed his face on the side opposite the one whichalready bore my mark.

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

  We were thus engaged when Neroweg's stallion rolled to the ground underthe 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 bothhave been thrown off our feet.

  At the same instant, a legion of our reserve cavalry, the muffled soundof whose approaching tramp had struck my oars shortly before, hove insight. In the impetuosity of its headlong dash, the heavily armedcavalry legion rode rough-shod and trampled over everything that lay inits path. The legion was three ranks deep, and approached with theswiftness of a gale. Both Neroweg and myself were doomed to be crushedto dust; the legion's line of battle was two hundred paces long; even ifI had time to leap upon my horse, it would have been next to impossibleto get in time out of the way of that long line of cavalry byendeavoring to ride, however swiftly, beyond the reach of either of itswings. Escape seemed impossible from the threatened shock. Nevertheless,I undertook it, despite my chagrin at not having been allowed time todespatch the Frankish king--so inveterate was my hatred of him! I tookquick advantage of the accident, that, due to the fall of Neroweg'shorse, interrupted our battle a second before, and I leaped upon theback of Tom-Bras that was near me. It required a rude handling of thereins and of the flat of my sword before I could cause my courser todesist from his infuriated assault upon the other stallion that he heldunder and kicked and bit unmercifully. Finally I succeeded. The longline of cavalry reaching far to my right and left was now only a fewpaces from me. I rushed ahead of it, adding with my voice and my spursto the speed of Tom-Bras's rapid gallop; I rode on, keeping well in thelead of the legion, and from time to time casting a look behind to seethe Frankish king, and what became of him. With his visage streamingblood he sought distractedly to run after me and wildly brandished hissword. Suddenly I saw him vanish in the cloud of dust raised by therapid gallop of the legion of cavalry.

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

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

  "Victorin is fighting like a hero. A rider who brought to our reservethe orders to advance said to us that never before did the generalreveal such consummate skill in his manoeuvres. Being more than twiceour numbers, and above all displaying unwonted military skill, theFranks fought stubbornly. All the indications are that the day is ours,but it shall have been paid for dearly. Thousands of Gauls will havebitten the dust."
r />   The officer's report was correct. Victorin again fought with a soldier'sintrepidity and the consummate skill of an experienced general. I foundhim, his heart overflowing with joy, in the midst of the melee.Miraculously enough, he had received only a slight wound. His reserveforces, skilfully managed by him, decided the fate of the battle. Therouted Franks, rolled back three leagues with our triumphant forcespressing close upon their heels, were being crowded towards the Rhinedespite the stubbornness of their retreat. After enormous losses aportion of their hordes were hurled headlong into the river, otherssucceeded in regaining their rafts in disorder, and in towing them withtheir barks from the shore. But at that moment the flotilla of a hundredand sixty large vessels fell upon the fleeing Franks on the river. Uponorders from Victorin, the flotilla had sped forward, doubled a tongueof land behind which it had kept itself concealed until then, and cameinto action. After a number of volleys of arrows that threw the Frankson the rafts into utter demoralization, our barks boarded the rafts fromall sides. The episode that took place on the floating battlefield wasthe last, but not the least bloody of that day. The barks that towed theFrankish rafts were sunk under the blows of battle axes; the smallnumber of Franks who survived this supreme struggle gave themselves overto the mercy of the river; clinging to some of the planks that wereloosened from their rafts, they were carried helplessly down stream.

  Although cruelly decimated, still our army thrilled with the ardor ofthe fray as, massed along the bluffs of the river, it witnessed theenemy's disastrous rout, upon which the rays of the westering sun shedtheir parting light. At that sublime moment, the soldiers struck up inchorus the heroic chant of the bard to the words and melody of whichthey had stepped to battle in the morning:

  "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? Yea, how many are there of these Franks?'

  "This evening we'll say:-- 'Make answer, thou sod, red drenched In 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?'"

  The last strophes of the refrain were falling from the lips of oursoldiers when, from the other side of the river--which was so wide atthat place that the opposite bank could hardly be distinguished, veiledmoreover, as it was by the rising evening haze--I noticed a gleam that,rapidly gaining in brightness and extent, soon spanned the horizon likethe reflection of a gigantic conflagration.

  Victorin immediately cried:

  "Our brave Marion has carried out his plans at the head of his pickedmen and the allied tribes on the other side of the Rhine. He marchedwith them upon the camp of the Franks. The last reserve force of thebarbarians must have been cut to pieces, and their huts and wagons givenover to the flames! By Hesus! Rid at last of the neighborhood of thosesavage marauders, Gaul will now enjoy the sweets of a friendly peace!Oh, my mother! Your prayers have been heard!"

  Victorin had just uttered these words with a face beaming with bliss,when I saw a considerable body of our soldiers belonging to differentcavalry and infantry corps of the army marching slowly towards him. Allof these soldiers were old men. Douarnek marched at their head. When thebody had drawn near, Douarnek advanced alone a few steps and said in agrave and firm voice:

  "Listen, Victorin! Each legion of cavalry, each cohort of infantry,chose its oldest soldier. They are the comrades who accompany me yonder.Like myself, they have known you from the day of your birth; like myselfthey have seen you as a baby in the arms of Victoria, the Mother of theCamps, the august mother of the soldiers. We long have loved you out oflove both for her and yourself. We acclaimed you our general and one ofthe two Chiefs of Gaul. We, veterans in war, have loved you as our sonwhile we obeyed you as our father. And then came the day when, everobeying you as our general and a Chief of Gaul, our love for you wasless--"

  "And why did your love for me decline?" Victorin interrupted, struck bythe solemn tone of the old soldier. "Why, pray, did your love for medecline?"

  "Because we respected you less. But if you have faults, we also haveours; to-day's battle proves it to us. We have come to make theadmission to you."

  "Let us hear it," replied Victorin affectionately; "let us hear what aremy faults and which are yours!"

  "Your faults, Victorin, are these--you love too much, much more than ismeet, both wine and pretty girls!"

  "By all the sweethearts that you have had, my old Douarnek, by all thecups that you have emptied and that you will still empty, why such wordson the evening of a battle that we have won?" merrily answered Victorin,who was slowly returning to his natural weakness, now no longer heldunder by concern for the battle. "In truth! There was no need for youand your comrades to put yourselves to the trouble of reproaching mewith my peccadillos. Speak up frankly, are these reproaches that areusual from soldier to soldier?"

  "From soldier to soldier, no, Victorin!" resumed Douarnek with severity,"but from soldier to general, yes! We freely chose you our chief; wemust speak freely to you! The more we have loved you, you, young man,the more we have honored you, all the more are we entitled to say toyou: Keep yourself at the height of your mission!"

  "I endeavor to, brave Douarnek, by fighting at my best, by leading ourlegions in the hottest of the fray."

  "All is not said when one has done his duty in battle. You are not acaptain only, you are also a Chief of Gaul!"

  "Be it so! But why, in the name of all the devils, do you imagine, mybrave Douarnek, that as a general and a Chief of Gaul I should be lesssensitive than a soldier to the splendor of two beautiful black or blueeyes, or to the bouquet of good old white or red wine?"

  "The man chosen by free men should, even in matters that appertain tohis private life, observe wise moderation if he wishes to be beloved,obeyed and respected. Have you observed such moderation? No! Andaccordingly, having seen you swallow a pea, we have believed you capableof gulping down an ox. It is in that that we did wrong!"

  "What! My boys!" the young general replied smiling. "Did you reallythink I had such a maw as to be able to swallow a whole ox?"

  "We often saw you in your cups--we knew you to be a runner after girls.We were told that on one occasion, being intoxicated, you violated awoman, a tavern-keeper's wife on one of the isles of the Rhine, whothereupon killed herself in despair. We believed the story. Were weperhaps mistaken in that?"

  "Malediction!" cried Victorin indignantly and with grief depicted on hisface. "And you believed such a thing of my mother's son!"

  "Yes," answered the veteran, "yes--in that lay the wrong that we did. Sothat we each did wrong--you and we. We have come to notify you that weare ready to forget the past, and that our hearts remain loyal to you.We wish you, in turn, to forgive us, so that we may love you and you usas in the past. Is it agreed, Victorin?"

  "Yes," answered Victorin, deeply moved by the veteran's loyal andtouching words; "it is agreed."

  "Your hand!" replied Douarnek, "in the name of our comrades."

  "Here it is," said the young general, stooping down over his horse'sneck in order cordially to clasp the veteran's hand. "I thank you foryour frankness, my children. I shall be to you as you are to me for theglory and peace of Gaul. Without you I can do nothing; although it isthe general who carries the triumphal chaplet, it is the soldier'sbravery that weaves it, and imparts to it the purple of his own blood!"

  "It is, then, agreed, Victorin," Douarnek replied with moistening eyes."Our blood belongs to you, to the last drop--and to our beloved Gaul--toyour glory!"

  "And to my mother who made me what I am," interrupted Victorin withincreasing emotion; "and to my mother our respect, our love, ourdevotion, my children!"

  "Long live the Mother of the Camps!" cried Douarnek in a resonant voice."
Long live Victorin, her glorious son!"

  Douarnek's companions, the rest of the soldiers and officers, in short,all of us present at this scene joined in the cheers of Douarnek:

  "Long live the Mother of the Camps! Long live Victorin, her gloriousson!"

  The whole army thereupon set itself in march back to the camp while,under the protection of a legion that was ordered to watch ourprisoners, the medical druids and their aides remained on the field ofbattle to gather the dead, and tend the wounded, both Frank and Gallic.

  It was a superb summer's night, that in which the army struck the roadto Mayence. As it marched, the banks of the Rhine re-echoed to the chantof the bard:

  "This morning we say:-- 'How many are there of these barbarous hordes, Who thievishly aspire to rob us of land, Of homes, of wires and of sunshine? Yes, how many are there of these Franks?'

  "This evening we'll say:-- 'Make answer, thou sod, red drenched In 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?'"