"Where is Saturninus? I must find him!" repeated the German, springing forward again and felling the nearest Thracian with his battle axe. "Here," answered the Tribune. "But this is no time to negotiate." "No, but to die!" shouted Ebarbold, his battle axe crashing upon the huge curved shield of the Roman. It entered it without injury to the bearer. The King vainly struggled to draw out the weapon, it remained motionless, and already the Roman's short, murderous broad sword was quivering for the fatal stroke, when the gray-haired shield-bearer sprang between them and threw the shield before his master. But the Norian iron penetrated the boar hide and the wooden frame of the shield to the old man's left breast. He fell on his back, borne down by the weight of the blow. Meanwhile Ebarbold had dropped the handle of the battle axe, drawn the long unwieldy sword at his side, and swung it above the proud crest of the Roman General's helmet; but before it fell, the short Roman sword, red with the blood of the shield-bearer, pierced his throat and he sank dying by the old man's side. "You--with me--for me!" he could say no more. "Did you think I would desert you? The King of the Ebergau must not enter Odin's hall unattended. You shall not enter the door of Valhalla unattended like some man of low degree. We--have--both--kept our word--and together--with the honor of heroes we will go to Valhalla." Ebarvin's head sank on the shoulder of his King. Both were silent in death. The Illyrian had sprung forward over the bodies of the two Germans--first hewing off with his sword the handle of the battle axe still sticking in his shield--amid the wild, exulting shouts of his countrymen who had witnessed the struggle. But the men of the Ebergau were dismayed by their leader's fall; they hesitated--stopped--yielded. "Forward, down to the lake!" shouted the Tribune. "You see they are giving way." It was a dangerous moment; for, confused by the retreat of the Ebergau men, the band next behind them was wavering. CHAPTER LII. "Stand, men of the Linzgau!" shouted a clear, resonant voice, and a youth with golden-brown locks fluttering around his handsome head forced a passage through the Alemanni and Romans toward the Tribune. But the Romans had neither the inclination nor the habit of letting their General fight single combats with the Barbarian princes. A gigantic Illyrian stepped from the left of the ranks in front of his leader and aimed his spear at the youth's face. But the weapon did not fly; before he could hurl it a German boy leaped from below against the warrior, and thrust his little spear into the arm-pit, now unprotected by his suit of mail. He fell with a loud cry. "I thank you, little brother!" exclaimed Adalo and now, pressing close upon Saturninus, he called to him in Latin: "Where is Bissula?"