"But all we blue-eyed, yellow-haired men are sons of the dwellers in Asgard. We have all come here to the great waters front the East. So our forefathers teach us; so the harpers sing. And everywhere, on the Rhine and the Danube, the districts and peoples who formerly had such bitter feuds are gathering. This is Odin's work. He is summoning the descendants of Asgard to war against Rome. This is my last campaign under the dragon standard. In a few days my time of service will expire; then I shall go home and till my land on the Issala, where my mother and my brother and sisters live; till it with a better plough, a Roman one. And if I must fight again, I will fight for my land, against Rome. We Franks have too little room down there in the swamps of the Rhine; we must go into beautiful Gaul." "Well, this war of the Romans will soon be over. A bloodless victory." "Who knows?" Here the centurion threw himself on the ground beside Brinno and whispered: "A man from my district, who formerly fought under the Emperor Valentinian by this lake against the Alemanni, told me why in fear and horror he suddenly gave up the service and lost his pay: In a battle the Romans were vanquished. _One_ against whom no man can lift his hand without forfeiting salvation forever dashed forward on a gray charger at the head of the Alemanni wedge." "What?" asked Brinno, half incredulously, half timidly: "_He_--he-- himself?" Rignomer nodded significantly: "In the form of a white-haired Duke; so runs the legend. When sore peril threatens the dwellers by the lake he descends from the heavenly heights, warns them, conceals them from the eyes of the foe with his dark mantle of clouds; teaches them runes of victory on inaccessible mountains, and bears them suddenly away on the eagle wings of the tempest. Against him I will not fight. I vowed to serve the Imperator against men only. But hark! a tuba signal from our outposts. Whom are our mounted men bringing in?" "A messenger from the Alemanni, it seems." "Yes, a leader and two attendants. What a youth! Halt, young hero: if you wish to go into the camp to the General,--only one is permitted to ride in,--I must first cover your eyes. Dismount! You will not? Well then, turn back again." This was a severe blow to Adalo's hopes. He would so gladly have gazed keenly about him in the Roman camp, scanned ditches, walls, gates, and--two persons within that frowning palisade. He sullenly dismounted. A thick woollen blanket was thrown in loose folds over his head like a huge sack and fastened under his chin: Rignomer took him by the hand and guided him to the gate, where a centurion of the Thracians received the Barbarians' envoy.