"Better in the mouth, Brinno; but mead and ale taste better in the heart: it's home drink. And the best part is not the moist wave that runs down the throat, but the memory of many a happy hour of former drinks, which hovers over it like the rustling of a heron's wings. Well, Alemanni, when will it come to fighting? And will you seek us, or must we hunt for you?" "As the Duke chooses," replied the other, draining his cup--"and all-ruling Odin." The Batavian's face changed. "Don't name him to me! I fear _him_; you wearers of hair I don't. I've seized many a man of you with the left hand by his Suabian tail, and thrust the short Roman sword into his throat with my right. But I fear the wearer of the mantle! He is hostile to us mercenaries. It seems to me as though he were hovering in the air opposing us, wherever we fight. There, Juggler, drink again. And then show (we've seen _your_ tricks) what your bear has learned. Ought not your boy in the bushes yonder, the lame fellow, to have something too? But where is he?" "Ho, Zizais, dog of a cripple, are you deaf as well as dumb? Where are you hiding? Look, there he lies over by the spring, nearer to the ditch: he has a fever, and went for water. Now stir yourself, my brown dancing maid." He whispered in the ear of the animal which, growling, rose on its hind legs; the juggler put his long staff in its fore-paws, and now the clumsy creature turned slowly in a circle, keeping time to a monotonous melancholy tune which he first played on his huge flute and then sang, beating time on a bronze cup with a knife-blade. The Romans laughed loudly at the clumsy dancer. "What is the dainty damsel's name?" asked Rignomer. "Bruna. She can prophesy too. Take heed! Ask what you choose." Taking the staff from the bear's paws as he spoke, he laid his hand on her head. The animal now dropped down on her fore-paws and looked up intelligently at her master, who thrust some bread into her mouth. "Well, you wise Wala," laughed Rignomer, "will the Romans conquer in the next battle?" The Sarmatian lightly stroked the animal's head against the hair: the bear, growling angrily, shook her head. The Batavian started, the laugh died on his lips. "She is Donar's friend," he said dejectedly. "He speaks through her. I thought so." He spoke as if the battle had already been fought and lost. "Well," said the juggler consolingly, "I'll question her for you. Bruna, clever wood spirit, look sharply at this hero: Will he come out of this war safe and go back to his mother who brews the good mead?" He lightly stroked the bear from the forehead down toward the tail: Bruna nodded assent. "I thank thee, Donar," cried Rignomer cheerily. "What do I care for the Romans' victory? I'm going home soon. Hark ye, fellow, the clever fortune-teller pleases me. Will you sell her?"