Felicitas: A Tale of the German Migrations: A.D. 476 — John Shaqi
Felicitas: A Tale of the German Migrations: A.D. 476Dahn, Felix
History
Felicitas: A Tale of the German Migrations: A.D. 476
Dahn, Felix
Migrations of nations -- Fiction; Salzburg (Austria : Land) -- History -- Fiction
They saw that the horse had swum the stream, man and horse were running
with water. Why had not the fugitive made use of the bridge below the
town? Because he did not know if it were occupied? or because he did
not wish to do so? Because he had striven to bring his news the most
direct road? He had no other wound than that in the neck, caused by the
deadly arrow, from which the blood had flowed over his shoulder and
shieldless left arm. It was undoubtedly a missile like those the
Germans carried; the three-barbed point had entered very deeply, the
shot was given at a close range; the long shaft of alder-wood was
winged with the feathers of the gray heron; the blade of his long
cavalry sword was missing, the leather sheath hung empty at the right
side of his girth; the spear, which the closed right hand still
grasped, was broken at the first iron clasp by which the point was
attached, by a powerful blow from a battle-axe, not from a sword; so
that the rider had lost in close combat, helmet, shield, sword, and
spear, and in flight had received the arrow shot by his pursuer. The
dead man could be questioned no more.
But what had become of his comrades in arms?
Leo, the Tribune, had the day before sent out five of the Moorish
cavalry to take possession of a hill, two hours' journey north-west of
the town, which commanded a view of the country as far as the thick
forest to the north. A half-fallen watch-tower stood there, which had
last been repaired and occupied in the time of the Emperor Valentinian
I., now a hundred years ago.
What had become of the other four Moors?
Nobody knew.
The citizens passed an anxious night. The watch went their rounds on
the ramparts with torches, and small fires burnt at the spots where
broad flagstones covered the surface of the earth and turf.
The fires were extinguished at dawn of the early June morning; the
sentinels looked carefully out into the country in the full morning
light; there was nowhere a trace of the enemy.
Peasants came as usual from all parts into the town to sell or to buy.
They were astonished to find the gates closed. They were allowed to
pass in singly, all being carefully examined to see if they were
trustworthy people or spies, perhaps even barbarians in disguise.
But the inoffensive peasants were terrified at this unusual sharpness
of the gate-watch; to question them was without rhyme or reason. They
evidently knew nothing, and were much more zealous and anxious to
inquire in the town what had taken place.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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