h either from prudence or fear. No noise was heard, neither
the clang of arms, nor the hoof-strokes of horses; only the regular,
gentle murmuring of the stream, which hastened through the valley from
south to north, struck on the ears of the watchers. A burgher once
thought he heard a noise in the direction of the river, like the gentle
neighing of a horse, and a splash of the waves, as if a heavy body had
fallen or sprung into the stream; but he convinced himself that he had
been deceived, for everything remained still as before.

The nightingales sang in the bushes around the villas; their
undisturbed song testified, as one rightly judged, that neither
waggons, horses, nor warriors were in movement there.

So to gain information they turned again to the corpse of the horseman,
and to his steed, yet trembling in every limb.

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.

T