ther than
let go. 'Give to Loge his due,' says a proverb that I have heard among
the Anglo-Saxons: the Moors and Isaurians fought desperately, man by
man covering the narrow, steep path which only offered space for two
horses. At last the Duke came to our help; he brought fresh troops, and
now in a sudden attack with levelled spears, pushing our way between
the horses, we scattered the whole entangled mass. The Bajuvaren now
used their short knives in a hand-to-hand conflict. They ran under the
long lances of the Isaurians, sprang on to the saddle of the fully
armed Moorish horsemen, and in face and throat--the only vulnerable
part--thrust the blade of their daggers; on both sides, now right, now
left, fell the enemy, horse and man, over the low breastwork of the
Roman wall on to the jagged rocks in the depths below. Nevertheless the
battle might have lasted long around the citadel; indeed, hunger alone
would have subdued those rock walls if the rest of the enemy, who now
at last fled, had gained the gate. But they did _not_ succeed in
getting within it. A great deed was done by the hand of a Bajuvarian
boy; I saw it plainly: having been overtaken by the Bajuvaren, I was,
at last, no longer fighting, but was watching the gate of the fortress,
which, high above me, was distinctly visible. I then saw that one of
the two Isaurians who there stood on guard, ran towards his fleeing
comrades; his movements plainly indicated that he was urging them to
still hastier flight into the fortress, before the barbarians should
press in with them. The other Isaurian stood on the threshold, holding
the iron bolt in his hand, ready to close the half-door from the inside
and draw the bolt as soon as the fugitives had poured in. Then,
suddenly, as if struck by lightning, the man fell forward on his face:
he stood up no more. Immediately afterwards appeared a boy with fair
hair on the tower above the gateway; he cut down with a battle-axe the
imperial purple standard, and in place of the fallen banner planted, on
a tall spear, which shone afar, a blue shield.

"'My Hortari,' then cried Garibrand, the Duke, 'my brother's son,
stolen many weeks ago, and thought dead! _His_ shield, the victorious
blue shield of our house, of our family. Forward, ye Bajuvaren! Now to
cut our way to Hortari!'

"But there was nothing more through which to cut our way; the Tribune
was not there; the slaves of the Tribune were also not to be found in
the fortress