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Updated: May 10, 2025
But so much the more valiantly did he ply his iron-capped staff. He swung it before him with such tireless dexterity that for some time none dared to brave its blows, for each stroke carried death. The Cretan archer, waiting for the proper moment, was again aiming at the saldune, when old Deber-Trud bounded forth.
Joel's large battle mastiff, fired by these cries, rose on his hind legs and laid his fore-paws on the breast of his master, who, while caressing his enormous head said: "Yes, old Deber-Trud, like our tribe you will hunt the Romans.... The quarry shall be for you.... Your jaws shall be red with blood!... Wow! Wow, Deber-Trud! At the Romans! At the Romans!"
With one bite of his fangs, as dangerous as those of a lion, the dog tore his victim's throat so deeply that two jets of warm blood poured out on the archer's chest. Though still alive, the man could utter no sound. Deber-Trud, seeing that his prey still lived, fell upon him, roaring furiously, swallowing or throwing aside shreds of severed flesh.
Held tight where I lay under the heap of dead which was crushing me, unable to move without causing intense pain in my wounded thigh, I summoned all my remaining strength to cry out: "Hou! Hou! Deber-Trud at the Roman."
He was a dog of such boldness that he once fought a monstrous bear of the mountains of Arres, and killed him. As to his war qualities, Deber-Trud would have been worthy of figuring with the war pack of Bithert, the Gallic chieftain who at sight of a small hostile troop said disdainfully: "They are not enough for a meal for my dogs."
Such was the effect of these cries, of the sight of the combat, of the clash of arms, that the huge mastiff Deber-Trud, the man-eater, felt the ardor of battle seize also himself, and barked wildly looking up at his master, who calmed and caressed him with his hand. Perspiration covered the young bodies of the handsome and robust Julyan and Armel.
The breastplate of the Gaul is his naked bosom." And the saldune fell dead upon the body of his brother-in-arms. Both of them were avenged by Deber-Trud. The terrible dog had hurled down and was holding under his enormous paws the Cretan archer, who was uttering frightful cries.
As Deber-Trud looked over and smelled the traveler with a doubtful air, Joel said to the animal: "Do you not see he is a guest whom I bring home?" As if he understood the words, Deber-Trud ceased showing any uneasiness about the stranger, and gamboled clumsily ahead of his master into the house. The house was partitioned into three sections of unequal size.
They also ate up the snakes that they caught and that, fattened, crawled into their holes for the winter. As hunger pressed, Yvon killed and ate his hunting dog that he had named Deber-Trud in memory of the war-dog of his ancestor Joel. Subsequently the family was thrown upon the juice of barks, and then upon the broth of dried leaves.
I heard the sides of the Cretan crack and grind under the teeth of Deber-Trud, who dug and dug, burying his bloody muzzle up to the eyes in the man's chest. Then a legionary ran up and transfixed Deber-Trud with one thrust of his lance. The dog gave not a groan. He died like a good war-dog, his monstrous head plunged in the Roman's entrails.
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