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CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS
by
WILLIAM H. BABCOCK
"His Right Wheel Struck and Shattered."
CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS: A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF ARTHUR EMPEROR OF BRITAIN AND HIS KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE
HOW THEY DELIVERED LONDON AND OVERTHREW THE
SAXONS AFTER THE DOWNFALL OF ROMAN BRITAIN [Note to the text]
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PREFACE.
THE most romantic period of English history is surely that chronicled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, sung by Alfred Tennyson, put into modern story by Sidney Lanier, and told in pictures by Abbey--the days of the knightly and royal Arthur of Britain.
To ascertain, as nearly as may be, the real truth of that time, and embody a typical part of it in the guise of modern fiction, has been the labor of years, that has finally found expression by the writer in this romance of love and valor--the story of Prince Cian of the mistletoe crest, Cian of the Chariots.
That it may make more real the deeds of that remote and misty time when the last wave of Roman occupation was receding from Britain, when, between Rome and barbarism, between Christianity and heathendom, stood only the conquering sword of that splendid knight of the Round Table and the Holy Grail, Arthur the Emperor, is the hope of the author, who here presents the old tale in modern dress for modern readers.
It was a stirring and pivotal time.
In The Two
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Lost Centuries of Britain we read: "The true story of the Arthurian campaigns would seem to be this. At the same time with the grand assault of Cerdic at Netley, or in the confusion following the death of Ambrose, the northern Saxons came crowding down. Arthur, issuing from Caer Lerion (formerly Ratae, now Leicester), met their army as it crossed the valley of the Glem; drove it back to the mouth of that stream, and there inflicted on the shore of the Wash a defeat whereby men chiefly remembered the campaign. The Saxons may have taken to their boats and escaped him by sea. One result of his victory was the relief of Caer-lud-coit (Lindom, Lincoln), which had long been standing isolated beyond the true border. No doubt the uplands of Lincolnshire were regained.
"At the west the border-line had been carried back to the Mersey. Chester was in danger. The young general went to its relief; took the offensive; pressed the Saxons northward to the Duglas, and struck them a severe blow near Wigan. Perhaps for the time he drove them from the little valley.
"But they returned in greater force the next season, and the next, and the next. The bone of contention was there, in spite of indecisive victory, until at last he was able to drive them bodily north as far as Westmoreland. A final success on the Pesa made a complete clearance of all that region.
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"But the Deirans of York were unbroken as yet, although beaten
back along both lines of approach. They invented a third, by way of surprise,
and fell into a trap, whence, by all accounts, none issued alive and free. Hardly
any event made a deeper impress on the minds of that generation than this total
overthrow in the haunted wood of Celidon.
"Now the scene moves to the southward. At this time Arthur may first have been formally invested with the supreme command throughout Britain. As Guledig, or Imperator, what a claim London must have had upon him; the most renowned of all his cities, though fallen into decay; the most recalcitrant, and thus in need of conciliation; the most endangered, so requiring aid. He found her with the enemy before the walls, the irrational hope of superstition in her heart."
Our story opens after the battle of the Pesa or Bassa, and while both sides were gathering their forces, and beginning to move toward that still more decisive encounter in the wood of Celidon. Arthur, already Emperor, has sent Cian and Llywarch as envoys to summon the aid of the semi-independent city.
All else that is needful will reveal itself as the story goes on.
WILLIAM
H. BABCOCK.
ROCK HAVEN, NEAR GEORGETOWN,
March
12, 1898.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. CIAN TO THE RESCUE 9
II. WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE 23
III. THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE 35
IV. THE RETURN TO THE VILLA 45
V. A DIP INTO OLD ROME 52
VI. THE HOME OF AURELIA 57
VII. FEAST AND SONG 72
VIII. LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL 78
IX. THE EMPEROR AND THE QUEEN 98
X. A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE 104
XI. THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN 120
XII. ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE 125
XIII. FOREBODING AND DANGER 133
XIV. THE CONFLICT AT THE LAKE VILLAGE 140
XV. LONDON BEFORE THE STORM 150
XVI. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD 162
XVII. THE FIRST SERVICE OF THE CHARIOTS 172
XVIII. THE MIRTHFULNESS OF GUINEVERE 181
XIX.. ARTHUR AT LEGIOLUM 190
XX. IN THE VALES OF ARGOED 195
XXI. A RIDE THROUGH THE SAXON-WASTED LAND 202
XXII. AMONG THE CAVE-DWELLERS OF THE SCAUR 208
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XXIII. THE RIDE TO ISURIUM AND A WILDER RIDE HOME-WARD 224
XXIV. FROM LOIDIS TO LEGIOLUM 241
XXV. ARTHUR IN COUNCIL 248
XXVI. IN THE FOREST OF CELIDON 255
XXVII. A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN LANCELOT AND VORTIMER 260
XXVIII. THE NIGHT BATTLE OF THE GREAT WOOD 271
XXIX. THE BLOWING OF THE ELFIN HORN 279
XXX. THE DEATH OF AN ARMY 286
XXXI. THE TOKEN OF OISIN AND THE MARCH TO LONDON 292
XXXII. BROUGHT TO THE LIGHT 299
XXXIII. HOW ARTHUR AND CIAN RAISED THE SIEGE 309
XXXIV. THE MYSTERIES OF MONA 330
XXXV. HOW ARTHUR DEALT WITH THE HEATHEN 338
XXXVI.. THE FIERY TRIAL OF CIAN 345
XXXVII. AURELIA AT CAMELOT 352
XXXVIII. HOW SANAWG WAS THE SUMMONER OF CIAN 357
XXXIX. THE LONG BATTLE OF CAMELOT 362
XL. HOW CIAN SAVED ARTHUR FROM CERDIC 377
XLI. ALL WELL ENDED 390
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CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS.
CHAPTER I.
CIAN TO THE RESCUE.
Thou Guider of the chariot of Arthur.
--GILDER.
RED through the fringe of the river of mist, it shone to the eye of Cian, Arthur's
fighting man, Briton of Britons, prince and poet of the north. The sunset was
on him. He had halted a little over the round of the hill, where the ancient Ermine
way came southward out of the woods.
He marvelled at the unwholesome ruddiness in that dying light,
the parti-colored streaking of distemper, the ruinous upjutting of wall and house-top
bathed in the dimming vapor. Only in one spot a white tower, delicately strong,
lifted itself high above the reek. He knew it for the work of a people whom he
did not love, a race that had but lately melted from the land, with its magic
of beauty and of power. And still the vapor shroud flowed on above the liv-
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ing stream, and the town enfeebled and hidden, until it spread over the eastern
marshes like an inland sea.
The soul of London seemed melting by him, and away. He called
to mind the young strength and glory of Camelot, the ripe splendor of far Caerleon.
Words of forecast came to him, as they came full often and strangely. He said
aloud, "A city in its winding-sheet; a dying city."
A strong figure was that of Cian Gwenclan; every way memorable.
Cian of the chariots, men oftenest called him; Cian of the golden mail, from
the flexile body-garment,--a filmy corselet hiding the good bronze or steel,--which
burned even now in the low sunbeams. Over the heart a single spray of mistletoe
was wrought in silver. It had a magical look and name. This repute often befriended
him.
His chariot stood near,--for almost alone among northern princes
he fought and journeyed in the light rushing war-vehicle of elder Britain,--the
brown horse turning from the light, the carven boar's head grinning on the front
of it, the helmet and weapons glowing within where he had flung them down.
His eyes were deep, dark, and bright in that western glow,
his face dark and vivid also,--a warrior-minstrel face of action and many musings.
The hair fell to his shoulders in masses, fine, glossy black, gently waving.
He wore the long mustache also of his time. He had the bearing and stature befitting
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an equestrian of Arthur's court, a veteran of rough campaigns.
There came a patter of hoofs behind; and Llywarch of Argoed,
in the saddle, drew up at his side. Llywarch had the fuller outline, a trifle
the lesser height. His raised visor showed a younger-looking countenance, winning
and flushed. The heart shone out of it. There were mischief and waywardness
in the hazel eyes, but also uprightness and clear wisdom at need. Like his friend
Cian and many others of their rank, in that romantic day, he touched the harp-strings,
and put words of melody to them; although not yet had suffering and loss wrung
from him that enduring poetry which later ages associate with his name.
"Not the cheerfullest of places," quoth he, with a glance
at the city. "Yet after all it is no more than water in the air. And you--hatching
prophecy and destruction, I warrant? You look it."
Cian regained his seat, and replied: "I have been waiting
for a man who has time to follow stray footmarks in the woods, when the emperor
sends him."
Llywarch grew sober. "It was an archer who made that footprint,"
said he, "a lively fellow who can hit his mark from a swaying bough. See here,"
and he put his finger to an arrow-dent in his casque. "By the time I was right
in the saddle again my grinning marksman was gone. I followed as far as
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a brookside, but that was all of him. I began to fear that he would let fly
at me out of the water."
"A Saxon?"
"Not a doubt of that."
"So near the great city? When the stag weakens, the wolves
gather. Listen."
They looked at each other, as the cry of a wolf indeed came
lugubriously from the depth of the wood. As they rode on, it opened again, with
purpose in it; then another and another, a succession of racing voices.
They were descending a tongue of the highlands which tapered
very gradually into the marsh by the northern wall. On their left a depression
deepened and widened into a ravine, where mist-films were drifting, and water
murmured. Beyond it, farther down, they could discern the outline of some large
low building. Lights were coming out in it. Beyond, masses which might be villa
ruins half showed themselves. But everything grew momently thicker to the sight,
and, indeed, could scarcely be seen with certainty at all, unless it stood on
high ground in the very eye of the west.
They had neither met nor passed any wayfarer. The road was
all their own. No sound came to them but of the wolves, the low-complaining
runnel, and the uneasy soul of London, murmuring. It was a region where great
wealth had been and should be
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again, but not the remotest wilderness could be more lonesome and desolate.
"Are they after us, I wonder?" queried Llywarch, with a smile;
for armed and mailed men had no need to concern themselves at that season. It
was comical to be wolf-hunted, with an emperor's despatches, into one of the
great cities of the world.
"Hardly," answered Cian. "It seems rather like the purposeless
demon-hunting of old tales and winter nights. Listen. See."
He pointed down obliquely to where that sinister hurrying
chorus came up again from the slant of the farther side. Fancy and eye-straining
gave them vision of dim, long, swollen figures, making forward ravenously. The
lights of the villa were seen in sudden motion, and voices called with anxious
inquiry and dismay. The horses meanwhile made wild haste down the road, the
mere presence of the wolves being more than any whip or spur.
Then from over the gulf came the scream of a child and a woman's
call for aid, in evident extremity of need. They shouted back, and plunged down
together, uncertain of obstacles, forcing the horses on as into the shock of
battle. As they went they could hear before them exclamations of horror and
repulsion, the child's broken wailing, and the ring of metal on stone; but no
more call to them, for the woman knew they were coming.
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Only as Cian sped up alone over the crest, a glad cry broke
from her. He saw the sweep of a great weapon, and heard a brutish howl. Then
his right wheel struck and shattered, the chariot spun round, pitching over,
and he barely saved himself by a forward leap. That landed him among the already
scattering pack, and his sword cut into them right and left, as he made his
way to her.
He had not, for long, the picture before him there which abode
in memory always. Where some white goddess had toppled over in the ruin of the
villa garden, on the tall pedestal the lady towered above her crouching sister,
the over-heavy battle-axe shearing every way in her hands, a divine maid, the
very genius of armed and wrathful protection.
Instantly her enemies were gone. The mist of the deep hollow
received them. With long breaths, she dropped her weapon behind her, and leaned
back on the helve of it, unhurt, her brow smoothing itself, and a smile growing
in her face, but weariness growing also.
"I cannot tell you how I thank you," she said, with labor,
as he came near, holding out hands of aid. "Go, Sylvia," she added faintly.
Pretty Sylvia was still in the bewilderment of terror; but
she glanced upward at her tall sister in new concern and surprise,--for how
could weakness be there? Then she gave herself, nestling and shudder-
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ing, to the arms of the stranger. When he had set her down beside him, she remained
watchful and silent, except for a word of persuasion,--"Aurelia! Aurelia!"--as
he reached up his hands again.
"I must be a Saxon this time, and rob the pedestal," said
he reassuringly.
She waved his hand aside with a smile, then laid her own on
his shoulder to descend." I would rather not be pulled down and broken.
That is the Saxon way," said she.
But she lingered, swaying.
He watched her, fearing a fall, and ready; yet answered,"
I do not carry my animosity so far. Though I have little love for Roman gods,
old or new."
"Then I will be Hecate no longer," she said, laughing weakly,
and let herself down with a half spring.
It was her utmost endeavor. As her feet touched the ground,
she bent, and would have quite fallen, but for his arm thrown around her. She
had no choice but to rest against him a moment.
"The goddess of feebleness, if there ever was one!" she murmured
ruefully.
I am Cian Gwenclan," he said. "Rest easy. Breath and vigor
will come again."
Small wonder if he were not very eager for that revival, her
face being very near his shoulder, her
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form close against his own. Her imperial womanliness, unwillingly appealing,
carried his whole nature by storm. In all his stirring life, Cian had never
felt so almost fiercely happy.
"Cian of the Chariots? Prince Cian of the golden mail, whom
we have heard about?" she said after an interval; then she straightened herself,
remembering that this knowledge had first come by touch. But she added frankly,
"Before you spoke I knew you. My name you have heard. My father is Constantine
the merchant, grandson of Constans, who was Cæsar, as you know. And to-night--but
that does not matter. Our home is just above, the only one left near. But for
you, the wolves would have torn us."
There was an involuntary movement toward him, but she felt
the little one pulling distressfully at her tunic.
"What makes him smile so?" demanded Sylvia. "I don't like
him to smile that way."
She did not mean Cian, though some such odd notion at first
came into his mind. Her gaze was on a dark wolf-form which lay twitching, too
low for them to see plainly. Cian took up the axe, and ended it at a blow.
"That was hardly needed," he said. "You should be a warrior
maiden of olden time, such as the legends tell."
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"It was the weapon," she said. "I picked up that massive thing,
as I hurried out after our truant."
"Massive--yes! And I have borne arms up the hills by the Duglas,
and in the deep sands of the Glem."
By this time lights and voices were wandering anxiously. She
called back to them. Cian added his voice, "Ho, Llywarch!" as they with Sylvia
began moving away.
For answer the horse of the prince of Argoed came and stood
riderless before them. Cian gave a quick cry; then called vehemently, "Llywarch!
Llywarch! Llywarch!"
In the confusion of voices now centring on them he could not
find that of his friend; but a sound of savage worrying came up out of the hollow.
He wavered for a moment. "Go!" said she, and he began rushing down the slope.
At a little distance the answer of Llywarch halted him; and as Cian turned aside,
the two were together.
"The child--the woman?" Llywarch demanded.
"Safe,--but I feared"--
"What, that the messenger of Arthur had gone to the wolves?
No, man, I am all here--and rather more of me by weight than formerly. For I
have been headlong into the mire, I promise you."
"But what is that?" indicating the noise below.
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"I cannot say. Let us see."
Guided by ear, they came presently on a clump of dark bodies
in turmoil, working away mercilessly at something on the ground. Cian had drawn
back his sword, when lantern-light shone on it and its living target. Several
voices called on him to forbear. "They are our brave house-guards," Aurelia explained,
as she joined them. "Off, Dorwach! Here, Juno!"
They were beyond mistaking now. The body of the great mastiff
was too thick and furry for any of his wild kin; and though the hound, his companion,
was leaner and smoother, no wolf ever came thus gambolling about a mistress.
Little Sylvia screamed, for there was blood all over their jaws, and the lamplight
made it vivid, while their antics brought it very near.
"One of the wounded enemy," said Llywarch, bending over something
which they had left. "Served as Caowl, the woodlander, would serve a Saxon.
I have no liking for that inhuman way."
"The dogs have done well," said one of the attendants, in
surly protest.
"Well for dogs with wolves," replied Aurelia. " Not so well
for men with men. You see," she added, turning to the gentlemen, "our people
have no wish to be the thralls of sea-robbers."
Llywarch was examining the dead wolf closely.
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"A strong blow," said he. " I marvel the beast got so far. Shoulder bitten through
from in front--blade-bitten. Chest laid half open. A strong blow--yet not a
man's blow," he added, raising himself inquiringly.
"I remember the frightful creature," said Aurelia, quivering
a little. "He was the worst of them."
"This is the lady whose father we were bidden to have speech
with," said Cian, and presented his friend in due form.
"Also," remarked Llywarch, "the lady who saved herself while
two fighting men of Arthur's camp were making a poor pretence of coming to her
aid." He drew his face down ruefully.
"I was not stuck in a bog," observed Cian.
For indeed all the upper part of Prince Llywarch was eloquent
beyond expounding, the helmet, especially, being two or three of itself in mass,
notwithstanding a continual dislodgement. The domestics began laughing. Even
Aurelia half joined. "Come," said she, "we who caused your distress at least
will relieve it. Surely you will go no farther now."
Llywarch shook his head. "Our first charge is to deliver,
somewhat within the gates," he said. "To our grief, we may not tarry--unless
there be other noble damsels by the way who keep tryst with wild animals in
the dark."
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"You will find none," she said; "all is waste between here
and the walls."
"And you linger on with the wolves?"
"We linger. But they rarely come ravening like this. It is
held an evil sign."
"Of the Saxon?"
"So say our people; and there has been dreadful work eastward.
However, by day all is yet safe here from man and beast. This is a rare place
for play, and garden flowers run wild. No doubt Sylvia slipped off on some such
quest, and lingered until the twilight surprised her. Was it not so, Sylvia?"
The child began to whimper at the remembrance. "Let us go
home; do let us go home," was her imploring cry.
"Patience, darling. Yet I, too, think that would be well.
Gentlemen, I urge no one from duty; but since you have errands with my father,
we may perhaps hope to see you soon again."
"But is he not at the city?"
"Yes; and it is as well. Though if spared the wolf-howling
and worrying"--
"He enjoys other fraternal sounds. There they are again."
From distant London angry calls came confusedly.
"Yes," she replied with a sigh; "farewell, until you return--with
my gratitude."
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"Ours, much rather," said Cian and Llywarch in a breath.
As they spoke she turned away with her men. From the other
side the princes' horses were brought. There was a saddle on Cian's already.
It was bridled also. They regained the road easily, and pressed on again.
"A surpassing woman!" commented Llywarch, after silence.
"Imperial," assented Cian. "Hence our errand, it may be."
The words had an ill taste evidently.
"Cian," said Llywarch with seriousness, "it is hardly for
us to judge. But the emperor will not, I deem, look outside of the house of
Caradoc. He can very ill spare the right arm of his realm and host; but he knows
if there were one man here such as she, London would count for Britain."
"There is her father."
"He is the last you should praise. Rome has gone. You cannot
turn the stream backward. That is what Constantine seeks to do. Nevertheless,
he may have a trial."
But there was more against Constantine than his worship of
old. He had thriven vastly in trade, whatever his claim by birth, beginning
with hidden stores put by in the great exodus with the legions, to be found
by those who knew. He could marshal wealth and the wealth-bringers mightily
and with
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skill; and very proud he was of some resemblance in feature to that great Julius
who crossed the Rubicon into empire. But the dread of loss came easily to him;
and he had the trader's instinct to conciliate and bargain, rather than the
iron hand of the soldier, holding its purpose with firm grip unto the end.
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CHAPTER II
WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE.
Of manly disposition was the youth.
--ANEURIN.
THE two travellers passed from the high ground to the causeway which pierced
the strip of marsh that lay just beyond the city wall at and near the Ermine
gate. The air was foul, the fog wrapping them closely. Dim forms, which might
mean anything, even fancy, brushed by them. All sounds were muffled. Those ahead,
though near, had seemingly grown more distant. The wall, when at last it loomed
over them, was very welcome.
Ascending a little, they entered a broad gateway. A light
shone transversely. They saw before them the glint of crossing metal, and the
two helmeted spearmen who thus barred their way. The customary challenge was
given.
"We are friends," answered Llywarch, "and glad enough to get
in out of the corpse-breath. We are officers of Arthur the Emperor, too, no
matter what we may look like in this guise."
His eyes ran dismally over himself.
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"Moreover, we bear a letter from him to your city rulers,"
added Cian.
The soldiers were opening the way, awed, yet grinning as often
as their eyes met the figure of the miry Prince of Argoed; but one came forward,
lantern in hand, with a light, quick step, at whose gesture the spear-points
dropped again.
"Your first words," he said, "would have let you through over
willingly, for a British fighting man is of all men the most welcome just now.
And I do not doubt you shall have the greater honor for slight delay. But this
is matter of moment, it would seem, and must be referred to the captain of the
guard. Call him;" and he turned to one of the men.
They could see that he had a slight figure, unarmored, as
though he had risen in haste to make inquiry; a young subaltern, it was plain,
and of a type to hold boyishness well into riper years. Close-curling hair between
red and gold, a light pointed mustache, an alert, intelligent face, a mantle
of rich red stuff and tossing embroidery, a general impression of quick motion
and brightness,--these made up the rest of the half-shadowed picture. All his
attire ran very near a delicate foppery. A two-edged sword of the old leaf pattern
hung sheathed from his side. His belt bore also a dagger and an elfin-like forester's
horn.
Cian looked him over, with sudden recognition.
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"I know you very well, Dynan, son of the Three Shouts; it
seems, though, you do not remember me."
Dynan's face lighted responsively. He stepped forward, offering
his hand.
"How should I know you," he answered, " without your chariot,
and back yonder in the shadow. Moreover, you have thrown something around the
natural golden glitter of you," as indeed the dense fog had prompted.
"And this," he continued, "Llywarch of Argoed, surely!--in
misfortune?" and he began to laugh.
"Yes, Llywarch, who swam the Duglas with you to get at certain
Saxons. He would like to swim a few more rivers just now. Known at present as
Llywarch the Wallower."
"We thought you had gone home," said Cian.
"Rightly," answered Dynan. "But who could stay there? By the
time all my neighbors had quarrelled with me because I wouldn't make fairy gold
according to my lineage, and hadn't any coin of my own, I found it best to do
my fighting farther away, in town-service.
"And so you chose London!" suggested Llywarch disparagingly.
Dynan raised his eyes with a quick movement. "Not first nor
most wisely," said he. "I have eaten the bread of Caer Segeint the Beautiful.
I have held
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the gates, also, of the White Town of the Wrekon, the Shining City. But this--I
call it the sulking den, the cave of unreason, the hive that quarrels inwardly,
unappeasably."
"Don't snarl at the paymaster, lad. Never do that," announced
a strong voice, nearing them. A hand was laid familiarly on Dynan's shoulder--a
hand with a strong tendency to grip, and showing the knuckles over plainly;
for this Osburn the Frank was a very oak of a man, everything about him giving
the impression of rooted strength. He had a large forehead over keen blue eyes,
and a way of thrusting out his long chin, as he uttered his curt sentences.
His broad, bony face was bearded all over with stubble, in contrast to the mustachioed
Britons.
"I am centurion of the gate," he explained." That is all just
now. Where I am put, I stay. Where I am sent, I go. And I don't growl about
it. I don't, if the money comes. What, then, have you brought us?"
"A letter-imperial from Arthur, our emperor," answered Llywarch
formally. "It is addressed to the ruler or rulers of London, by his or their
proper style or title, whosoever and whatsoever he or they--and it--may be."
Osburn's face twitched with grim enjoyment.
"The council is trying to find out," he replied dryly." They
will scarce hear you to-night."
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"I pray you arrange for audience to-morrow then," said Cian.
"The emperor will bear no trifling."
"Amen!" responded Osburn. "A strong hand is needed. Dynan,
see who is uppermost at the basilica. If Constantine, all will be well. Tell
him. If not--the best you can. Shout, if beset. Any one of the three shouts,--your
inheritance."
Dynan laughed. "About all of it, except a fund of tolerance
for bad jokes."
Forthwith he was gone for his armor.
Following Osburn, who followed Dynan, the envoys entered,
through a narrow side passage, a lighted guard-room in a bastion-like thickening
of the wall. Here all seemed in practicable order and readiness. Armor, chiefly
bronze, hung on the walls with a reddening gleam. Weapons were shining where
they leaned together in corners or from racks that held them. Large men of divers
aspects, though sufficiently alike in attire, sat about or lounged or stood.
One pair of them looked up from a board of draughts, or some such game. A soldierly
set, but gathered from everywhere, for a few seemed Britons.
Osburn turned to Llywarch: "Better leave your shell, it needs
brightening;" and, at the word, one came forward, grimacing, to render aid.
It was not possible to look at the mud-caked paladin very solemnly. He took
their mirth cheerily, as usual.
Presently they were ushered into what had been
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a series of cells, where, on the smallest possible scale, the Roman officers had
persisted of old in their elaborate bathing system. The ornaments were mostly
plastered over now, and the partitions knocked down for greater elbow room; but
water was to be had very amply.
Passing thence to the dining-hall, they found it absurdly narrow
for its length, as the conditions compelled. The mural paintings were preserved,
though fading; two long processionals, which could never have been very good.
On the board sundry Roman pieces of varying merit still held their ground amid
spoils of raid or purchase, mementos brought from over sea, and chance findings
of every kind, a very strange medley. A vase of coralline Samian ware, with hunting
scenes winding over it, beside a green-ribbed Saxon goblet, translucent and tapering
slenderly; a silver platen alive with racing nymphs under an acorn-shaped cup,
older than the Celts, of polished Kimmeridge coal.
Two other officers awaited them at supper; and soon the soldiers
off guard came in, taking the lower seats.
The talk began, wandered, then came to an end. All saw that
Osburn was listening uneasily. At last he held up Dynan's elfin horn--transparent
as the summer heaven, yet threaded with wild scrollwork of fire.
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"He has left what some call his luck," said Osburn gravely,
neither denying nor affirming, as became a man who had served respectfully under
many gods, and knew that strange influences were astir among men.
"But we have it, and he goes on our errand," answered Llywarch.
"Do you thus read the omen?"
"God forbid that we should waste time in construing what a
few minutes will reveal. But ask Cian, if you will. He has been to the Druids."
One of the lesser officers looked at Cian with heightened
interest. The other made the sign of the cross.
Cian's lip twitched. "Oh, this horn is not of the devil,"
said he. "You know the tale."
"Not certainly," said Osburn.
"Then my prophecy is that Llywarch, being glib of tongue
and smooth of humor, will surely tell you."
Llywarch bowed low, but fell in with their wish. "Before our
time," he said, "there were dwarfs and elves and powers of enchantment in the
land, as all men know; and some have lingered on in hidden places, now and then
showing themselves, for good or ill, to one of our race. In deep glens and forest
shadows you meet them, it is said, and chiefly by the fountains that come bubbling
up with the life of the under-world.
Page 30
"In such a country as this dwelt Dynan's mother's mother's
mother, I know not how remote in ancestry. One day, passing through the meadows
to bathe, as was her custom, in a secret pool fed by undying springs under curtaining
boughs, she heard a faint cavern-muffled call from before her, and was minded
to return. But coming a little nearer, she found the place quite vacant, save
for dipping ouzels and water-rats that went gliding away. Having waited a while,
she laid aside her garments, and stepped in through the shallows. Then again
out swelled the cry, but now deep-throated, vehement, exultant, and very near,
seeming to heave up the water before some bodily presence. It thrilled and wrapped
and all but overcame her; yet she sprang away, snatching her clothing, and wrapping
it around her as she ran. And, running thus, she heard yet a third time that
voice of the under-world, but now sent after her in accents of more than human
despair. Yet she had seen no form at all; and the Three Shouts was the only
name she could ever give, or which might be given."
"But what is this to Dynan?" demanded Osburn.
"Why, if the story be told truly, she must have sought that
pool again--overcoming her fear, or because of it, for there are strange things
in enchantment. It is thought, also, she made tryst with him otherwhere. A dimness,
not human nor heavenly, was seen beside her in lonely rambles; and one starlit
Page 31
eve she had vanished quite away. Long afterward she returned, and bore a son
among her own people, with a tale of wedlock in wild, lonely places, by rites
unknown; and this magical token, wrought by no earthly hand, she showed as her
voucher. When the right lips blow it, the voice of the Three Shouts will be
sent abroad, and hosts of terrible power will come to the rescue. But they exact
their price, and claim their own."
Cian took the horn from Osburn's hand, poising it carefully.
"Shall I blow it, for trial?" said he.
"Forbear!" cried his host uneasily.
Even while he yet held it, yielding, there came a far cry
to them. All looked through the wall windows toward the house-lights, which
glimmered across a broad open belt.
"No distress in that!" exclaimed Osburn. "He is on the way."
"Good," said Llywarch. "Now make Cian tell you how he saved
a pack of wolves this evening from a terrible lady."
"What!"
"Aurelia, daughter of Constantine," explained Cian gravely.
"So she fought the wolves?" queried Osburn.
"Protecting her little sister."
"And she hewed down well?"
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"You should have seen. But the axe wearied her."
"Of course, of course!" and Osburn looked from one of his
officers to another with eager appeal. "There's a woman, grand and lovely! Emperor's
blood, they say. A king's daughter, at any rate! To-night will show."
Some of his men looked uncertain or indifferent, but the most
were evidently with him. Cian and Llywarch turned to each other in congratulation.
"For how long?" suggested Cian.
"There you have it. That is the worst. How long?--I don't know.
I don't know my own title in this place. One day I am centurion--when the Romans,
as they call themselves, are uppermost. The next, I am commander of a hundred--then
the Britons, so called, rule. Once Constantine has been consul; once, tribune.
Now he is to be king. And there have been chiefs and princes and governors, and
what not. And the factions wrangle, and the city goes to ruin, and the Saxons
draw nearer, and the wolves howl about the gates. Whatever else we need, we need--Arthur."
Seeing that he longed for it, they told him then fully of
Arthur the Guledig,--Arthur the Emperor, as men would say. They told what manner
of man this was in camp and court and daily converse, who had risen steadily,
a star of hope for all the land;
Page 33
his campaigns, how fought, and whither tending; his every hope and plan so far
as made known among his following, while yet he stood there by the northern
border, watchful. "Stanch men, like you," said Llywarch, "are men after his
own heart."
Osburn kept silence a minute. Much of this did not come newly
to him; but it was a tale well told again, and they rounded hints and fragments
with fuller and surer knowledge. At last he said,--
"I like the wise brain; I like the strong hand--the man who
can learn from Rome, live for Britain, and yet value any soldier. That leader
is mine who has never yet been beaten. If they choose Constantine, and he chooses
me, London is for Arthur."
They looked at him with widened interest, for he spoke assuredly.
His men followed with sounds and signs of applause, but their eyes opened as
at something new.
"May it indeed be so!" Cian answered. "What force have you
here?"
"A legion--which is a half-legion--in fair shape, at the gates
and the White Tower. And the citizens turn out--sometimes. And there are always
spears--a few--about Caer Collin, our worst border. And the foresters will fight,
but as readily against us, for Vortimer of the Andred-wood. The city is full
of them now. That is Dynan's danger. What keeps him?"
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"You can't go fast through the fog."
"True. But it's too long. By St. John!--too long."
For Osburn was confusedly Christian in his swearing. He clenched
his hand as he spoke; when another cry from Dynan brought them all to their
feet together. It came from far to the right, and this time there could be no
doubt at all of its exceeding urgency. In a breath each man snatched his armor,
and then all went tumbling out--one on the heels of another--except the very
few that Osburn's hasty word in passing bade remain on guard. He restored some
part of order as they ran.
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CHAPTER III.
THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE.
He that was the shelter in battle.
--LLYWARCH.
OSBURN'S precautions, rapid though they were, held him a little behind his
anxious guests. Presently these also parted company in the fog; and Cian,
being the nimbler, found himself racing on alone, with merely sound for a
guide.
There had been enough of it all that evening about London;
but it was easy to single one commotion with the din of real combat in it.
He made this his aim, shouting ahead to hearten Dynan and the two or three
soldiers who were with him.
The moon was up now, though pale and slender, and the veil
began slowly thinning away. They were in that forsaken belt left by Roman
custom between houses and city wall; in this instance broader than usual by
reason of the dying of the outskirts, and also much more desolate. Now they
were stumbling over ruinous brickwork; now routing dim sneaking beast forms
out of their lairs, and sending them scurrying onward; now splashing through
pools and mire which
Page 36
proved that the northern marsh was beginning to spread within the wall.
Suddenly Osburn and Llywarch, now together, were aware of
figures dimly flitting backward from them; and at a turning by an old corner
of masonry a fury of weapons, curses, limbs, and faces came at them all together,
holding them for a moment. Then it vanished as suddenly.
Cian heard the clash and uproar obliquely behind him, but
kept on. A light and agile figure leaped in front of him, with the voice of
the elf-son Dynan. "So near? I came for aid; come now!" Forthwith he was flying
back, while Cian followed as best he could. It was not their first race into
danger, but no wholly mortal man could equal that speed.
For a moment the elf-son was lost to sight, then discovered
in violent action, while a form flew from him, moaning. He sprang, his sword
fell again, and he sped on. As Cian passed the spot, a form, dead or living,
at full length, nearly tripped him. Glancing back, he could see fighting,
or fancy that he saw it, where tumult had broken out afresh around the voice
of Llywarch. At the crossing of a little rill, two men faced him; but he sprang
by, dealing one of them a backward blow. Twenty yards farther he saw Dynan
spring on the skirts of a throng with nimble execration, while men scattered
right and left. Before they closed again Cian also was cutting vehe-
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mently among them, while a third figure broke outward to his aid. The three
together made such clearance that they won swiftly to a little apse or shrine
which had served already as a shelter.
Here some pious legionary had reared, of old, a small temple,
it may be to Juno or Proserpine, doubtless a lovely thing in its day. But
the pillars had fallen long ago, and very little indeed remained beside that
cave-like half-dome and its supporting walls, with two forward running wings
of masonry, which left only a narrow entrance with a litter of fragments before
it. Inside, three or four men could yet find room, though not with ample motion.
A soldier crouched there, unable to dash out with his comrade, but holding
his spear forward still.
Cian took a step out of the portal, and his foot slipped on
the rounded body of the deity cast down. His hand, coming on it to stay his fall,
was wet with blood. A dead man lay half across the marble, face on breast.
There had like to be another; for the enemy, very near,
took advantage of his mishap, and one spear at least would surely have gone
through him, but that Dynan turned it, and leaped in, thrusting thrice to
a breath, until the point found an undefended spot and the man fell. In a
moment the elf-son was out and beyond, flitting over obstacles and under blows,
bounding, twisting, lunging and striking, everywhere
Page 38
at once, like a figure driven by some prodigious spring-work.
Cian, busy enough himself, kept an eye on this darting friend,
for he felt that the ending of it all must be very near. Twice he dashed out
to Dynan's aid, but each time that ally was elsewhere already. At last, with
a great bound, the nimble-footed fellow came over one of the masonry wings,
landing close behind Cian. Then he gave forth once, brokenly, his peculiar
call for aid, and fell exhausted before the entrance and the altar.
Cian stepped back, watching warily the rush that followed,
and making the best use of edge and point that he could. The strait was so
narrow and cumbered that there was rarely a chance for a full blow; but his
enemies were hampered likewise, and they also jostled each other, while not
one was nearly a match in fence for the best swordsman, save two, of Arthur's
court. Had there been but fair light to see him, the tall dark prince of the
northern hills, sword in hand, framed by the rough temple archway, had never
appeared more grandly. From each side of him, too, a spear-point darted out,
gashing one or another of his assailants in breast or limb, as they were driven
over near.
More than once they surged quite up to him, ebbing again
after fierce stabbing at close quarters, almost like throbbing of steel. Rather
by touch than
Page 39
by sight, he knew that some of them were in armor, some skin-clad, some all
but naked, and with weapons as various. "Who are they?" he asked, at a half-minute's
breathing spell.
The soldier first wounded was beyond answering. The other
replied weakly, "Foresters, rabble, a few of our own men, townspeople who
have bought armor, all sorts"--
But again they were on him together, at the closest quarters
and with the deadliest intent. One led them whom he had marked before as the
most persistent of all, a shorter man than himself, yet of good height and
very active, with sinewy arms and a passionately hostile face. "Tigernach,
Tigernach!" he cried, as if his ominous name were a spell.
"And I am Cian Gwenclan," was the proud answer. At the same
time the moon shone out more plainly. However paled in that gleam, there could
be no mistaking the golden lustre nor the silver spray.
Now indeed it seemed that a spell was working very strangely.
Tigernach drew back bodily, shouldering those behind him. "It is Cian of the
Chariots," he cried, turning. "I will not fight him of the golden mail, the
heirloom of the awful dead. I will not fight the mistletoe, nor yet Arthur
the Guledig."
"Why not," said one, "if he lays open my arm?"
Nevertheless, they swayed about, with signs of melting;
then vanished dispersedly, as hurrying calls
Page 40
were heard near at hand. Other forms fleeted by, with Llywarch hotly behind
them.
"Praise Mary!" he cried, seeing his friend yet living.
"For letting good men be slain while doing their duty?"
inquired Cian, with a glance at the dead soldier. "Or for the wonderfully
swift feet of Argoed?"
"Swift enough," said Dynan, as he rose achingly by sheer will.
"See what comes of swiftness. But where's Osburn?"
For answer, they could hear a new clangor and cursing voices
not far away. Hurrying thither,--Dynan for once hobbling desperately in the
rear,--they came on the stout centurion, with two or three of his men, holding
a clump of the enemy penned in an angle of a broken wall, whence they endeavored
to escape, now and then one succeeding. But they did not stir Osburn from
his foothold. His blows and anathemas were hammer-like, men rattling down
under them. Just as his re-enforcement came up, the last few of these human
rats in a trap, with a frantic effort, went scrambling over the ragged masonry
behind them, while hip-slashes and a blast of hoarse words helped them up
and on. Osburn turned from them with laughter, and presently had Dynan by
the hand. His eyes were eager questioners. Dynan, when breath would serve
him, answered as eagerly.
This was his tale:
Page 41
Going in, he had no disquiet beyond a continual hovering
in the fog, as of spectres, but there was confusion enough when once among
the houses; and the council-house, or basilica rather, seemed a place of frenzy,
the party of Constantine claiming power already by election, and their opponents
furiously contesting it. Nevertheless, he gave the message, and received instead
a summons and an invitation, which was a warning. To Osburn: "Come; bring
your men; expect preferment;" and to Arthur's envoys: "Pray rest at my home
until to-morrow." Also he was adjured to hasten, and watch keenly.
This he did. But soon after his first call the way was barred,
and he was driven to edge away and make détours, until he reached the shrine
by the wall. There, being closely pressed, he left his two followers to make
good their den, and darted by and through their enemies to bring aid.
"It has a bad look," he conceded ruefully; "but if either
of them could have stirred his toes a third as fast as I, he should have gone
instead. Now, there's a leader's qualifications for you!"
Osburn pressed his hand reassuringly. They had regained
the shrine. It was surprising to find, after all, how little fatal damage
had been done. But there was blood enough about certainly.
Cian could feel his own trickling, while a weak indifference
gained on him. Presently his head swam
Page 42
and rang; but he held up and said nothing, as they moved back toward the Ermine
gate. He heard some stern order from Osburn about leaving the wounded enemy
where they lay, and Llywarch's kindly protest. Then there was a startled exclamation;
and he felt them supporting him, while some hand presented a flask to his
lips.
When he quite came to life again, a surgeon was saying,
"He need not be much the worse for it;" while a soldier bathed his limbs,
and bandages went around them. He knew that he was in the wall-quarters of
the guard again.
Every face showed pleasure that his hurts were no worse;
but he was very sore, and felt it all as a satirical absurdity. "A rabble-mauled
veteran," he said with deliberate effort. "One Cian, a swordsman, formerly
known at Camelot."
"Not all rabble, not all," answered Osburn. "Tigernach was
there, a born chief of the forest, good at his weapons. We know him."
"Swift as I nearly; obstinate almost as Osburn; hotter than
either or any," added Dynan.
Cian looked from face to face. "Why, Tigernach?" he said.
"Ah! bring him in."
"His forty wild followers may wait outside, I trust," suggested
Llywarch.
"You may trust him," answered Cian, putting his forefinger
significantly on the silver mistletoe.
Page 43
Tigernach entered, in hastily brightened mail, with brilliant
apparel showing through the rifts and joinings. He carried himself so as to
give an effect of greater height and shapeliness than in the recent struggle.
He had the look of true Celtic fervor and irascible pride, with suggestions
of romance also. His black eyes, keen and burning, were fixed on Cian, who
was plainly far more to him than all besides.
"We have mingled our blood by a very unfriendly rite," he
said; "but you will not blame one who could not know."
He turned the hollow of his shield outward. It also bore
the silver mistletoe.
"You know now," answered Cian, "and will stand by me and
Arthur the Guledig?"
He used the Celtic title. The forester bowed.
"And by Constantine, King of London," pursued Cian.
The other's lips twisted. "I have no liking for men who
lie down to their meals," he said, "and pirate of Rome, Rome, Rome! But I
suppose it must be."
Osburn laughed sympathetically. "We may count on him," said
he.
"So thoroughly," added Cian, "that I take him and his tribesmen
for my guard to-night, setting your men free."
Osburn hesitated. Llywarch looked uneasy.
Page 44
"That is going far on scant knowledge," he said. "No offence
to this spirited gentleman, but we should not be the worse for a dozen drilled
soldiers also. Bear in mind, Cian, that there is a lady to be looked after."
"And we savages are unworthy?" commented Tigernach. "As
you will. As pleases you!" He forced a laugh.
"Perhaps it is from the lady that he should be guarded,"
whispered Dynan.
"You are right," answered the woodland chief, his face partly
clearing at the jest, also in memory of her, for every man in the little kingdom
knew the kind charm of Aurelia.
Osburn decided: "All are right. We trust Tigernach. Prince
Cian shall have him--and his men. Prince Llywarch shall have my men, whom
he honors by preference. But I can't spare many. Dynan, I commit to you the
royal villa and this gate; the princess, who is waiting; the Saxons, who maybe.
Now I must go."
Dynan drew a long breath, looking blank. "So much for an
enchanted reputation!" he said. " If it were not for the gnats and the ghosts
and poisoned air, I would make my headquarters in the marsh midway. I shall
get a fine name as a flying cavalryman."
Page 45
CHAPTER IV.
THE RETURN TO THE VILLA.
To view the comely forms of the lovely ones.
--Black
Book of Caermarthen.
CIAN rode slowly, without speaking; for he still drooped, and every movement hurt
him. Tigernach also was silent, but resentfully. Llywarch spoke in kindness.
"You should not mind a soldier's frankness--a fellow woodlander's
too. Which way lie your domains?"
"In the heart of the great Andred wood, toward what they call
Sussex now, on the old way to Anderida. We hold the ridge, and ever have held
it. The Saxons did not come by me. After that town fell, they tried; but we cut
up the first party in the thickets, and there never was a second."
He warmed a little in speaking of this achievement.
"You hold of London?" pursued Llywarch, with an interested air.
"Why, so they hold. We do our buying here, and some of
our fighting. This time Vortimer in-
Page 46
vited us--of the lower woodlands. He has some shadow-claim too, and a borrowed
name from olden times that every Briton loves. But he looks the Saxon that he
is, on the father's side. We lead our own life, and go our own ways."
"You came lightly attended. Surely you do not usually adjust
the affairs of London with half a hundred men."
Tigernach laughed. "Such a kingdom! The only way to adjust a
Londoner is to kill him. Then he knows his own mind, and is reasonable. As there
was to be a fight, of course I came, with a few who were nearest, losing no time.
Others will follow. Half my young men are on the way before this, if I know them."
"I would send word," suggested Cian.
Tigernach took on a more deferential tone. "That I have done.
They will gather for us near the northern gate."
"Re-enforcements for me!" cried Dynan, who had just ridden
up, with breath and spirits back again. "We are well rid of the prisoners too.
They didn't keep me long."
"Ah!" growled Tigernach. Then he added calmly, "they were not
of my people."
"Oh, nothing in the way of slaughter. I turned them loose to
bring recruits. One was a neighbor of yours, a tribesman of Caowl, that beetling-browed,
Page 47
slant-eyed, hard-fighting man. My compliments go with him."
"Nimble of wit as of foot! Caowl will come over to us for that.
Otherwise I harry him from one end of his land to the other."
Dynan laughed merrily. "Dear neighbors are much the same in
the Andred woods as up my way,--do as I bid, and, oh, how I love you!"
"But you were given the prisoners to keep," said Cian.
"There spoke Duty. Know, then, O Conscience! that our well-anchored
commander bath endowed me with a huge discretion--which was wise and liberal of
him, it being greatly needed. Moreover, I have the countenance of Prince Llywarch
of Argoed."
But Llywarch demurred at once, "Oh, no! my countenance was never
a thing of red banners and blazes. My countenance is where it ought to be for
decency's sake. Yet I did counsel mercy. It is well to err that way, as in over-care
of friends."
Tigernach bowed. "That is manful," said he.
"And heart-warm," added Cian. "Thence comes all the craftiness
of Llywarch."
The lift of the land had taken them into clear moonshine. Looking
back, they could see very little of London, except a low, formless gloom, with
veiled glimmerings of light in it, and here and there a lamp on some house-roof
or tower, shining like a red star.
Page 48
There was a diffused gleam about the basilica, and, more doubtfully, along the
great bridge.
The noise behind grew louder to them, as they ascended, but
rarely made any one sound distinguishable. The howling of the wolves came from
the hill-country quite as plainly.
This time they crossed an affluent of the Wallbrook on a bridge
a little above the villa. It must have been hidden from them by the fog and the
twilight before--a strong bit of olden masonry, in the dip of a branch road, with
passage for three horses abreast. New lights came out at this, moving from window
to window. The lodge by the gate brightened also.
A group of figures came hastening over the lawn, with sounds
of laughter. When the gate swung open, Aurelia and Sylvia were there, breathing
fast, but with eyes of welcome. Clad in white, flushed with exercise and expectancy,
graceful and stately, with no thought of grace or stateliness, the tall daughter
of Constantine had never looked more divine.
"My father?" she inquired.
"King Constantine, Princess," proclaimed Dynan. "Osburn the
Frank is to be his general, at a bound. I have charge of the Ermine gate and this
villa."
While all made obeisance to her, she replied demurely, "Then
we will all obey you as king at third hand, Dynan."
Page 49
But Sylvia was not content. She pulled at her sister, and began
to whimper. "Why don't they bow to me, if I am a princess too? Why don't
they look at me? I want to be a Princess."
"And if you are," answered Aurelia, with a responsibly improving
air, "be sure it will not add one cubit to your stature."
"Heaven forbid, if I know anything of ancient measurement!"
protested Llywarch. "Would you have this sweet little maiden shoot up all at once
into a mate for the giant of Skiddaw?"
"Prince Llywarch wishes to say that some of us are over-lofty
already," expounded Aurelia to the lesser one.
Llywarch looked that way too. "I will do homage to you, and
be your champion, my bright little lady," said he.
Sylvia eyed him with grave approval. Then, at a motion of Cian,
she shook her ringlets. "This one; he has fought for me already," said she. There
was a laugh, but she drew near to her rescuer confidingly. Even her slight touch
fell by chance where it made him flinch.
"See," she cried distressfully, "he is hurt. Aurelia, somebody
has been hurting him."
"Not much, dear," said Cian, laughing weakly at this new way
of viewing his adventure. "That's what we are for, you know."
Page 50
But Aurelia had heard. "Wounded? and I am keeping you here!"
she exclaimed. "Oh, come, come! No, you shall not dismount. At the house, not
before."
She walked easily beside him. "We heard there had been fighting,"
she said gravely, "but not this."
"I shall not grieve," said Cian. "It will keep me your guest
a little time."
"Nor shall I grieve for that," she replied frankly.
Turning to those who came behind, she added in a clear, full
voice, "All my father's friends are more than welcome."
The soldiery clanked their swords on their shields in response,
and the woodland men shouted vociferously. Her beauty, her lavish benignity, the
warmth and strength of her nature, were not new to them, but worshipful, as of
old.
They were now by the great front portico. Cian, dismounting,
began to sway and reach. Aurelia stepped nearer. "It is my turn to help you,"
said she.
He drew back, fearing to lean such weight on her. "Forgive me,"
said he, and rested his hand on the shoulder of Tigernach, who was there already.
No greater sense of luxury had ever befallen him than when at
last he lay full length in the chamber appointed, sipping a cordial, and disencumbered.
With Tigernach watching, he soon slept.
Page 51
Llywarch brought the good news to their hostess, all the more
willingly for the quick turn of her head as he entered, and the inquiry in her
kind eyes. He did not love her in the first person, but he was half in love with
her for Cian's sake. He made it tenderly plain to her that Cian's wounds were
trivial, and that the surgeon had so well treated them, that there was little,
beyond common kindness, for anyone else to do. But the beauty of her home, he
told her, would be in itself a reviving medicine.
She truly needed comforting, for the strain of that evening
had been severe. After her first great peril the wolf-voices had come to her again,
hour by hour, as reminders. Her people had told her also of wild human figures
that gathered on the hills or went savagely by. Also, there were both the rumor
and the noise of conflict in that tormented city where her father was risking
life to win a shadowy crown. But now all had gone fairly well. Her home for the
time was in safety, and she, too, might sleep.
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CHAPTER V.
A DIP INTO OLD ROME.
Here the baths were
Hot on the breast.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.
WHEN Cian awoke he was not at first very sure of his awakening. The scenes of
the wild evening before melted into the equally strange fancies of the night,
and shifted with them interchangeably. As his thought cleared, there was still
something astounding and unreal in his memory of the shrouded city, the goddess
come to life among the wolves, and that spectral combat of the shrine, where men
of frantic and varied aspect, in what quarrel he hardly knew, dealt blows at him
unceasingly out of the moonlit haze.
But there was no haze now. The sun, very real and bright, came
slanting in through the glassless windows. There were no bird songs. A dry leaf
or two drifted by. Summer, after once leaving, had come back again in the lovely
air.
He had lifted himself on his elbow, and was inspecting a slit
in his forearm, when Llywarch appeared.
Page 53
What tidings?" Cian inquired.
"Chiefly that the bud of the morning is uncommonly full blown,
and that bath and breakfast wait. I am glad to see that the Gwenclan has enough
of 'pure blood' left to warrant his title."
"Oh, I shall live. But as to the bath: you know my way."
"Cold water in great severity. It is no doubt a thing of virtue.
But when I hinted it a certain royal lady uplifted her brows at me. I think her
counsel would be to have you sponged tepidly in bed, and anointed with healing
unguents to slow music."
His friend sat upright with a grimace.
"Good!" said Llywarch. "Yet a little warmth in the water would
be useful in removing blood-stains. Pray yield thus far to Roman effeminacy, and
let me help about the bandages."
Cian was looking at them, "I am less like a man than a disorderly
bale of goods," he mused aloud. "How those fellows did get into me! There were
enough of them. Is it far?"
"Two rooms;" and Llywarch lent him a hand to rise, then led
the way over a bright tessellated floor, flinging the silken door-curtains aside
as they came.
Cian entered the anteroom of the bath, and stood gazing.
Before tendering his spear to the great Arthur, Prince Cian
had been but a hillside ruler, the lord of
Page 54
a northern valley nook. Later, his had been mainly the soldier life; and he knew
the Roman splendor by rumor only, or in mere external view. He could not choose
but hear of the surpassing luxury which yet hid itself in a few safe and indolent
places, as about the western Waters of the Sun. But he had been content to go
on, disapproving, disregarding, in his own simpler ways. What he now saw was a
revelation.
The apartment was walled shoulder-high on the right and left
with delicate, flower-painted tiles of many varying blossoms. Above these, Corinthian
pillars of blue-veined marble, wound with vine-leaves and laurel, rose to the
ceiling. The light admitted was nearly as brilliant as in the outer air.
Over the doorway before them, in tints unfading, Apollo, thrilled
with inner flame, threw eagerly from him the cloud-veil of the morning. In the
mosaic under foot were the foaming waves and the quaint, jubilant Triton-figures
of the welcoming sea. Around the ceiling ran a merry rout of fawns and nereids--racing,
overtaking, disrobing--about a central figure of airy loveliness, neither wholly
spirit nor winged goddess, but quickening with the life of free air, blue water,
sunshine and the bright dew.
"Behold the stoical Briton!" said Llywarch, observing his friend's
trance of admiration. "It is a relief, you were such a standing reproach to me.
But Tigernach will be the death of you."
Page 55
Cian scarcely heard the voice, or the steps of withdrawal. Warmth,
soothing odors, and the sound of falling water, came to him through the inner
doorway, deepening as he entered.
One side of this second apartment was as before, only here the
tiles bore fruit instead of flowers,--the peach, the orange, the pomegranate,
with many besides,--and the columns had the warm tints of a sensuous life in them.
The fresco of the opposite wall had been given an undulating
surface by the broad, hidden tubular tiles which conducted the heated air from
the regions below. There the goddess bent, as in the old tale, above the slumbering
youth. But the mist waved upward from the lazy stream beside him, the grass billowed
in the light wind about her feet, and mortal and deity seemed fluttering together
as her lips called him away through vistas of dreamland.
But everywhere the wall-space and flooring were rich in languor--inviting
design,--the softly moving damsels of "the hollow lotos land," with the enchanted
fruit they bore; Narcissus propped on elbow beside the fountain; a shoal of water
nymphs, who floated face upward among white lilies under the leaf shadows that
flecked a silent pool. The ceiling afforded a vision of clear sky, white drifting
clouds, and, over all, the calm gods at rest.
In one corner stood the great bath of fine porce-
Page 56
lain, blue almost with the blueness and brightness of amethyst. Creamy figures
in relief banqueted at ease along the side, reclining to await the cup. A veiled
statue of Slumber stood at the head, pouring drowsily from hand to hand the perfumed
water of oblivion, which shattered again as it fell, so that the air was heavy
with fragrance. Beside this an ample stream, warmed on its way, flowed into and
out of the bath unceasingly.
He lay there long, seeming to take no harm. Regret and aspiration,
all bitterness of spirit, and every anxious murmur, had floated quite away. Fancy
moved indolently. The pictured scenes about him grew almost as real as the changeful
life he had led. The soul of the lotos-bloom was the soul of all.
At length an attendant entered in some anxiety that he staid
so long, and the dream was broken. Cian arose with languor, and passed into a
third chamber, which lay snow-white and roofless. Marble figures peopled it, of
stately mien, ranged about an ample sheet of water that stirred invitingly. Cool
airs kept fanning over the surface, awakening early memories of forest and riverside.
The plunge seemed very tempting, and it was taken quickly. He rose to the light
and air, with life and vigor returning.
Page 57
CHAPTER VI.
THE HOME OF AURELIA.
Usual it is for maids to be lovely.
--TALIESSIN.
OSBURN had found Constantine enthroned in the basilica among his adherents, not
very certain of anything outside, but comforting himself with their number and
spirit, the insignia of royalty about him, and above all the augury of his own
countenance. This trick of outline had much to do with his aspirations. The man
who duplicated the world-conqueror stood pledged from birth to mighty deeds. How
could fate fail him? He brightened as Osburn entered, but rather with relief than
heroism.
There was welcome also in the faces below, though some had looked
ill-pleased over the sudden and great uplifting of this mercenary. He knew it
well, and knew them also, not wholly with disapproval. For those were days when
every trafficker must be something of a fighting man as well; and the mailed London
merchants, with their sons and nephews and followers, made a martial array indeed.
There was a sprinkling of foreign features; for the commercial
Page 58
houses of Gaul had yet some agents there of their own people, and many adventurers
from abroad had taken service. Plainly this was the side of civilization, or what
remained of it, militant by necessity.
Osburn was soon aware of some natural disquiet among the Celtic
part of the men-at-arms whenever the truculent uproar of their kin outside grew
louder than usual. He took his measures promptly, being the one man of either
side who knew just what to do and what he dealt with. All the forum space was
cleared by trusty legionaries, and securely guarded thereafter. Another gate of
the city-wall gave in its adhesion when his men appeared there. The merchants'
quarter, already held for Constantine, was more strongly occupied. The governor
of the White Tower had been temporizing, but Osburn ended that by a sudden movement
in force; and the partisans of Arthur and Constantine in that garrison threw all
open to him directly. Before morning, through management and active skirmishing,
three-fifths of the city were in Roman hands.
But the remainder was held in disorderly fashion by fierce men,
growing more and more reckless, as they felt the tide running with greater force
against them. Few had anything to lose beyond what pillage might repay. Very many
were of the woods, half savage, and caring nothing for the city. Out of their
exasperation arose the threat of fire; a shrill
Page 59
cry borne to Constantine in many echoes, making him his enemies' ally. For he
had much at stake, and his partisans had more,--had their all.
Osburn would have met the issue sternly, but Osburn was disquieting
him already. Action was too instant; things went well too quickly; he had felt
that it could not last. Now and here he would make a stand. So he interfered suddenly,
shutting his ears to all dissuasion, and closed a truce with Vortimer.
Each was to hold his ground, and a new and greater council was
to settle or unsettle everything on the evening of that day.
When this had been told by Llywarch in outline, Cian shook his
head. "Who would hold a throne by mercy of the torch?" he said. "The head which
bows will never keep that crown."
Cian was breakfasting in his room after the bath, with his friend
for company.
"The daughter said nothing when it was told us. But--you should
have seen her."
"That may yet be done, and ought to be. She will think me a
sluggard or a sorely crippled man."
"Also, it may be well to see where you are; for night shows
little."
The house lay four-square over a great area, and was built casemate-fashion,
one story in height and depth. A great court, which had been turned into a
Page 60
garden, filled the interior. Two lesser wings jutted out from the rear corners.
One of these, by the purity of its art, may have been the original home or house-kernel,
but was now overflowing with looms and fabrics, in proof that manufacture, no
less than more gracious employments, went on in the villa. The other was evidently
a granary; though it had been in its day a temple of Minerva, and afterward a
Christian chapel, as inscriptions went to show.
The front portico, long and lofty, was very beautiful in an
ornate, florid way. Care had been taken to preserve it; with the utmost need,
for there was no surviving power to repeat such work, as the sorry patching of
the mosaic floor demonstrated all too plainly. The outer wall, enclosing the lawn
and shrubbery, was recent also, the stones being uncemented.
There was a stir of population. From the rear came an intermittent
jangling, where the repairs of Cian's chariot were going on. Also there was much
ado about harvesting, as wains, laden or empty, came and went between the granary
wing and the fields.
Entering the garden-court, they found quietness. Hedgerow walls
and masses of shrubbery, with purple grape arbors and beds of autumnal flowers
between them, broke it up very pleasantly. Every vista ended in rows of ornamented
columns, white or veined or tinted, along some one of the inner house
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fronts, with graceful statuary niched therein, or standing where the alleys crossed.
There were fountains, too, fed by conduits from a hillside rivulet--a
very great one in the centre, which made the chief sound of the place.
Beyond this, a little within a ring of evergreen, the only monster
lay--a white sphynx with unusual attributes--of doubtful meaning. Below its impassive
countenance a living human face looked upward, all else being hidden by the creature's
bulk. The brow was broad; the outlines were manly, kind, and noble, but with intense
foreseeing horror in every line. A tender and shapely feminine hand, belonging
to the left forearm of that stony, crushing thing, was thrown over against the
victim's cheek in a negligent caress.
Just now a little child, Sylvia, who had seen it every day,
was idly smoothing the dust from those lady-like fingers, and leaning her bright
locks where the heart of the terror should be. Perhaps it had given a turn to
her questioning; for her sister made answer with one of the subtly and wildly
poetic myth-tales of the British race.
Aurelia was seated in a slanting wicker chair, half under the
cedar shadows. A rolled manuscript, lately fallen from her hand, showed that she
had been reading. Both arms were uncovered, as also her sandalled feet, but for
the light straps across them, and
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the brown tresses of her hair, in ample undulations. Her scarlet robe, a color
held peculiarly noble, was fastened above both shoulders by golden fibulæ,
ornamented with blue enamel, the especial pride of Celtic art; for she had the
life and love of her own people in her, whatever the fancied claims of Rome. A
larger brooch below her neck displayed a Cupid on a dolphin, sporting over the
same blue background for their sea.
Her large gray eyes were at rest. She spoke leisurely, as relating
what was well known. Her voice was raised a little to be heard above the falling
water, wherewith it chimed very well. Cian had found her marvellous in the cloud
and the twilight, in the stress of action and peril; but she belonged with even
more enchantment to this perfect splendor and peace. He heard Llywarch whisper,
"A royal girl indeed! And such kind eyes!" Then they both awaited, unseen, the
end of her story.
She continued: "So by reason of this great fault and failure,
Cunebelline could not pass into the upper world, but was held here on earth. And
the dark goddess of the star-eyes felt pain at heart. In her very great love of
him, she came where he was, often, at the ending of the day. But he only felt
the night wind breathing, and heard, when she spoke, the faint murmur of the water;
for she was of another and subtler kindred than his, from far away. He was,
Aurelia in the Garden
Page 63
indeed, doubtfully aware of a presence unseen; but this grew on him as a fear,
and she could not be with him any more, unless in sorrow.
"Then she besought that she might come before him in such form
as he could see and touch without dread, and by choice a beautiful woman; yet,
if not that, at least a woman still, however wrinkled and unlovely. But even this
might not be granted, except as a goddess, for love of a man, should become far
less than he! That was hard measure, and for a long time beyond her; but the yearning
grew until the life of the upper world was more a life of torment than any life
below.
"One daybreak a strange and lovely thing was found, night-black
and lustrous, with silken mane, coat of satin, wistful velvet eyes,--a creature
incomparable for power and beauty. And he said, 'Surely some benignity of heaven
has sent me this marvel;' for no one could deem her altogether earthly. Therefore
he took exceedingly great care of her, saying, 'Henceforward I will have no other
steed to bear me in peace or war.'
"Then came to him great continual gain in dominion and glory.
For she whispered wise counsel to him when none were by, which brightened the
land, keeping men kind and genial. When he would ride afield, no bird could bear
him more swiftly. And the rush of them in battle was like the rush of the
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lightning. There was panting and fleeing before their aspect more than from the
coming thrust or blow.
"Many kings took him willingly for their emperor; his ships
went afar, bringing wealth to him from the ends of the world; he was known openly
for the equal friend of Rome; and every one in every land had heard of Cunebelline
the golden.
"All this he owed to her; for he was but a man, and no very
surpassing man, left alone. Moreover, when the end of his life drew near, she
did not leave him to die, like all others of our race, but bore him bodily away
among the stars."
"Oh, did she?" inquired Sylvia doubtfully.
Aurelia laughed with an awakening air, having grown dreamful
in the peace of that nook, with the lulling of the fountain-fall and her own voice,
weaving again the fairy web of enchantment.
"Why, so runs the story," she answered; "and I have thought
it a pretty one. Don't you?"
Sylvia looked thoughtful. "Yes," she replied hesitatingly. Then
she shook her head. "I think the goddess was a fool," said she.
"Hush, dear!" protested Aurelia, though not greatly horrified.
"Newer gods have come and gone, and yet newer ones are here; but let us not be
disrespectful to the oldest of the old."
"If she were a very pretty horse," conceded Syl-
Page 65
via. "But then," with a sudden freak of judicial wisdom, "suppose she had turned
out a donkey! How did she know?"
Aurelia laughed again. "Oh, don't ask me to help the immortals
out of that," answered she. "You may find yourself playing the donkey some day,
Sylvia."
But a footstep had drawn her attention, and she was rising in
pleasure, with a greeting. "I feared we could not see you to-day, she said."
"Oh," answered Llywarch for his friend, "it is of no manner
of use to poke spears into this gnarled old campaigner. . Nothing does him any
good at all."
"One thing at least--the legend of the starry goddess," declared
Cian, bowing.
"Is this magic, or simple eavesdropping?" inquired she. "Now,
my father would never listen to that tale, nor to anything against the faith of
his first great namesake. As for me, I have a feeling for that excellent legionary
from Mesopotamia who built over yonder a temple to 'the gods of all nations."'
Cian made answer dryly, "I see a Christianity with an old British
tap-root and a vast hospitality." But she understood his approval.
Sylvia changed the topic by walking up with deliberation, and
laying her hand experimentally on his silver mistletoe spray. Then she looked
up into his
Page 66
face, considering gravely. "I am not a bit afraid of you," she observed, "if it
is magic."
He laughed with the others. "Thank you, my dear child," he answered
simply.
"Afraid--after he saved us from the wolves," exclaimed Aurelia.
"I said I wasn't afraid of him," protested Sylvia, frowning
defensively, yet half in mind to cry. Then, taking refuge in him, "Where did you
get this pretty thing?" she inquired confidentially.
"In a solemn place, very strangely lighted," he replied. "I
would scarcely know how to tell any one much more, little Sylvia. But it was after
combat with something invisible, whether man or ghost or demon, I do not know."
"Oh, I know, I know!" cried Sylvia. "It must have been a goblin.
Why, this is a nice story, like Aurelia's. Is it true?"
"Pretty well for Sylvia!" laughed Llywarch. "But I am afraid
you have ended it all at once, my dear." For Cian was looking absurd.
"When did this happen?" inquired Aurelia, controlling her amusement.
"Not very long after the return of the Druids to Mona, in the
time of Ambrosius. I was hardly more than a lad. But for this," and Cian touched
the golden garment, "I, too, should hold it a dream. After all, the past is dreamland."
Page 67
"What was it like?" inquired Llywarch, though he had heard
before.
"A room below ground, all mirrors and smoothness; a great form
lying in state, and multiplied in them all around; a huge lamp on shining ebony,
dazzling by reflection from every side; a sword flashing at me like a thousand,
so that one could not tell the real blade from the phantasms; a sudden darkness,
a form that wrestled with me therein, and fell with no sound; a deep prophetic
voice going after me, as I fled with my prize up the narrow way,--and that is
all."
Here Tigernach appeared among them, announcing rather sourly,
"The king is coming, in the Roman fashion." He added more suavely to Aurelia,
"It is indeed a fine display."
Yet hardly Roman so truly as a Rome-imitating medley. The purple
robe of Constantine was excessive in amplitude and depth of dye. A great tuft
of scarlet feathers went before him, borne aloft. A flaming banner came after
him, with a gilded eagle above it. Three hundred horsemen in gay armor rode behind,
the sunshine glorifying their bronze, their jewelled weapons, their ruddy, blowing
scarfs, tasselled with acorns of gold. More than a score of them had wound about
their necks the golden chain of leadership.
At the bridge there was a blare of music from the head of the
cavalcade, answered by the population and
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the garrison of the villa with varied outcry. A faint echo came from the distant
concourse about the Ermine gate. Three by three the armored horsemen rode over
and on to what was now a royal palace indeed.
Constantine greeted his guests with majesty, tempered by the
deference due to those who came from a greater even than he. It suited him presently
to put magnificence away, and walk simply with them and his daughter. But none
who met them were allowed to forget that it was a monarch with whom they spoke
face to face.
Aurelia may have felt this unpleasantly, for there was sobriety
in her enjoyment. Otherwise, her demeanor did not vary, no one finding more or
less than usual of her cordial frankness and queenly charm.
At the first turning, Sylvia came running to meet them, her
little soul full of the wolves and their teeth; also, the fright they had put
her in, the valor of Aurelia, the crashing among them of Cian and his chariot.
"Oh, how they did scamper!" she cried.
It was a bit of news that she had been saving up for him, after
her custom, and telling to herself over and over again, with foreknowledge of
its absorbing interest. What had come since was to rule her fancy later. That
drama of emotion had the foreground.
Constantine picked up the little thing, and clasped
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and kissed her, looking vastly more genuine than when playing at Julius Cæsar.
"You won't let the wolves get me, will you?" besought she, for
the mere pleasure of reassurance, being very secure in mind just then.
"No, no!" he replied. "Not wolves of any sort. Oh, we have wolves
in London too, and some of them put their teeth into your champion last night.
But the Saxon wolves are worst of all--those who have driven the poor people of
the Stour to our shelter. Princess, there are infants lying cold in the fields
where Saxon spears have tossed them. There are homes black as coal and white with
ashes. There are altars toppled down where men were used to worship. There are
wives, not a few, borne wofully away--lifelong thralls to the men who have slain
their husbands. But you should hear Oisin, and doubtless will. We always do hear
Oisin. And who can wonder?"
Yet there was an accent of weariness.
Aurelia explained to her guests, "They begin to call him St.
Oisin now, a very zealous man. He was priest of a parish below Caer Collin. Eschwine,
the East Saxon, came--his own escape was a miracle. They say that many of his
people were tortured in his sight."
"In the days of Rome such things could not be," observed Constantine.
Page 70
"You will find the strength and safety of Rome in our great
emperor," said Llywarch, with conviction.
"Of Britain also," added Cian.
"God grant it!" was Constantine's reply. "But--he will want
levies and supplies, and they are not in favor with our people. Many put their
trust in Vran--you know the story. The head of that wonder--worker, buried in
the White Hill, facing seaward, protecting London forever. Why send men to fight
in distant quarrels, they say. I but repeat the talk of the town. For my own part,
the Saxons have robbed me every way, in ship and caravan, and I am always very
willing to have at them."
Still there was a bargain in his eye, and the child had been
set down. "A chapman in soul!" thought Cian resentfully.
"It would be insufferable," declared Aurelia, "to wrap ourselves
in a magic cloak of safety, and leave all others to their fate."
She spoke with deprecation, if not shame.
"Yes," replied her father; "and nothing is too bad for the Saxons.
Why, it was but last year that King Aesc of West Kent, after I had duly bought
the monopoly of the wool-trade from him, let three ships of my neighbor go by
full laden, so that the price fell to very little. When I complained, he burnished
up some old charge against me, and held my
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next convoy for double tribute. Oh, the Saxon is the ruin of the British exporter!"
"We ought not to submit to any tribute," said Aurelia, darkening.
"The Thames should be as free as the Severn," added Cian.
"True," admitted Constantine; "but we count ourselves fortunate
when it is half-way open on any terms. Perhaps the emperor may help, and the council.
But I fear you will see a bear-baiting, as usual--with Constantine as the bear,"
he added ruefully. And now they are coming for us."
Page 72
CHAPTER VII.
FEAST AND SONG.
Many a mead
hall
Fragrant with human joys.
--THE RUIN, Codex Exoniensis.
A NOTABLE banquet awaited them in that great dining-hall, which its owner yet
persisted in styling the triclinium, while so many of its kind had gone to ruin
or been given over to later ways.
The great table and the couches round about occupied nearly
one-half the floor; harpers were stationed, in bright apparel, at the other end.
The mosaic work of the space between was at its best, a picture of leisurely Olympian
enjoyment, from which the great-eyed Juno turned her welcoming face on the mere
mortals invited thus into the company of the gods. There were many other decorations,
above, below, and all around; but none filled the eye and mind like this.
Both speech and song turned toward what was yet a vivid memory,
the war-filled siege and destruction of Anderida. There may have been forethought
in this, for nothing could more readily bring together
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in feeling the different elements assembled. Tigernach's pride was all inwoven
with the theme. The father of Caowl had fallen in a furious endeavor to break
through the beleaguerment. Constantine's one feat in justification of his aspect--the
relief of an ambuscaded provision train--had been wisely and daringly performed
not far away. Also he had the chief management of supplies for the forest-entangled
army of Ambrosius during all that campaign; and if this effected little, the fault
was not his own. Every family of his Roman and mercantile adherents, including
nearly all the wealth of London, had contributed both men and needful things,
and had lost friends there. It was a retrospect of complacent pride and of pity.
The woodland men had been glooming discontentedly over unfamiliar
ways. But now their faces quickened, and their voices came freely, proving them
at one with their company. Even their limbs grew more supple in conformity.
Constantine, in high feather, looked toward Llywarch and Cian.
"Will one of our guests from the emperor," said he "give us in music the tale
of the town which is gone?"
"Willingly," answered Llywarch; "but we need the future, also,
to hearten us. Now I never feel sure of my prophecy unless I am hungry, and the
Saxons before me, pugnacious. Then I can prophesy
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heavenly vengeance very confidently. But Cian here, if he is strong enough, will
find Tophet ahead almost any time for anybody, and not mind the trouble at all."
Cian's face, perhaps from weakness, had a faraway look. He rose
without a word, and took the great harp in hand. In his touch and voice there
was something compelling, so that they bore the hearer's heart and mind with them,
into what had been, and was no longer, and into what was yet to come:
THE SONG OF CIAN.
Where
is the woodland city,
The
city beside the sea,
White
from her ramparts towering,
Queen
of the Andred lea?
Lovely
her courts were, and woven
With
rainbows her palace walls;
The voice of her many fountains
Was
the song of the waterfalls.
But ever a threatful shadow
Grew
from the eastward haze,
Out of the bath of burning,
Dawn
of the evil days.
And ever a wordless horror
Deepened
in heart and eye,
Till the noisome breath
was o'er her,
And
the coils were winding nigh.
Then broke her trance of
anguish
Abroad
in a mighty wail;
Page 75
And the forest arms gave
echo,
Smiting
the monster's mail:
For round the tightening
spoiler
A whirl
of fury sped;
And still the spears of
Britain
Drove
at the giant head.
But foes more grim and
ghostly
Hid
by the idle gate;
And the life within grew
weaker
In all
but the force of hate.
There came an eve and a
morning,
The
blackness of Hell between;
By fire-waves broken, and
flashes,
And
outcry wild and keen.
The sun came up through
smoke-clouds;
Never
a soul was near.
The sun went down in glory;
But
the walls were riven and drear.
Drear was the riven rampart;
The
light of her brow had fled;
The maiden city of Andred
Was
a city of the dead.
Nor ever morrow shall see
her
Blithe
as before and fair;
The life that she found
so lovely
Is a
life she may not share.
A thing of blackness and
ruin,
Of lichen
and mould and rime,
Of waste where there has
been beauty,
She
waits till the end of time.
Page 76
He paused a moment, with one or two hesitating notes, then swept
on,--
But she, the lordlier,
grander,
Who
proffered the aiding hand;
So
long as the Thames runs seaward,
So
long her walls shall stand.
The
tempest may break upon her,
The
billows may whelm and hide;
But there with the life
still in her,
She
stands in the ebbing tide.
Nor all of the world's
old grandeur
Holds
aught to hers akin
In the noontime of her
glory--
The
town by the reedy lynn.
Had Cian, as he went to his couch, a faint memory of that other
forecast, "a city nearing its end"? Yet surely both were true. That London
should die; but London should live on.
For a moment all were silent, looking at each other with widening
eyes; for it was a very wonderful promise that he gave to men who felt the overshadowing
of Caerleon from afar, and knew themselves outshone by that Caer Segeint which
the Romans had called Calleva. Surely there were at least three more towns in
Britain already beyond them.
But at once all doubts were swept away in the will-
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ingness of city pride; for what could be too good and fair to foretell a man of
that home which was his birthplace. Acclaim arose, beyond any that the villa of
Constantine had ever known. But the look of a dreamer was on Cian still, and the
strength and the vision were ebbing away.
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CHAPTER VIII.
LONDON AND LONDON'S COUNCIL.
I
saw Arthur
Emperor and conductor of the toil.
--LLYWARCH.
CONSTANTINE returned cityward with a greater display, wherein Cian had some part,
against his will. His chariot was bright and strong again, being prized highly
as a proof of unusual resource and imperial favor. After all, it was the easiest
way of going, with a gaudy young charioteer to drive. Moreover, Aurelia rode near
him, resplendent, watchful. Admiring murmurs from those around showed that the
gorgeousness insisted on by her father met their taste, if not wholly her own.
And, indeed, her beauty was of a kind to bear much brilliancy of apparelling.
Her chief concern was for her wounded guest.
The basilica, as the Roman faction called it, was a large domed
building of brick and marble, the former predominating in the walls, where the
white courses were narrow and far between. Inside, the rule was reversed, the
very numerous fluted pillars of the
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main hall being Parian, or as pure. These were in two stories, the gallery resting
on the taller series, and bearing the lesser at its front. All were decorated
in the extreme. If such art were not the highest, it at any rate made the place
bewilderingly beautiful.
There was yet time to explore some part of London before the
meeting of the council; so Llywarch and Cian set out on a hasty round. The chariot
was discarded by reason of the general narrowness of the streets. Often they had
to ride singly, even in the saddle. In the better parts northward, good houses,
often of brick, less often of marble, stood, each by itself, in ample grounds;
but elsewhere there was chiefly a tangle of alleys and painted or unpainted woodwork.
Sometimes a mansion would be found in a pack of shops like booths, attained by
hardly passable ways.
Along the river-front the sailor life and artisan life of foreign
lands had made some impress, there being even one little colony of Saxons on doubtful
tolerance. They were mainly of Kent, and recognized as more human than the lately
come barbarians of Eschwine.
There was no real risk; indeed, something of courtesy, by Vortimer's
command, everywhere awaited them. He had no wish to break prematurely with Arthur
the Emperor.
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Cian was growing weary, when Dynan came flitting after them to bring them back.
He was full of excitement and significance, talking rapidly of the strangers in
the city, their number and importance, the entanglement of intrigues, the possible
surprises. Llywarch replied easily that it must all be very bad indeed if it could
in any way surpass the complexity of that ill-scented labyrinth.
But Cian went in silence, with a sense of doom. O, London, London!
a chaos of disorder, crudeness, and rottenness; of relics half given over, and
new, random passions and expedients warring on every hand! What but worse confusion
and destruction could possibly come of it all?
The council-hall was full now; eyes were turned every way with
uneasy expectancy. At once they were recognized; and a lane was formed for their
passage to the raised platform or dais, on which Constantine occupied a kind of
throne. At their entrance his face lighted, as though the accession were a boon
indeed. But instantly it grew high and stern again, the face of the Rubicon and
Pompey's overthrow!
"How little a thing would unsettle him," thought Cian, taking
the seat appointed, near Aurelia.
But on either side of the king-elect, Osburn and Tigernach had
taken their stand, the one rough-bearded and resolute, the other intent with repressed
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fierceness, as any one might see. Presently Caowl also was called to this post
of honor, where his Hun-like visage, if not a decoration, had very evident value
among the mass of Celtic people. It needed all the towering scorn of Vortimer
lo hold them. They looked one at another, and said that he would speak by and
by, and they should know.
Who, indeed, of them all, Celt or Roman, had such eloquence
of lip and swaying hand, such goodliness and mightiness of limb, such smooth,
high-tinted, handsome breadth of countenance as Vortimer the Londoner. He stood
in the glare of lamp-light, where a little space had been made for him near the
right corner of the dais, his head rising above every other with a profusion of
clustering hair turning to waves and ringlets of fine-spun gold. It was the head
of a Grecian demi-god.
"Wonderful--here, and with that name!" exclaimed Cian to the
son of the Three Shouts, who leaned over him, expounding men and their histories.
But a glance below answered him. Notwithstanding a prevailing
likeness, there were hints to be found in face and form of nearly every conquest-wave
or importation of soldiery which had ever diversified the island blood.
"Not more than--some of the rest of us," answered Dynan. "Look
at Caowl. I credit him to some pretty recruit of Scythia who sought the woods
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a century ago. As to Vortimer, the facts are known. His mother was a slave to
the Saxon, or wife unwilling, carried away from her father's corpse, on that night
of "fire-waves and flashes" and "the blackness of hell," by one of the Merscwara
serving under Elle. Her people had been noble, her slain father a ruler of towns
and men. Her grace and delicate loveliness, well taught in every way, are said
to have been surpassing. For all that, she had no choice but to dwell in the marsh-border
with robber-folk and fisher-folk, just settling down to a rude husbandry, and
do the bidding of her captor in the rough work to which Saxon women were used.
There she bore him this manchild, with girls who died--and that no doubt was best.
"But she never found home among them; and always, when occasion
served, there came piteous messages from her to London and to the woodland people
and to the fortress towns yet held for us, imploring rescue or ransom. But she
was beyond help in arms, and the chief who owned her laughed at every offer while
her beauty lasted. When that was gone he made his best bargain, Saxon-wise, throwing
in the boy rather than lose the sale, and because there was no love between them.
"So she got into friendly hands again, choosing the Andred shadow,
as best suiting her; for in few years she had grown bitter and crone-like, She
gave
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the boy a new name, taking that of him who first made head against the invaders,
that her son might not bear himself less hardily, nor give them any peace. And,
indeed, he has done them great injury in raids and thicket fighting, for, however
it may be elsewhere, there is not often anything but war along the southern border
of the great wood. It is a life to breed turbulence; and he brings his turbulence
here, along with those great thews that his father left him, and a tongue that
is very persuasive and inciting among men of our race."
His attention was wandering to a group of tall men by one of
the doors, whom all about them regarded hatefully. Their weapons and costume showed
them to be Saxons. One stood in their midst, as if designedly covered by the others,
although maintaining a defiant calmness.
"The Sword of Fire," murmured Dynan.
"Eschwine? Ah!" said Llywarch, "a bad place for him! Hence this
quietness. When the wolf is in dread of being butted to death, he holds his peace,
and maintains his dignity."
"Eschwine never yet kept peace in any sense. He will speak;
be sure. No doubt he has some ledge of safety."
"And who are these?"
Another party, wholly mail-clad, were just entering from the
opposite side. They passed at once into
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shadow. One of them wore steel, from crown to toe. It was bright as any mirror.
This alone marked him out from all present.
"If you know not, how should I?" inquired Dynan significantly.
Cian nodded.
"But yonder?" said he, quickly casting his eyes toward the gallery,
where a hungry intensity of expression, bitter yet exalted, came to a focus.
"They are Oisin's Christians, village people mostly. Yet some
are Londoners, and they grow in number. Oisin is the man to make them grow. It's
a frightful thing to be a preacher, anyway. Think of having to pour heaven and
hell white-hot into men, and work holy magic over them--for without miracle, what
sanctity? And to have all his labor swept away in an hour by jeering demons! No
wonder he chants to wild music!"
"That seems the sort of thing to expect of everybody," said
Llywarch."Denunciation is the one strong point of your Londoner. Do you happen
to see anybody, Dynan, who is not eager to denounce?"
The assembly grew impatient. Constantine had delayed, and delayed
again, the inevitable moment of collision. There were derisive calls for "his
majesty, the purveyor."
"Now, now!" urged Osburn. Constantine arose, incontestably royal
in bearing, as though he had
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chosen his time, and all things were working together excellently. Briefly referring
to the choice before them, and the two envoys now in their presence, he called
on them first of all to hear the message of "the conqueror of conquerors, the
ruin of the Saxon, the salvation of Britain, the immortal and imperial Arthur."
At that there was acclaim from all quarters, even the Saxons
joining recklessly. Only the man in steel and a few of Oisin's people kept silence.
"Prince Llywarch of Argoed is the bearer, of whom you know,"
said Constantine, presenting him.
Vortimer responded for his faction, "We do indeed know of the
Prince of Argoed. May his message prove as welcome as his song ever will be."
"If aught have a sound of severity," pursued Constantine, "let
us remember that our turmoils and standing alone have not been blameless."
There were murmurs of displeasure.
"At least," he urged, "you will hearken to the great emperor's
words, not mine." But he could not keep the deprecating tone from his voice.
Llywarch looked over the concourse of his countrymen with a
friendly gaze; calmly smiling. None could fancy any unkindness in his face, nor
any weakening, by excuse, of what he was given to convey. His voice reached every
corner of the hall. He read:--
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"To the present rulers of London.
"Arthur Mabuter, Emperor of the armies of Britain, sends greeting.
"That I know not your true title is enough to show the confusion
of your unhappy city, wasting her strength in senseless broils, while Britain
suffers. Nor do these matters improve; but even grow worse, insomuch that ye can
no longer keep your own borders.
"Now, we have sure knowledge that the Saxons of Deira and many
more are gathering about Caer Ebrauc and beyond the northern woods, undoubtedly
in such numbers as will task the whole strength of the land to meet them. If this
suffice not, every city, even the most distant, the most secure, will be endangered.
"Therefore I, who have heretofore entreated and adjured, do
command that you send forthwith a good force of men under capable captains to
the camp of our army.
"To assure this, if the succession be still unsettled in your
city, I commend to you the house of Constantine, kindred of Ambrosius, well knowing
that there can be none with greater natural claim to your devotion."
Uproar was seething before he had ended. The little kingdom
had so long ordered, or disordered, its own affairs