Sacred Texts  Legends/Sagas  England  Index  Previous  Next 

An Arthurian Miscellany at sacred-texts.com


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]

Page 3

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

Page 4

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.

Page 5

   "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.


Page 7

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

Page 8

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

Page 9

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-

Page 10

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

Page 11

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

Page 12

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

Page 13

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.

Page 14
   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-

Page 15

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

Page 16

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."

Page 17

   "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.

Page 18

   "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.

Page 19

"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."

Page 20

   "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."

Page 21

   "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

Page 22

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.

Page 23

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.

Page 24

   "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.

Page 25

   "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

Page 26

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."

Page 27

   "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

Page 28

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.

Page 29

   "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?"

Page 32

   "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?"

Page 34

   "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.

 Page 35

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-

Page 37

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.

 Page 52

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

Page 61

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

Page 62

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

Page 64

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

Page 68

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

Page 69

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

Page 71

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

Page 73

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

Page 74

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-

Page 77

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.

 Page 78

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

Page 79

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.

Page 80

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

Page 81

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

Page 82

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

Page 83

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

Page 84

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

Page 85

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:--

Page 86

   "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, that intervention seemed revolutionary, even to those who favored it.
   "Constantine!" shouted Vortimer, swollen with derision, his arm brandishing as the words crowded. "And is there none nobler for the Briton to follow, for the Briton of Britons to name? Constantine, the valorous purchaser, the hero of the provision trains, the doubtful branch, half disowned and wholly

Page 87

unworthy, of a foreign tree! Is it Arthur of Celliwig who bids us bow down before this shaking, mimic Cæsar? Verily, the curse of the world-curser is dangling about us still."
   Constantine held a stern front, but shifted uneasily. Aurelia frowned and reddened. More than one of their party was on the point of interrupting. Cian rose first, though painfully, with the silver misletoe full in view, a guaranty to many below. His face, dark and spiritually exalted, was as true to the Celtic race tradition as Vortimer's belied it. His voice went clearly abroad with lingering emphasis,--
   "I also am a Briton."
   Whereat, as more than self-evident, both Tigernach and Caowl, with more, began to laugh mightily.
   "Assuredly," began Vortimer. But Cian went on,--
   "I have waded with our Emperor waist-deep in the red water and shifting sands of the Glem. When Arthur darted up the Duglas side through the slaughter of the green embankment, I saw the blades and spear-points fly from him like icicles from a winter-sheeted tree when a strong wind shatters them. Let Vortimer lead the men of London, and prove beside the Emperor Arthur what better may be done by British valor unbreathed on of Rome."
   "I have led them," retorted Vortimer sullenly and defiantly. "In skirmishes,"and "With our aid," in-

Page 88

terjected Caowl and Tigernach. "So will I lead them again," he continued, unheeding. "Think not, Prince Cian, there is no fighting but in the far northwestern hills and northeastern marshes. There Arthur's victories have been. But who fights for us,--a mere wedge of Britondom left pushing out into the mass of the enemy--the South Saxons, the East Saxons, the men of the populous Caint? Who but ourselves, left lonely? We grapple with them in the fastnesses of the Andred wood, the vales below Caer Collin, the open land between the Thames and the Cray. Wonder not that we must lose a little, when we have held so much so long and so well. Ask not of us to drain away our life-blood, with the Saxon almost at our walls. And since Arthur of Celliwig