William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter X: A Visit to the Sword of Fire lyrics

CHAPTER X. A VISIT TO THE SWORD OF FIRE. Laughing, treacherous, And of bitter disposition was he. – Black Book of Caermarthen. LLYWARCH awoke the next morning with a sense that some one was making loud and distressful havoc of his heroic lays. He beheld, on the bed-corner, Dynan, harp in hand, fantastically balancing, with the airiest finger-play and a plain intention of fairy in voice and air. Beside him, the gnome-like features of Caowl were broadly grinning. "A wild pair for a sane man to be sent with," grumbled LIywarch, not stirring. "There ought to be nightmares enough in that place without you." Dynan broke off with a final twist and shower of sound. "Oh, we are the people to keep you to the marsh-lights," he cried. "If the hunt should last so long." "And howl at me in that demon-alluring way for greater cheerfulness! But what must be, must be!" and with a leap he was beside them. They took the eastern gate, and thence through [Page 105] that unkempt suburb which had been known in Roman days as "the native town" to the open country beyond. "The first time I rode out like this, three together," said Llywarch, between his comrades, "it was in quest of a monster. The next time we were after a holy maid." "Two fearsome creatures," quoth Dynan. "However, Geraint was with me, and Maelgwn." "Whom they have taken to calling Lancelot, the people's spear. Much he disturbs himself about the people!" For there was jealousy abroad of this vain, uncertain, ambitious, daring, and skilful Prince of Gwynedd. "But did you find either of these wild fowl?" Dynan inquired. "Not precisely, only a bit of some stone which the lady left before her shrine, by chance or in reward. Merlin said it had healing virtue, but I never could get sick enough to try. As to the dragon, I do not know; many tales are brought to Caerleon and to Camelot. It makes one unhappy to see his friends riding furiously after stray moonbeams." "Yes, a holy maid would be better, if not necessarily more lovely;" and Dynan took on an air of discriminating wisdom. Near the meeting of the rivers a boat awaited them, containing two marshmen, who settled to work [Page 106] at once with pole or paddle, as the depth of water varied. They wore mud-stained breeches which had once been gaudy; above these, in the one case, a sleeveless tunic badly frayed below the girdle, in the other, a scarf wound obliquely and much faded. They had no other apparel except otter-skin caps, which often lay about their feet, leaving uncovered their ma**es of dark, coarse hair. They were very gaunt and yellow-brown with wind and sun and the miasma of the marshes. Curiosity as to the outer world was numb in them; but they had learned to observe without speech, think within narrow limits, and act noiselessly. They made at first one movement of recognition and subserviency which was less surly in intent than in seeming; and now they had eyes only for the banks beside them and the water ahead. Yet they answered Dynan's questions; and Caowl, who best knew them, added some explanations of his own. It seemed their people were but scanty in number, with only one village remaining, a stronghold built on piles, in a little lake near the river Lea. One by one, the others had fallen; for the water-ways tempted Saxon incursions, making the great marsh their nearest approach to London, and a scene of`continual warfare, though in a small way. The marshmen were doing good service very savagely, threading the maze at all hours, with swift knowledge [Page 107] of any hostile coming, retorting surprise for surprise; hardly so intent on their livelihood by trapping and fishing, as on the merciless give and take of their struggle with the invaders. Nothing but the tyrant power of habit could explain their remaining year after year in such a dreadful place. Their crude stoicism made even a tried soldier like Llywarch uneasy. They did not at all conceal their sense of the risk to that boat-load, nor seem to care about it. "Eschwine," said one, "was more likely, maybe, to spear the whole party, or to toss them, weighted, headforemost into some pool, than to flay them in strips from head to heel, or put them to fire-torture; but there was no telling what whim would take him. He might even entertain them with honor, and let them go." It was grim thinking to one with bright life in him, and no kinship to deeds and beings of darkness. Through a gap in an old Roman dyke, now long neglected and ruinous, they entered a broad swamp-artery that swayed this way and that in long curves, branching and dwindling. The tide at first drove them in, but later was offset by the drain of the marsh, or in some other way, and gradually ceased to aid. Civilization was gone now, as though it had never been, except when it came before them out of a dead world in stretches of yet distinguishable road-bed, or some haunted pile, where fort or blockhouse had [Page 108] defended it. In all but these, the mere savagery of nature had regained its own. Deer-tracks and the footprints of beasts of prey became frequent along the margin; wild fowl hovered and floated numerously, or flapped heavily away before them, after the manner of their kind when affrighted. Once a lubberly bear broke away, half seen, trampling the reeds. Amid an islanded bit of oak and yew forest, in a glade, a white cow, wild and shapely, turned from drinking, to be presently lost in the shadows. At last they entered a pool toward the northern border of the swamp, with raised and wooded ground on the farther side. Here they went circumspectly, for there was no sign of any feathered thing which might serve for food; and they looked that Eschwine should not be far away. While they were near the middle, an arrow came from a reedy point on the left, in a long, low flight, and struck slantwise across their bow, barely missing it. Then they stayed paddle, and cried out their peaceful intention, with only silence for an answer, until a second shaft, and then a third, flew by them, the last between Llywarch's head and that of Dynan, very venomously. So they came to regard that outlying Saxon as not amenable to reason, but merely perverse and dangerous, and went on without delay. Yet there fell two more of his favors, quickly shot, [Page 109] in their wake, whereat Caowl grew angry beyond control, and objurgated the invisible archer, with hand-threatening, in a language that was neither English nor British, but made up of shreds and patches for that border. Now, ahead, there were boats by the shore, or drawn up into the bushes, and men very ready to fill them, called by the shouting. Yet they desisted at command of Eschwine, who came to them out of the wood, and waited, lounging and curious. "He does not seem to intend any great harm," said Dynan. "Our friends are not the easier for that," returned Caowl, indicating the paddlers. He met them at the landing, with curt recognition of these two, and a very ample civility to the northern prince. But his look at the boatmen should have made them visibly unhappy. He bade all to the camp, which was in a sloping meadow, between a brook and a wood, Llywarch walking beside him. Here were men of divers aspect, busy over weapons, game, and apparel, or amusing themselves as best they might, being the picking up of sea-rovers who had welcomed any fighting hands for their crew. Yet an amplitude of muscle prevailed, a ruddiness of face and hair, such as men thought of in naming the English race. By the number of them, it seemed that something graver was projected than waylay-[Page 110] ing the wandering marsh-people, or any such petty prey. "Is Prince Llywarch here of himself, or from whom?" Eschwine spoke with a twang, as at the council, but in the usual Celtic of the low lands, not unlike the later speech of Brittany. Llywarch noted how well he had caught the idiom, and how justly his words were chosen. "From Arthur Mabuter, Emperor of Britain," Llywarch made answer. Eschwine held himself square-shouldered at his full sinewy height. "What does Arthur offer me?" he inquired. "Offer!" cried Dynan. Eschwine half turned to him with a look which might easily become a menace. Llywarch, understanding both, and feeling how much hung that instant on himself, answered calmly, "The Emperor of Britain, victor in many battles, re-conqueror of provinces and of kingdoms, offers to Eschwine – peace." The Saxon looked the surprise and distrust which were in him. His followers, but half understanding, snorted with amused contempt. "Will he add," inquired Eschwine, "the very handsome young woman they call queen?" "'Call!'" echoed Caowl; "be sure we will maintain her so." [Page 111] "You may not have the chance," Eschwine suggested. "The way out of here is hard to find." Again Llywarch remained resolutely equable. "You are to promise, King of Ess**, to forego all annoyance of her.'' Eschwine stared, frowned, stirred angrily; then smoothed his face again, with a harsh laugh. The other Saxons echoed it more loudly. "Modest!" he cried. "I am to spare London, then, and its appurtenances; in fact, almost everything and everybody! Is there any more?" Llywarch bowed. "Nothing more, except that it is for sixty days." "Now, Prince Llywarch, tell me why, in your good judgment, I should do this." Llywarch watched intently that hard, keen, bantering face. He discerned uneasiness and growing anger, but kept a "diplomatic cheek and eye." "Being Arthur's counsellor, when called on," he replied, "I cannot well be Eschwine's also. Yet, consider; the bravest, if wise as brave, will not war needlessly with a power inordinately beyond him." "What is the meaning of that?" and Eschwine ground his heel among the pebbles. "I am bidden to say – and say but as I am bidden – that in case of refusal, Arthur will leave all other enemies, and bring the whole force of his armies, with London added, to utterly crush Ess**. What, then, [Page 112] have you wherewith to oppose the whole power of Britain? The Sword of Fire will be known no more among men." Only a part of what he uttered bore meaning to the raiders and loiterers around them. But they caught at the ending with fury. "Carve the blood eagle on him!" yelled one. Others, rising, took up the cry. Llywarch fronted them with kindly dignity; indeed, he stood as though they were offering some tribute of admiration to his worth, instead of the most frightful d**h-punishment devised by even their ingeniously cruel race. Their precipitancy saved him. Eschwine's countenance had been tightening murderously. But this clamor came as a travesty on his own purpose, half-formed. Moreover, some of the later accessions to his camp had troubled him within the hour by unruliness of tongue where they should only hear and obey. With a half-spring, and a snatch at his weapon, he shouted them into silence. Then he turned abruptly, and forced himself to be calm. "Arthur has brave men," he announced at length. "Many," said Llywarch. "But as to that, I have seen Eschwine also affront d**h very lately." The Saxon laughed a note or two, and took on a more genial aspect. This fearless urbanity, being new, pleased him wonderfully. Llywarch heard be-[Page 113] hind his shoulder Caowl's sigh, as if a burden were lifted. He could not see Dynan. The marshmen were as impa**ive as ever, but with hopeful eyes. "I do not know that," said Eschwine. "We Saxons have weighty weapons, and a long reach with them." Llywarch looked around him. They truly surpa**ed the average of British ma**iveness and stature. He bowed in admission. "But it would have needed the hammer and the arm of Thor to have shattered a way through a city's walls and an army." "I had Constantine's pledge. You came with nothing." "Ah, no! With the message of one mighty warrior to another. Would any one deem that so great an honor could end in harm or loss?" Here even the wilder freebooters, easily shifting in mood, broke out applaudingly. Eschwine looked on with no displeasure. "I don't wonder that you witch men with your singing," he said. "Mere talk suffices. Prince Llywarch, it shall be in every way as you have spoken. And now between us, and with all these, the harp will be sooth and safe, to keep the tongue out of trouble." "What sk** I have," said Llywarch, "is for you." "Bring then your harp, Wolfnoth;" and Wolfnoth brought it. "I cannot say how it may misbehave in British [Page 114] hands," he said, tendering it reluctantly. He was more fanciful in apparel and eager of eye than the rest, but more indolent in motion. His manner of holding the instrument showed how he prized it. There were curiosity and interest in his face; for a master of some renown in the craft was before him, being also the prince of a bold people. Llywarch overcame his hesitation by minstrel free-masonry. He spoke in Saxon, making sad work, for he had studied it little; but the other understood him. "I can do nothing," said Llywarch, "without rhymes. Therefore your hero-songs would be beyond me. It is wise to keep to waters that one knows. I will give you a battle-piece of my people, put together by myself. You may like it or not; I don't know." Dynan had been edging near, with lively concern. "For the love of God," he protested, "not the lay of Ambrosius!" Eschwine watched. "What is that?" he demanded sharply. The little man turned pale, but looked back, eye for eye. "The tale of a d**h-fight!" he said simply. His hand was on something in his belt – a dagger, Eschwine thought, but really what had been called the fairy horn, which might never be more urgently needed. [Page 115] "The d**h-fight of one who stayed the oncoming of Cerdic," added Caowl bluntly, being more mindful of the jealousies of that coast. "That will I have, and no other," declared Eschwine, smiting his hand on his thigh, and looking around him with a clearing brow. Alone among the chieftains of the south, great Cerdic of Wess** as yet outshone him, often drawing recruits away, so that rivalry was bitter, and envy bitterer still. "Let us have it all, full tilt; it will do my men good,"he cried gleefully. Now, Llywarch had a different ballad in mind, and smiled inwardly at the combining of Dynan with Eschwine to take the choice from him. Still, the general aspect was favorable, and he struck into it spiritedly; the rude harp, though poorly worthy of him, doing good service among war-loving ears, in the echoes of the woods. Danger and the strain of self-control gave his voice an unusual reckless resonance, when at length set free. His theme was the last charge of Aurelius Ambrosius at Netley, in his old age and snow-white armor, defending the way to that Holy House named after him (Amesbury), whence came his title, Prince of the Sanctuary. And this was the lay sung by Llywarch, Prince of Argoed, to the Saxon marauders in their camp by the marshes of the Lea. [Page 116] THE SONG OF LLYWARCH. White was the great steed under him, White was the gleam of mailéd limb – Swift as the warrior seraphim! White was the steed, but dashed with red, White were the locks that blew outspread, White was the sword-hilt overhead. White as the sea-wave's flower of foam! One shout for Britain, Christ, and Rome! Horseman and horse went shattering home. I saw them, as he onward sped, White horse to white horse of the dead: – Then the pale banner whirled and fled. I saw the thousands in his wake, The wingéd spears that stream and shake, I heard the crash, as thousands brake. And, borne upon the wind along, A faint far swell of chant and song, A jubilation vast and strong. Where Ambrose and his thousands fell, There rises still that holy swell, Proving their work was done right well. Where Ambrose and his thousands lie, The stars of Heaven go sweeping by, The eyes of Heaven that shall not die. Where Ambrose and his thousands are There needs no light of dawn or star, For the great glory shining far. [Page 117] Glory to glory, grace on grace! Hero of Britain's ancient race, Our crowned one of the holy place! "It is not for me," said Eschwine, rising gravely, to offer gifts to one not less great every way than myself, and tuneful, as I am mute, in song. But I would change hunting-knives with you, if I may. I cannot spare my sword; there is a fate in it." "Willingly," said Llywarch; but all his companions looked uncertain. Ever since the d**h-feast at Wipped's-fleet, the Saxon blade and Saxon friendship had been frightful in British eyes. Yet all was done fairly, and Llywarch found a handsome Frisian haft in his hand. "Long ago," said Eschwine, "I took it in fight at sea." His men applauded also, understanding at least the rush of the lines; and that they dealt with battle. Those who had caught the names of a hostile faith cared little, for religion was no pa**ion with them. Next Wolfnoth took the harp, tossed back his head, and began chanting emulously, in a wild voice, to a wilder accompaniment, one of the staves, unrhymed but alliterative, which delighted his people. The envoys, in their turn, lost many of the words, and found more stress in it than melody; but it somehow brought home to them the sense of d**h affronted, of shadows overwhelming and feared not, of ear-[Page 118] nest grappling with man and fate, with gods and the hereafter. When they departed, Eschwine called after them, "Good luck to Arthur with Ossa Cyllalaur!" Now Cyllalaur was the great Saxon leader of the north. Llywarch bowed, but later said quietly, "In other words, he would be well content to see an enemy and a rival wear each other out." "There is comfort in getting off with a whole skin for any reason," observed Caowl. The marshman in the stern grinned appreciatively. "But we will go back another way," said he. "I have no fear of waylaying," declared Llywarch. "We were quite in his power." "It may suit him to play cat and mouse," Dynan suggested. "I vote for all prudence and caution." "Do you mean that he would be capable of shaking hands for good-by, with an ambuscade awaiting us by his orders?" demanded Llywarch. "He would. He has done worse than that," Caowl replied, darkening. "For my part," said Dynan airily, "I put no limits to him; he is a very 'capable' man." But this time there came no missile at them in crossing the pool. Nor indeed afterward, except once, far away, when a spear was cast viciously into the boat, and a dwarf, nearly naked, went scuttling [Page 119] off where pursuit was not easy. But they judged him to be neither a Saxon nor any settled Briton, but a mere wandering waylayer, of malice toward every one; for there were always a few such about these desolate places. Most of the time they were in what might be called open land for that region, though the rank growth was neck-high to a standing man, where not fallen in patches with the decrepitude of the year. At last they made firm land at a ring of oak-trees, thick enough to form a screen, enclosing a clear, shallow lakelet, the very centre of which was occupied by the palisaded village of the marshmen. A platform running around the inside of this tall barrier near its top gave the defenders a great advantage. A single narrow causeway led out from shore; but the gate of this was strongly guarded, and the whole structure, down to the water-bed, could be torn away very speedily in case of need. Here they rested a little time, with much consideration from the villagers, who could find nothing less than magic in the successful outcome of their errand. Thence they easily reached London. When Arthur heard the tale, he blamed himself, even more than he praised those whom he had sent into such danger. With all his knowledge of Eschwine, he had not felt it fully. Savage demonry, beyond example, was indeed very near the great city.