William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XVI: An Interview with the Dead lyrics

CHAPTER XVI. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD. "An astrologer then he may be . . . He would make the dead alive." BOTH elation and trouble were in Cian's heart as he walked towards the White Tower between Wulfhelm and Tigernach, the three together nearly filling the narrow ways. The two enemies by race at first eyed each other across him with looks of reserve, then kept on, saying little. As they ascended the hill, although not on the haunted side, the face of the Andred man grew reverent, his very feet moving as if in deprecating good will; whereas the Saxon glowered and grinned sardonically at the hostile holy ground, as though very willing to disbelieve, but hating and fearing. This contrasted witness of the two men to the intensified power of the legend impressed Cian very deeply. They found Osburn disturbed about the matter, and in no amiable mood. He bent devouring eyes on the outwardly indifferent Wulfhelm, until Cian explained how much they owed this young man. [Page 163] Osburn listened gravely, put a question or two, declared himself satisfied, and forthwith issued orders for an escort of honor befitting a noted chieftain. "My best way of thanking," he observed. "It may help you with the King of Wess**." Wulfhelm grew taller in his delight and pride. "This will pair with Prince Cian's letter," said he – "the best fighter and leader that our great enemy, Arthur, ever had." There was a deliberation in his praise, evidently intended to enhance its value. It cost effort. Cian laughed. "Over commending may make a bad ending," quoted he. "It wouldn't do to tell Maelgwn," suggested Osburn, quizzically and grimly, though kindly. "If my tongue makes an enemy for Prince Cian, my hand can unmake him," Wulfhelm replied stoutly. "No need to defend one who has commonly been able to defend himself," Cian declared. "Yet I thank you; farewell." He turned to Osburn, when the others had gone. "You have made the lad's fortune, yonder; and I am grateful." "I paid my own score," was the answer. "We're all in one crazy boat. I've been looking for such news. Now's the last chance to strike, but with what? Half our people crooning about that d**h's head of a Vran, who unluckily isn't where he ought to be." [Page 164] There was a defiant uplift of the voice in the close of this denunciation, proving that the denouncer was not wholly fearless and at ease with regard to the power upbraided. The northern prince felt this, and therefore disliked the implied blasphemy all the more. "Whatever else may be said of Vran, he is ours," Cian replied gravely. "And we are likely to be his," retorted Osburn. "Much like an otter with one paw in a trap, and the hounds coming." Cian smiled again. "Not so bad, I hope," said he. "It is something to find such terror-breeding power in a dead Briton. But I mean to try persuasion and argument with him this very night, if you will have me duly awakened." Osburn stared and laughed oddly at the means suggested; then, on second thought, looked at him with mingled hope and disquiet. Prince Cian's repute for occult knowledge hung about him like a magic robe. Just what might be possible with such a man, it did not become a Frank soldier of fortune to say. But, after all, what need to shrink from a comrade who had done so well? If there were other weapons which he could turn to account, by all means have the good of them. "Bring 'old Vran' to terms in your own way," quoth he. [Page 165] Late that night Cian was duly awakened. "You may hear them at it now," said the Frank sombrely. They listened. A hum of voices, low and thrilled, but broken now and then by some sharp cry, came from the southern face of the hill – a murmur charged with dread and anxiously imploring worship. "The Saxon coming is bruited abroad already," said he. Osburn nodded. The two went out together, taking a half-circuit. It was dark everywhere, yet, as always, a little lighter up the height; so, from the hollow which they had reached, the mob of swaying, gesticulating forms might be discerned like living shadows. The voices of them were chanting an invocation monotonously, all together, except a pa**ionate break or call now and then. While the two men strained eye and ear, a sudden outleap of light made Osburn throw up his hands, as though he feared blinding. There was a gasping cry among the worshippers, and then all were silent in dread and rapture. For the glare was dual, and came seemingly from within the hill, as though two great fiery eyes were seen, not quite nakedly, but through a film which hardly dimmed them. Every human figure had moved aside in fear, and was hidden by the great contrast. [Page 166] "There lies our task," said Cian, with resolute effort. Osburn forced himself to look. "I – will – go," said he. "No," answered Cian. "You cannot help here. To say truth, I doubt if any one can." "'To say truth' – come away!" urged Osburn, with sudden revulsion. "Anything for duty! But I would rather go at the Saxon army with ten men." Then he seemed to bethink himself. "After all," said he, "there should be nothing within one's command which one doesn't know." He braced himself for the ascent. Cian answered, "If – or rather since – Vran is in your command, how much greater must you be than the angels of Heaven, or the lords of the darker place!" Osburn said nothing, and they went upward together. For ten steps or more the glare was on them, with preterhuman life and will in it, long smouldering. Then – suddenly as it began – there was darkness. Not the mere obscurity in which one may discern outlines or shadows, but the smiting of blindness which follows a lightning flash when clouds are heavy, and there is neither moon nor star. They stood still, being helpless. Then they were aware of curses uttered in the black void, and that the curses were for them. That was never a pleas- [Page 167] ant sound to any man, least of all when a very little fancy-play might make the unfriendly sounds unearthly also. "I gather that they charge us with bringing them into disfavor," said Cian. By this time they could dimly see a medley of figures, the nearest almost touching them, all swayed by some eager feeling. The voices had changed again, and were swaying, too, in a low singsong of adjuration. Again, as in response, came the dual outglaring, so that every one before it stood vivid in vision, – marshmen, hill-folk, city rabble, villagers, even a few soldiers, nearly all the forms, it seemed, of London life within or without the city. Into the heart of the light Osburn could not look; and he felt, rather than saw, that it had two radiant points as before. Sounds came out of it also, addressing Cian, as it seemed to the Frank, in a tongue unknown; but he could only turn his eyes a little aside, and note what he might between darkness and dazzle. For Cian, that light soon softened into friendliness. He was aware of no cleft in the hillside through which it could come; but he seemed to follow it to a subterranean chamber, with walls like those he had known at the winning of the golden corselet; gla**y as by fusion, dense and ponderous, yet illumined, by a dreamy light. He was dreamily [Page 168] aware also of a presence within it, but the form and aspect he could not certainly perceive. The voice which Osburn heard, and many more as well, came thence to him with meaning; for he well knew that ancient speech of the island, which was now forgotten by all save adepts among the priesthood and wonder-workers. The popular fancy ascribed it unto the squat necromancers of the north who dwelt in hollow terraced hills before ever the Druids came, and who were Celtic in nothing except as being the topic of Celtic song and tale. "He who cometh," it said, "bringeth my own." It was a mellow sound, though so deep and resonant. Cian understood the allusion to the golden mystery that he wore. After a pause, the voice resumed. "What he hath won he shall wear, and not yet hath ended the winning. Yet the victory lies not in wheels, nor shod hoofs, nor winged blades, nor the fleetness of men and beasts, nor in any manner of onset. The great waves shatter on the rock while it abides their coming. If it roll to meet them, it shall be lost in the depth of the sea. I, Vran, am the life of London. He who would go forth to battle, leaving his life behind, must needs take d**h in its stead." Cian was awed and shaken; yet he felt that he must make answer and inquiry. He spoke with [Page 169] reverence. "As one who has been admitted to the light, and has wrestled in the darkness, I would ask why it is your august will to lay a palsy on us." There was no reply. The light shone on. The crowd listened, recognizing no word. He inquired again: "Is it the part of men to nestle under the hovering wing while the Saxon hawk is sweeping the field?" There was stillness again, and he fancied an angry wavering. Those about him shared the fancy; for there were murmurs, blaming presumption. But he hardened himself and raised his voice. "London is without the walls no less than within. What aid had I of Vran when the queen was threatened in the marshes by the Lea? Withdraw, then, your prohibition, I adjure you! Let the life of London willingly go forth with its strength." At this there was an indescribable stir of light and sound within the crypt. The voice thundered forth amid many echoes. "Woe unto him who heeds not the words I have spoken! Woe unto him who idly breaks my holy peace and vigil!" Then, as by the shutting of a lid, all was blackness and silence. There breathed a great sigh among the people, as knowing that the awful communion was ended. A few struck lights, after a brief time, and began to talk, though suppressedly, as they moved away. [Page 170] Cian knew that their attention was on him, but with little hostility. "Hardihood wins favor," said Osburn. "The more they think, the stronger you will be with them." He held himself erect and weightily while thus moralizing; but, when they were well around the curve of the hill, he drew a long breath and moved faster. "Better a terrible friend than a terrible enemy,"he said bravely; yet his eyes went back over his shoulder. "What do you call this Vran?" he demanded a little later, pausing squarely; "Ghost? God? Devil?" "Pray ask me an easier question,"responded Cian. "A highly patriotic and mysterious Londoner, with a sense of what is due to himself – so much, at least, one may say. What he was, you partly know, and there is not any man who knows wholly. What he is – may be a mere trick of priestcraft and false voices." For there was a soreness in Cian over that abrupt ending. Osburn looked at him, and shook his head. "A hard saying that for a brother wonder-worker!" he observed very dryly. "You do me wrong,"answered Cian, with smiling dignity. "If I have concerned myself about hidden things, it was not for deceiving." [Page 171] Yet each remained in doubt, with little faith as to the explanation by trickery. Osburn was half-minded to move his headquarters. But there was a sense of shame in flight, even from the unearthly. And by the haunter's own averment, it was a place of peculiar safety. Cian slept little, what he had seen and heard lingering on in his mind. Moreover, there was the dread that, on next issuing from the walls, he would be at the head of ghost-seeing men foredoomed by their fears to disaster. When the queen heard the tale the next morning, it was with no great heightening of concern, that being near its highest already. At heart she would have been better pleased than the men with extra human aid; but its limitation stirred her more angrily. What, desertion as the price of protection? Defensive magic bounded by a petty ring! Cruel selfishness made holy! Shameless and shocking n***ardliness of the mighty dead! Her own words made her tremulous; but she was set on befriending the weak in their peril at any risk, and on doing her full duty, although every power of the unknown should thunder against it.