William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XXII: Among the Cave-Dwellers of the Scaur lyrics

CHAPTER XXII. AMONG THE CAVE-DWELLERS OF THE SCAUR. With a fair maid, a paragon of splendid form, Have I been wandering in gloom and among sprites. – MERDDYN. THE snow was driving, the wind was making uncanny noises, and the night was coming on with benumbing cold in those naked heights where Llywarch and his company had travelled for a day and more, when they rode out suddenly on the brink of a cliff. Below their horses' heads there was nothing but air; a great rough wall, snow-dimmed, opposite; the bottom of the cleft in shadow already. "It must be the place – the Scaur, as they call it," said Dynan, but not very confidently; for of late nothing had been quite certain to them except losing their way in the storm. "Look!" he exclaimed the next moment, jubilantly pointing across. The sunset reflection from a cloud that floated high was thrown aslant a ledge of the opposite cliff. There, faintly rose-flushed in it, stood a token, quaint and homely, of man's presence, – a brown goat, motionless as though carved from the rock. [Page 209] "Not wild," said Cian's brother. "He listens for men without being afraid." Then, drawing breath, all of them raised a shout together, which the echoes hurled from side to side below, prolonging it down the valley. At once there rose the barking and baying of many excited dogs of every degree. Human voices awoke also, in tones of concern and warning, then ceased with a sudden hush. A half-grown lad, bow in hand, was where the goat had been, peering keenly upward, but holding himself ready to spring away at need. The arrows which he carried were held loosely, as though snatched up on the moment. A ragged mantle of some bright stuff dropped from him as he turned, showing a goat-skin tunic below. But the knife-hilt in his girdle had the glitter of j**ellery, and he was brow-bound with gold like a chief. At first sight of them he called out gladly, then paused, shading his eyes for closer scrutiny. Thereupon they announced their names and quality. He seemed to strain in comprehending them amid that reverberation of sound; but he repeated "Argoed" with evident recognition. He indicated a way down quite near them, and shouted delightedly below. Then the hubbub began again, but in a different tone. They saw him hurry down, with a gesture to show that he was coming to guide them. It was needed. On reaching the shelving ravine [Page 210] of their pathway, they found it so enveloped in murk, so steep and narrow, winding and uncertain, that they slipped willingly one by one from their saddles, and felt their way cautiously, bridle in hand. But before any real trouble had been encountered, sturdy figures were beside them, offering aid, though sometimes in unfamiliar speech. The stripling who had greeted them across the chasm was almost among the first, wofully out of breath, however willing to be voluble. There was a kindness and wildness of pride about him which they found becoming. For some moments, to the discomfiture of their horses, great movements of light, as from hidden fires, had rolled and shot across the valley. As they turned a corner in reaching the level ground below, there came on them a flood of smoky brightness. Looking up-stream, the cliff swelled outward at a little height over the turf, so as to form a long, low, narrow chamber, now stockaded for the protection of cattle. Horns and ears appeared above the pointed stakes and well behind the gorse-fires, too much accustomed to excitement among their human companions for any grave disquiet. But their own horses and some of the recaptured ones made stout protestation. They had, therefore, to be picketed farther away. On the flat summit of the arch a good pile of solid wood was blazing. Behind it, a broad patch [Page 211] of blackness, fitfully relieved, indicated the cavern home. All about it were men and women, variously clad, but mainly in some makeshift between civilization and the life of the wild. One tall and martial figure, though very aged, borne just then on a litter through the entrance, lifted himself at sight of Llywarch and Dynan, and waved his hand with a sonorous call of welcome. A warmer greeting awaited them when they had mounted the path to his side. "There is not much that Edyrn can bid you to," said he. "This hole in the cliff has been castle and banquet-hall and everything to us for so long that we have come to love it as men will love their home. But more sunshine than I can tell you is in the heart of a long-buried old man like me for the friends who come to him with kind faces and good deeds from the living world of his own people." "Not surely Edyrn of the Scarlet Coat?" inquired Dynan, with a bewildered air. The old man's eye brightened, but he smiled and shook his head. "That great hero – my father's father – died while I was young," said he; "before misfortune" – At the word a spasm of coughing took him, and two of his people bore him out of the smoke and heat. At the same time a very graceful and womanly figure issued from the cave, going anxiously toward him, [Page 212] but with a side-glance at themselves in pa**ing, – kind and grave and gently curious. Llywarch's heart stirred as at a summons. Those eyes of Lebanon and of the desert! The same Oriental quality was in the countenance and bearing of the venerable man who now addressed them, a Christian priest, undoubtedly, by the surplice he wore. No need to explain that this, kept sacredly, had outlasted all other outer apparel, and so come of necessity into daily use. An odd contrast! for by all hints of aspect that venerable figure should rather have been practising the grim rites of Astarte, or the thoughtful magic of Zoroaster, under fervid skies far away. "Pray come in," said he. "The torches are lighting. The evening meal will soon be ready." They followed him into the now brightening and reddening cavern. It was a great natural hall, with a long table in the middle, of oak slabs hewn to tolerable smoothness, but left uncovered. Seats of various patterns, mostly crude, were along the sides; one at the farther end being throne-like and carved with elaboration, as if brought from elsewhere. Many doorways opened into branching cave-chambers, which served the various needs of the settlement. Some of these were left open, others hung with skins by way of curtains; almost all had been smoothed and rounded from [Page 213] their first rude shape. As Llywarch was marshalled through one, there came to him through another a vision of a domed sparkling chapel, and a whitespread altar aglow with tapers, as at a thank-offering. He bowed without speech. It made his heart swell to think that his coming had been so devoutly welcome. The priest had seen the motion. "We could not do less," he said. "We have never done less when any one has come to us, by God's will, out of the life of Christian Britain. We esteem them his light-bearers." "Angels, that is to say," laughed out Dynan. "Oh, now, if you are going to convince us that we are angels!" His face grew respectfully sober, as he added, "But I saw indeed a spirit of the holy twilight pa** in before you bade us." Llywarch looked repression; but the priest accepted his words quite simply. "It was my dear daughter Sanawg," said he. "She has been lighting the tapers. You saw her also with the chief outside. And now I hope you will find here all that is needful. We of the under-world must content ourselves, not with what we would, but what we may." Truly a very incongruous toilet provision awaited them. The water running freely through clefts in the rock fell, indeed, into a natural basin, half niche, half ledge, and thence into a greater one in the floor [Page 214] itself before pa**ing away. But to supplement these – there being so many guests – a great variety of vessels had been brought and filled. One, richly ornamented, was of silver, heavy and pure, the little arrows, cupids, and snake-heads around its border, and the rounded outlines of the nude, struggling nymphs below, gleaming in the torchlight. Just beside it was another, of uncouth shape and ill-baked clay, almost like some child's plaything moulded of the roadway mire. Then a finely woven piece of tarred wicker ware. And again a shallow thing of fretted coralline pottery, very thin, and resonant even to light tapping. "There is something of all our history here," said the old man, by way of comment. "If it links us one way with the savage, it links us the other way to kind homes which the Saxons burned for us, and the vanished beauty of Isurium." "It is a city my father has spoken of," said Llywarch, with a tinge of sadness. "And it may be of some who dwelt there," suggested the old man, smiling. "If so, you perhaps have heard of me, `Gwydion.'" "Often!" exclaimed Llywarch. "Who has not?" echoed Dynan. In their minds an old song-fragment ran: – "Gwydion ap Don of the toiling spirits, By enchantment created a woman from blossoms." [Page 215] With it came to mind a repute for learning so wide in range and uncommon in quality that the rumor of magic went with it. They saw how well the look of the man and his accessories fitted the fancy. Dynan shifted his footing. Llywarch seemed half uneasy, then smiled at himself. Gwydion rea**ured them pleasantly. "I could not venture to cope with one so much more nearly allied to faery," said he, pointing to Dynan's wonder-working heritage. "But in truth I am very far from a magician. Nothing more, I a**ure you, than a harmless old man, who has learned a little something of a great world, and a much greater one to follow. Meanwhile I aid a hero, still older, who needs it, and strive to keep yet a remnant in the right way. The church of God has taken to the under-world before." He bowed, and pa**ed from them. Dynan hummed the song-words to himself again, "a woman from blossoms" coming forth aloud. Llywarch splashed impatiently, half-drowning his face in the water, then raised it good-humoredly. "I should not wonder if you have hit the mark," said he. When summoned again to the dining-hall, they found a fire burning at the far end, seemingly for the good of old Prince Edyrn, who sat nearest it, now in full vigor and almost impossible youthfulness. As he completed for them that joyous greeting which had [Page 216] been interrupted outside, they could see that their mere presence, and the revival of old patriarchal memories, had left little need for any other cordial. All the cavern people, both men and women, in due succession were made to know them, even to young maidens; for of these last, not uncomely, there were more than a few. The sounds, rather than the sight, of children showed that these, too, were plentiful, though just then in some subterranean hiding-place. Now, whether of Edyrn's will or her own, Llywarch was given seat nearest that of Sanawg, daughter of Gwydion. Very gracious and welcoming he found her; subtly strange with that beauty from afar, but more than pleased to please, and eager beyond eagerness to hear; yet self-restraining, and willing to learn by his general answer rather than by closeness of questioning, nor in any regard less than modest. But, as to that, there were so many anxiously querying or boastful that she had little need. Edyrn in especial often spoke, exulting openly, as one who deemed the Saxon host would soon be broken, and that the great Emperor with all the embattled powers of Britain would come sweeping by, to do him honor before the setting of his day, – the dream of a lone champion who sees, after years of hidden strife and silent waiting, the gathering of many friends! The hearts of the young men warmed toward him; nor less to the grand old priest, the [Page 217] wisest of his day, yet child-simple, keeping faithfully one little taper of faith aglow in the hollow of the hills, out of all sight but that of God, abiding in patience, manful and holy, the slow wearing from them day by day of whatever was most gracious and lovely. Llywarch knew, moreover, that Sanawg read the admiring compa**ion of his soul, which made him thankful. Merry as that gathering was, even before the mead went round, it left ample room for pity. Rich ornaments were among them, for gold and j**els lose nothing by time; but in apparel there was much of savage makeshift, much also of spectral gentility. Sanawg's own robe would have been tattered but for careful mending, which yet showed over plainly, and seemed the more faded in seeming for the brightness of the brooches that fastened it over her shoulders. The men had fared even worse, as her father's expedient indicated. The commoner sort went mainly in sheepskin, as did also a few of better quality, whose words, nevertheless, were well chosen, and their bearing courteous exceedingly. Others, martial figures, wore Saxon garments, no doubt the spoil of some dead raider. That was an evening which bade fair to have no end. When the table was cleared, and the mountain mead circulated no longer, or only in distant corner eddies, the yet more grateful quaffing of tidings from [Page 218] the outer world went on increasingly. For now nearly all could come thronging about the narrators; and their aged leader, chuckling and brightening, was less than ever extreme to mark what might go amiss. Then were the campaigns of the great Arthur fought over again, and the reviving glories of the South grew visible to their eyes, – Caerleon, Caer Badus, Caer Gloi, and more, bourgeoning about their white Roman marbles with the fresh current of life that had been turned from the Thames to the Severn; Camelot, queen of the hills and the border, wherein old Rome had little part or none, but all was the fantastic thought of Merlin, or the high hope of Arthur, or the fresh splendor of the young island empire, bodying itself in many diverse forms on high; and beyond all, that gathering of princely men about the Emperor, – the men of glittering joust and wild-wandering emprise, of mystic aspiration and daring beyond all their race, the fame whereof had penetrated already into distant nooks. Old Edyrn thrilled under it. "I had heard – I had heard a little," said he. "Even in my time, taking some hint from Rome, the great Ambrosius had begun, – even in my time, while I yet held some fragments of the great wall for him. There were games of strength among us then, and tilting, and sallies to find what we might set aright in the de- [Page 219] batable land next the heathen, – all which has since grown into more, and holds the seeds of such promise for a race like ours. Praised be God that these old eyes have been held open until the true break of day." Then Gwydion and all the people responded, "Praised be God!" Sanawg, only, said not a word where she had sat, bending, all her life in her eyes, while first one guest spoke, and then another. Presently she rose, and stepped away. Coming back with a harp before her, she laid it in Llywarch's hands, saying gently, "We have heard still more of what the princes of Camelot and of Argoed can do, or we know it without hearing." As if his fame for minstrelsy were already abroad among them, voices clamored on every side for his battle-songs, his wild war-music; and Dynan, mischief in his eye, urged them on, suggesting new incentives and more apposite praises. So Llywarch took the harp, laughing but proud, and played and sang as never before. The eyes of Sanawg had been in his at the giving, and something pa**ed between that lifted him with a great exultation and bore him on. A world of subtle power possessed him. The old intoxication of battle revived with transcending stir and swell in the thought that for her, and beings rare as her, the great fight above all was raging. He sang of Vortimer, son of Vortigern, and how amid the running of the foam-beads and the curv- [Page 220] ing crash of the breakers, that hero smote the heathen, boats and men together, by the great rock on the shore of the Gallic sea. He sang of Arthur the Emperor, child of mystery and of terror, star of the southwestern ocean haze that rose beside Tintagil, and now, in victory after victory, a portent and a promise, astounding the nations of the heathen, uplifting all his land toward what she yet should be. He closed with a great burst of appeal to every living Christian soul in that last clashing of Armageddon which was now upon them; and it left all trembling. Then Sanawg, as if moved by some power beyond herself, came forward and laid her hand on his arm. "After that, no more!" said she, in her tone a solemn, half-defiant pride, as of one under glad enchantment. Gwydion said gravely, "Do not interrupt our guest, my daughter." He smiled, and added, "We have all been beyond ourselves, under a greater magic than silly folk ever ascribed to me." Llywarch shook his head, murmuring, "Gwydion, lord of the toiling spirits, by enchantment created a woman from blossoms." Sanawg flushed a little, and smiled a little, feeling many eyes on her, but answered with an awakening look, "I am not dreaming, my father, nor in the shadows of faery. Surely I am thankful to Prince Llywarch for thinking so kindly of me. We will de- [Page 221] lightedly listen again to the harp of Argoed." For she thought there might be shelter therein. And she drew away a little. But he answered, The sweeter music ends the ruder;" and they who loved her, having the melody of her voice yet in their ears, were well pleased with his words. Then Dynan, aware of his friend's longing, took the task of the hour to himself, and told them vividly the strangest and the most stirring things, one after another; while Llywarch, with slight comment, more and more drew from the circle, as by drifting, until, even among so many, under the tossing and rolling of the torchlight and billowy shadow, he and the daughter of Gwydion were together again. The huddle of eager people was a screen of privacy to them, and so were the many voices. She did not at all withdraw, but willingly made room for him, and speech with him, in very modest gladness, asking and telling of things less general than had been spread before all. He felt, surely, the underflow of personal concern run through it; so that, in bidding good-night, the parting of their eyes was like a lip-pressure. Llyvarch seemed aware of her presence yet with him when she was really there no more. Then he went out through the thinning men-clusters of the great cavern, where some were casting [Page 222] themselves down to sleep, and took the way to his good horse, in frosty starlight, although he had little fear but that all was well. The stave of Dynan was in his ears at every step. "A woman from blossoms!" Ah, but not of this pale, cold, anxious northern land; flowers of the air they were, flame-golden, yet striking no root in polluted earth; night-bloom of Tyrian purple, distilling a sacred twilight dew. For Sanawg, the cavern maiden, was already a great inciter of hyperboles to the Prince of Argoed; and, in giving her life, Gwydion had wrought more enchantment than he knew. The light hand of the fairy's child fell on the dreamer's shoulder. A low laugh came after it, as of one who knew. Llywarch, turning face to face in the faint light, laughed also. "I have seen so many, many women," said he. "I have laughed and sang and feasted with so many. And now " – "You are bewildered, as I see," answered Dynan, nodding. "But these are sudden times; and a soldier's love, like his fighting, must come quickly, or it will be little good, – in a world where nothing lasts long." At the tone of those final words, Llywarch came out of his musing, to look on this true friend with some sense of trouble. Something – a very little – he had surmised between Dynan and Freur, but [Page 223] knew of no cause for disquiet in that, being very willing. "You are a man of happy fate," quoth Dynan. "There is none to bar your way." "And who on earth should bar yours?" "None on earth a**uredly;" said Dynan, and turned back, while Llywarch stared after him.