THE PURSUIT (_CONTINUED_).
The signal previously agreed was promptly hoisted by the party on shore,
and as promptly observed and obeyed by the crew of the galley which had
been for some time on the watch for some communication.
“My lord,” said the peddler, when they had embarked, “if I may suggest, we
should not make a straight passage to the mainland from here, but steer
for the north-west. Some eight miles beyond the western point of the
island there is a river flowing into the sea, and a fishing village at the
mouth. I know the place well, and have one or two good friends there. We
shall get a guide there; I have in my mind the very man who will suit us
well in that capacity. Indeed the river(35) itself would be no bad guide.
The Great Temple lies but a few miles westward from its upper course. The
road will be easy too along the valley, which is mostly clear of wood.”
“Then,” said the Count, “the Temple cannot be far from Sorbiodunum. Why
not make for the Great Harbour, and go by the Great Road to Venta(36) and
from Venta to Sorbiodunum.(37) The travelling would be much easier.”
“I have thought of that,” said the other, “but I think my plan the best.
The distance is far less, and, what is quite as important, we shall not be
expected to come that way. Depend upon it there will be an ambuscade laid
somewhere along the road; for they will feel sure that we shall try and
come that way.”
It was evident anyhow that as far as the sea voyage was concerned the man
was right. The tide was ebbing slowly, and an east wind, already high and
still rising, was blowing. To make way against wind and tide to the Great
Harbour would be in any case a laborious business; and if the wind
increased to a gale as it threatened to do, might become impossible. The
galley had been chosen for swiftness rather than seaworthy qualities in
rough weather, and might fail in the attempt to work back. On the other
hand both wind and tide thoroughly favoured a westward voyage.
Indeed she moved gaily on with a strong breeze, that in the phraseology of
to-day would be called a half-gale, blowing due aft, and scarcely felt the
heavy sea, seeming to leave the waves behind, as the rowers bent their
backs to their work. The Saxon had now taken his place on one of the
thwarts, and his gigantic strength, put it was evident with a will into
the labour, seemed of itself to drive the galley forwards. In an
incredibly short time the river mouth was reached, the galley stranded,
and the guide, who, by great good luck, had just returned from a fishing
voyage, engaged.
But now an unforeseen obstacle opposed itself. A few specks of rain had
been felt by the party as they went, and then as the day went on, began to
change to snow. And now the wind almost suddenly died away, and at the
same time the fall of snow grew heavier. The face of the guide fell.
“My lord,” he said, “I hear that your business is urgent and cannot wait.
But I must tell you that the weather looks very bad, and that the
prospects of our journey are almost as unfavourable as they can be. We
shall have a very heavy fall of snow, and if the wind gets up again, and
it begins to drift, we shall be blocked, and possibly unable to get either
backwards or forwards.”
“We must go,” said the Count, in a determined voice, “though the snow were
over our heads.”
After a very short interval allowed for refreshment, the party started. At
first the snow was no very serious obstacle; but after a couple of hours
incessant and rapid fall, it began to make movement very difficult. The
progress of the travellers grew slower and slower, and the Count began to
calculate that at their present rate of speed they could but barely arrive
in time. It was an immense relief when the sky almost suddenly cleared,
and showed the moon still evidently somewhat short of the full. But the
relief was only temporary. The clearer weather was the result of a change
of wind, which had suddenly veered to a point westward of north and which
was rapidly increasing in force. And now occurred the thing which the
peddler’s knowledge of the country and the weather had suggested to
him—the snow began to drift. At first the party was hardly conscious of
the change; indeed for a time the way was somewhat clearer and easier than
before; then as they came to a slight depression, the snow was felt to be
certainly deeper. Still three or four miles were traversed without any
particular difficulty. Then the leader of the party suddenly plunged into
a drift considerably above his knees. This obstacle, however, was
surmounted, or rather avoided by making a _détour_. But still the wind
rose higher and higher, and as it rose, not only did its force hinder the
party’s advance, but the drifts grew now formidably deep. Some of the
party began to lag behind; the Count himself, who was past his prime,
began to acknowledge to himself, with an agony of anger and fear in his
heart, that his strength was failing. Still they struggled on, leaving one
or two of the strugglers to make the best of their way back, or, it might
well be, to perish in the snow, till about half the distance was
traversed. They had now reached a little hamlet,(38) on the outskirts of
which there happened to be a small villa. It was shut up, the proprietor
chancing to be absent, but it was put at the disposal of the party by the
person who was in charge. Fires were hastily lighted, and the travellers,
most of whom had almost reached the end of their powers of endurance, were
refreshed with warmth and food.
The Count held a council of war. The situation indeed seemed nothing less
than desperate. Two out of the party of twenty-five—their numbers had been
increased by a contingent taken from the crew of the galley—were missing.
They had fallen out on the march, and it was too probable that they had
perished in the snow. Of the remainder but four or five seemed fit for any
further exertion. By far the freshest and most vigorous of them was the
Saxon. The fatigues of the night had scarcely told on his gigantic
strength. The Italians, and even the Britons, natives of the southern
parts of the island, and little accustomed to heavy falls of snow, looked
at him with astonishment. As for him, he was full of impatience at the
delay.
The Count was in an agony of doubt and distress. His own strength had
failed so completely that all his spirit—and there was no braver man in
the armies of Rome—could not have dragged him a hundred yards further. And
he saw that many of his followers were in little better case. And yet to
give up the pursuit! to leave Carna, the sweetest, gentlest of women, dear
to him as a daughter of his own, to this hideous death! The thought was
too dreadful.
“When do they perform their horrible rites?” said the Count to the
peddler.
“When the full moon shines through the great south entrance of the
Temple,” was the answer.
“And when will that be?”
“To-night, and about an hour before midnight, as far as I can guess.”
“And what must be done? What is your advice?”
“There seems to me only one thing possible. Those who can must press on. I
count a great deal on the Saxon. His strength and endurance are such as I
never saw in any man, and they now seem to be increased manyfold. Anything
that can be done by mortal man, he, you may be sure, will do. Our guide
too has happily something still left in him; and there are three or four
others who are equal to going on after they have had a little rest. I
should say, let them get two or three hours’ sleep, and then push on to
Sorbiodunum. That is not far from here, and they can easily reach it
before noon to-day, after allowing a fair time for rest. Perhaps they may
get some help there, though the place is not what it was. It is some years
since I paid it a visit, and then I found it in a very declining
condition, so much so that it was not worth my while to go there again.
There were not more than two or three Roman traders there, and they made
but a very poor living out of their business.”
This seemed to be the best course practicable under the circumstances. The
Saxon, with whom the peddler held a long conversation, was for pressing on
at once, and would almost have gone alone, but for want of a guide. When
he understood the state of the case he yielded to what he perceived to be
a necessity, and throwing himself down on the hearth was almost
immediately buried in a profound sleep, an example which was soon followed
by the rest of the party, the Count and the peddler excepted.
Not more than two hours could be allowed for rest. The guide and the three
sailors who had volunteered to go on were roused with no little
difficulty; the young Saxon was wide awake in a moment. The party partook
hastily of a meal of bread, meat, and hot wine and water, which the
peddler had been busying himself in preparing while they slept, and, after
stowing away some provisions for the day, started on their journey about
two hours before noon.
Sorbiodunum was reached without much difficulty. But there a great
disappointment awaited them. The peddler’s anticipations were more than
fulfilled, for the town was almost deserted. Only one Roman remained
there. He was an old man who had married a British wife, and who
cultivated a farm which had descended to her from her father. When the
guide handed to him the letter which the Count had addressed to the
authorities of the town, begging for any help which they could give in
saving the liberty and life of a person very dear to himself, he shook his
head. When he heard the whole of the guide’s story, he became still more
depressed.
“Authorities!” he said, “there are no authorities. I am the only Roman
left in the place, and I do not know where to look for a single man to
help you. As for the Great Temple on the plain there is not a creature
here who would dare to go near it. They think it haunted by spirits and
demons. And indeed there _are_ strange stories about it. To tell you the
plain truth, I should not much care to go there myself. No; I see nothing
to be done. But I will ask my wife. Perhaps her woman’s wit will help us.”
Bidding the party be seated, he left the room in which he had received
them, and entered the kitchen, where his wife was busy with her domestic
affairs.
In about half an hour he returned. His expression was now a shade more
cheerful than before.
“Ah!” he said, “I was right about the woman’s wit. She _has_ thought of
something. You must know that my wife is a very devout Christian—for
myself I am a Christian too, but I must own that I don’t see so much in it
as she does—and that she has brought up our children in that way of
thinking. Now, our eldest son is a priest in a village some seven miles
hence, and his people are devoted to him. If there is any one in this
neighbourhood who can give you the help you want it is he. He has only got
to say the word and his people will follow him to the end of the world.
Here is a proof of it. Four years ago a strong party of Picts came this
way, ravaging and plundering wherever they went. There were not more than
fifty of them, but the people were as terrified as if they were so many
demons. If you think this place a desert now, what would you have thought
it then? There was not a single person left in it—at least a single person
that could help himself—for the cowards had the meanness to leave some of
the old and the sick behind them. But my son was not going to let the
robbers have it all their own way—you know he has something of the Roman
in him—and he went about talking to his people in such a way, that they
plucked up spirit, and fell on the Picts one night when they were
expecting nothing less than an attack, and gave such an account of them,
that the country has not been troubled since with the like of them. Well,
as I say, he is the man to help you. I have my younger son here working
with me on the farm; he is just such another as his elder brother, and
would have been a priest too if he had not felt it to be his duty to stay
and help me. I will bring him in, and he shall hear the whole story and
carry it to his brother. That is the best hope that I can give you, and I
really think that it is worth something. What I can do for you does not go
beyond hospitality, but to that you are heartily welcome. You have some
hours before you. If you start an hour after sunset you will be in ample
time. And, in fact, you had better not start before, because the less that
is seen of your movements the better. I don’t know that any of the people
about here are infected with the Druid superstition, though I have had one
or two hints to that effect, hints which what you have just told me helps
to explain. But, in any case, the more secret you are the better. Besides,
my son’s Party cannot reach the Great Temple till long after dark.
Meanwhile take some rest and refreshment, for, believe me, you have
something before you.”
This advice was so obviously right, that the guide, who was in command of
the party, had no hesitation in accepting it.
About six o’clock another start was made. At first, though the weather
looked threatening, no serious obstacle presented itself. The snow was
somewhat deep on the ground, but there were no serious drifts on their
way, a way which, indeed, for some distance from the town lay under the
leeward side of a wood. But they had not gone more than a mile and a half
when a disastrous change in their circumstances occurred. The wind rose
almost suddenly to the height of a gale, and brought with it a fall of
snow, separated by the rapid movement of the air into a very fine powder,
and working its way through the clothing of the traveller with a
penetrating power which nothing could resist. Still, benumbed as they
were, almost blinded by the icy particles which were whirled with all the
force of the tempest against their faces, they struggled on for more than
half the distance which lay between them and their destination. Then the
three sailors cried out simultaneously that they must halt, and the guide
unwillingly owned that he must follow their example. Only the Saxon was
left to go on, and he, with a gesture which it was impossible to mistake,
declared his intention of persevering. Just at that moment the clouds
parted in the east, and the full moon showed the landscape with a singular
clearness, its most conspicuous feature being the gigantic stones of the
Great Temple, which could be seen about two miles to the northward. The
guide pointed to them, and the Saxon, when they caught his eye, leapt
forward with an energy which nothing seemed to have abated, and, with a
gesture of farewell to his companions, plunged into the darkness.