THE GREAT TEMPLE.
The Great Temple, or Stonehenge as it is now called, though its decay had
already commenced, still preserved the form which we have now some
difficulty in tracing. There was an outer circle consisting of thirty huge
triliths,(39) the greater part of which were still standing in the
position in which the unsparing labour of a long past generation had
placed them. Within this there was a circle of forty single stones, this
circle again containing two ovals. One of these ovals was composed of five
triliths, even larger than those which stood in the outer circle; the
other was made of nineteen upright stones. At the upper end of this stood
the altar, a low, flat structure of blue marble.
All the preparations for the sacrifice were complete when Cedric—for we
may as well henceforth call the Saxon by the name which he bore among his
countrymen—reached the spot. Carna was being led by two of the subordinate
priests to the altar, where Caradoc stood, robed for the rite which he was
about to perform. The sky had now again cleared, and the moon, riding high
in the heavens, poured a flood of silver light through the south entrance,
and fell on the priest’s impassive face as he stood fronting the light,
while it glittered on his crown of gold and gave a dazzling brilliancy to
his white robe. In his hand he held a knife of flint, with which it was
the custom to give the first blow to the victim, though innovation had so
far prevailed even in the Druid worship that the sacrifice was completed
with a weapon of steel. But this latter lay at his feet, and was concealed
by the fall of his robe. It was not, indeed, supposed to be used. The
attendants, who were also dressed in white, were rough and brutal
creatures, selected for their office because they could be trusted to
carry out any orders without remonstrance or hesitation. Yet even they
seemed touched by the girl’s dignity and courage, as she walked with head
erect and unfaltering gait between them. Had she hesitated, or hung back,
or struggled, doubtless they would not have hesitated to drag her to the
altar; but walking as she did with a proud resignation to her fate, they
showed her a rude respect by letting their hands rest as lightly as
possible, so as to give no sense of constraint, upon her arms. On either
side of the priest stood Martianus and Ambiorix. The younger man had
braced himself to what, fanatical patriot as he was, was evidently a
hateful task. He looked steadfastly and unflinchingly at the scene; but
his face was deadly pale, and the blood trickled down his chin as he bit
his lip in the unconscious effort to maintain a stern composure. Martianus
was overwhelmed with shame and horror. If there was one softer heart among
the “stern, black-bearded kings” who of old in Aulis watched the daughter
of Agamemnon die, he must have looked and felt as Martianus did in the
Great Temple that night. Cursing again and again in his heart the ambition
which had led him to mix himself up with this fanatical crew, but too much
a craven at heart to protest, he stood trembling with agitation, mostly
keeping his eyes shut or fixed upon the earth, but sometimes compelled by
a fascination which he could not resist to lift them, and take in the
horror of the scene. Each of the chiefs had an armed attendant standing
behind him. Besides these there were no spectators of the scene, though
guards were disposed at each of the entrances which led to the central
shrine. Even these had been kept in ignorance of what was to be done, and
they were too deeply imbued with the traditional awe felt for the Great
Temple to think of playing the spy.
[Illustration: The Sacrifice.]
The priest, after observing the position of the moon, and seeing that the
shadows fell now almost straight towards the north, began the invocation
which was the preliminary of the sacrifice. It was for this that the Saxon
was waiting, as he stood in the shadow of one of the huge triliths. He
crept silently out of his concealment, entirely unobserved, so intent were
all present on the scene that was being enacted. His first object was the
priest. This had been laid down for him in the instructions given him by
the peddler before he started; and indeed his own instinct would have
dictated the act. The priest put out of the way, the sacrifice would, for
the time at least, be stopped; for so high a solemnity could not be
performed but by one of the very highest rank. Time would thus be gained,
and with time anything might happen. One firm thrust between the shoulders
sent the Saxon’s sword right through the priest’s body, so that the point
stood out an inch or two from the priest. Without a cry the man fell
forward, deluging with his blood the stone of sacrifice. The ministrants
who stood on either side of Carna were paralysed with astonishment and
dismay. Before they could recover themselves Cedric had dragged his weapon
out of the priest’s body, sheathed it, and thrown himself on them. Two
blows, delivered almost simultaneously by fists that had almost the force
of sledge hammers, levelled them both senseless to the ground. He then
caught the girl up in his arms. A full-grown woman—and Carna had a stature
beyond the average of her sex—is no light burden, but Cedric’s strength
was, as has been said before, exceptionally great, and now it seemed
doubled by the fierce excitement of the hour. To escape with her by
running was, he knew, impossible. For such a task no fleetness of foot, no
strength, would be sufficient. To attempt would be to expose himself to
certain death, and Carna to as certain re-capture. But his quick eye had
caught sight of a place where he might hold out, at least for a time,
against a much superior strength of assailants. One of the triliths had
partially fallen, the huge cross-stone having been so displaced that it
formed an angle with one of its supports, and so afforded a protection to
the back and sides of a fighter who managed to ensconce himself in the
niche, and who would so have only his front to protect. Setting Carna
behind him, and making her understand by a movement of the hand that she
must crouch as low as she could upon the ground, he prepared to hold his
position. The odds against him were not so heavy as might have been
supposed. The two ministrants were unarmed. Of the four left, the two
chiefs and their attendants, one was a middle-aged man, who had never been
expert in arms; and who, whatever his skill and strength, would scarcely
have cared to use them in such a conflict. Ambiorix, indeed, was of
another temper. The gloomy, fanatical doggedness with which he had looked
on at the preparations for the sacrifice gave way to a fierce delight when
he saw an enemy before him with whom he could cross swords. In his inmost
soul he had hated the thought of the sacrifice; but yet the man who had
hindered it, and with it the weal of Britain, was a foe whom it would be
pleasure to smite to the ground. But fierce as was his temper, it was full
of chivalry. He would not dishonour himself by bringing odds against an
enemy. Signing to the armed attendants to stand back, he advanced to
challenge Cedric. The Saxon, in height and strength, was more than a match
for his antagonist. But he was hampered by his position, especially by the
presence of the girl. The weapon, too, with which he was armed—a short
Roman sword—was strange to him. He thought with regret of his own good
steel, an heirloom come down to him from warriors of the past, and
inscribed with magic Runic rhymes, that was then lying at the bottom of
the Channel. The change, however, was not really so much to his
disadvantage as he thought. The stones behind him would have hindered the
long sweeping blow which made the great Saxon swords especially
formidable. Altogether it might have seemed as if Cedric must inevitably
be worsted in the struggle. The British chief, though he hated the customs
and even the civilization of the Roman conquerors, had not disdained to
learn what they could teach him in the use of arms. They were acknowledged
masters in that, and he accepted the maxim that it was right to be
instructed even by one’s bitterest enemy. Accordingly he knew all that a
fencing master could teach him; and all the Saxon’s agility, quickness of
eye, and strength, could not counterbalance the advantage. Before many
minutes had passed Cedric was bleeding from two wounds, neither of them
very serious, but sufficient to hamper and weaken him. One had been
inflicted on the sword-arm, and threatened to disable him altogether
before long. He felt this himself, and took his resolve. “The curse of
Thor upon this foolish toy!” he cried, in his native tongue, as he threw
the short sword straight in the face of his enemy; and followed up the
strange missile by leaping on his antagonist, both of whose arms he
fastened down to his sides with a supreme exertion of strength. Gigantic
strength, indeed, was the only thing which gave so desperate a resort the
chance of success, and this might well have failed, if the adversary had
not been entirely unprepared for the movement. Once held in this
tremendous clasp, Ambiorix was as helpless as a kid in the hug of a bear.
Cedric fairly lifted him off his feet, and threw him backwards. His head
struck one of the great stones in his fall, and he lay senseless and
helpless on the ground.
The struggle was over so quickly that the attendants had no time to
interfere; nor when it was finished did they feel any great eagerness to
engage so formidable a champion. Still they advanced, and Martianus, who
felt himself unable to maintain any longer in the face of what had
happened his attitude of inaction, advanced with them. By this time Carna,
who had been almost stunned by the rapid succession of startling
incidents, had recovered her self-possession. She lifted herself from the
ground, and stepped between Cedric and the three antagonists who stood
confronting him.
“Martianus,” she cried, “what are you doing here? What mixes you up with
these horrible doings—you, my father’s friend, you, a Christian man?”
The Briton stood silent, cursing in his heart the hideous enterprise which
had not even the poor merit of success. He was spared the necessity of
speaking by an exclamation from one of the ministrants.
“See!” cried the man, “there is a party coming. It is not likely that they
are friends—let us be off.”
And indeed the moonlight clearly showed a number of persons who were
rapidly advancing up one of the great avenues.
Martianus did not hesitate.
“You are right,” he said to the man, “we must go. The priest’s body must
be left. It is useless to cumber ourselves with the dead; we shall have as
much as we can do to escape ourselves, but take the sacred things. They at
least must not fall into the hands of the enemy. And you,” he went on,
addressing himself to the two attendants, “take up your master and carry
him off. We have something of a start, and it is possible that they may
not pursue us.”
His directions were at once obeyed. The priest’s body was stripped of its
robes and ornaments. Ambiorix, who still lay unconscious on the ground,
was carried by the united efforts of the soldiers and ministrants, and the
whole party had started in the direction of Amesbury before the
new-comers, who proved to be the priest Flavius, with a party of his
people, reached the Temple.