THE SIEGE.
Day after day the burgesses of Venta awaited the course of events. For
some time they hoped that, after all, the town might not be visited by the
invaders. The lurid glow of the skies by night, and the clouds of smoke by
day, sometimes borne by the wind so close to the town that the smell could
be distinctly recognized, proved that they were still near. But though the
effects of their work of ruin were visible enough, of the barbarians
themselves no one had yet caught a glimpse. But towards the evening of the
seventh day after the Count’s arrival a party was seen to emerge from a
wood, distant about half a mile from the gates. There were four in all;
two of them were mounted on small and very shaggy ponies, the others were
on foot. The party advanced till they were about a hundred yards from the
wall, and though the fading light prevented them from being seen very
clearly, there could be no doubt that they were some of the dreaded Picts.
A debate, which seemed, from the gesticulations of the speakers to be of a
somewhat violent kind, was carried on for a time among the savages. Then
one of the mounted men rode, with all the speed to which his diminutive
horse could be urged, almost up to the gates of the town. He wore a
deer-skin robe of the very simplest construction, with holes through which
his head and arms were thrust. His legs were bare. Round his neck was hung
a bow of a very rude kind. In his right hand he carried a short spear.
With the butt of this he struck violently at the gate, as if demanding
entrance, and after waiting a few seconds, as it seemed for an answer,
turned his pony’s head and began to ride back to his party. He had almost
reached them before the defenders of the wall had recovered from the
astonishment which his audacity had caused them. Then one who was armed
with a bow discharged at the retreating figure an arrow, which more by
good luck than skill, for scarcely any aim had been taken, struck the Pict
on the neck. He did not fall from his horse, but swayed heavily to one
side, catching at the animal’s mane to steady himself. His three
companions rushed forward to help him, and in another moment would have
carried him off, but for the resolution and activity of the Saxon, who
with the Count was standing on the rampart close to the gate. He lowered
himself by his hands from the wall, a height of about fifteen feet, itself
no small feat of activity, and ran at his full speed, a speed which, as
has been said before, was quite uncommon. Hampered as they were by having
to keep their wounded companion in the saddle, the Picts could move but
slowly, and were soon overtaken. With two blows, delivered with all his
gigantic strength, Cedric levelled two of them to the ground, and, seizing
the wounded chief, threw him over his shoulder, then turning ran towards
the gate. For a moment the third Pict stood too astonished to move. Cedric
had thus a start of some yards, and before he could be overtaken, had got
so close to the wall as to be under the protection of the archers and
slingers who lined it. The next moment the wicket of the gate was opened,
and the prisoner secured.
It was evident that he was a prize of some value, for a rudely wrought
chain of gold round his neck showed that he was a chief. He had ridden up
to the gate against the advice of his followers, as it was guessed, under
the influences of copious draughts of metheglin. The effect of the liquor,
together with the pain of his wound and the shock of his capture, had been
to make him insensible when he was brought into the town. While he was in
this state his wound was dressed by a slave who had some surgical skill,
and who declared that though serious it was not mortal. When he recovered
consciousness he behaved more like a wild beast than a man. His first act
was to tear furiously at the bandage which had been applied to his wound.
The attendants mastered him with difficulty, for he fought with the
ferocity of a wild cat, and then bound his hands and feet. Thus rendered
helpless, he raved at the top of his voice till sheer exhaustion reduced
him to silence, a silence which was soon followed by sleep.
[Illustration: Cedric and the Pict.]
The night passed without any attack. It was evident that the Picts were in
considerable force, for their watch fires were to be seen scattered over a
wide extent of country, and there was much anxious talk in the town about
the chances of a siege. Few indeed in Venta closed their eyes that night,
and with the earliest morning the whole town was astir. The invaders, of
course, had no notion of how a siege should be conducted, nor had they the
necessary mechanical means even if they had known how to use them. Their
arrows did but little harm, for their bows were ill made, and had but a
small range, nothing like that which was commanded by the better weapons
of the defenders. With the sling, however, they were singularly expert,
and inflicted no small damage, making indeed some parts of the walls
scarcely tenable. But as they could do nothing without showing themselves,
they suffered more loss than they inflicted. In the early days of the
siege especially, a catapult, which the garrison worked from the walls,
did great damage among them. After awhile they were careful not to collect
in such numbers as to give a fair mark for this piece of artillery.
The townspeople were greatly elated at their success, and when, about a
fortnight after the first appearance of the invaders before the walls, two
days had passed without one of them being visible, concluded that,
hopeless of making any impression upon the place, they had disappeared.
They were soon undeceived. It was growing dusk on the third day after the
supposed departure of the enemy, when a heavily laden cart was drawn up to
the western gate of the city. The driver, apparently a country man,
knocked for admittance. By rights, at such an hour, it should have been
refused, but the vigilance of the watch had begun to slacken, most of the
besieged believing that the danger was practically over. Accordingly, no
difficulty was made about throwing open the gates. But, once thrown open,
they were not so easily closed. Just as the cart was passing through the
opening in the wall one of the wheels came off, and the vehicle broke down
hopelessly. Commonly it would not have taken long to clear the obstacle
out of the way. There was usually a throng of people about the gates and
on the walls, and a multitude of willing hands would have been ready to
lend their help. But just at this moment the gates and walls were almost
deserted. Even-song was going on in the Church of Venta, and a preacher of
some local fame was expected to enlarge on the Divine mercy shown in the
deliverance of the town from the barbarians. The keepers of the gate
would, therefore, have been at a loss even if they had seen the necessity
of bestirring themselves. As it was, they were content to do nothing. They
amused themselves by standing by and laughing at the rustic driver as he
slowly unladed from his vehicle its miscellaneous cargo, the contents, it
seemed, of one of the country-side cottages, from which the terror of the
invasion had driven their inhabitants. The process of unloading, carried
on slowly and with much grumbling, was scarcely half finished, when one of
the warders, chancing to look behind him, caught sight of a body of men
rapidly approaching through the darkness. A number of Picts had concealed
themselves in the wood mentioned before as distant about half a mile from
the wall, and when they saw the gate blocked by the broken-down cart—a
part, it need hardly be said, of the stratagem—had made a rush to get to
it before the obstacle could be removed. A hasty alarm was raised, and
some of the citizens who were in hearing ran up. But it was too late. The
rustic driver, a villain whose treacherous services had been bought by the
enemy, had quickened his work when he saw his employers approaching, and
contrived to finish the unloading of the cart at the very moment of their
coming up. In a few moments some of them had clambered over the empty
vehicle, struck down the guards, and disabled the fastenings of the gates.
Before many minutes had passed the whole of the ground outside the gates
seemed to swarm with the enemy, and though the townspeople had now begun
to make a rally in force, it was too late to make any effectual effort to
keep them out. The situation would in any case have been full of danger.
At Venta it was hopeless. A garrison of veterans might have kept their
heads, but there were not more than sixty or seventy among the defenders
of Venta who had ever seen service in the field; and the citizen soldiers
were fairly panic-stricken when they saw themselves actually facing a
furious, yelling crowd of barbarians, cruel and savage creatures in
reality, and commonly reported to be even worse than they were. Without
even striking a blow they turned and fled. The Count, whom the alarm had
just reached, was met, and, for a time, carried away by the tide of
fugitives. Still he was able to rally a few men to his side for a last
effort. Some of his own followers were with him, and the rest could be
fetched in a few moments. The gallant old centurion, in spite of his
seventy years, was prompt with the offer of his sword; and, as always
happens, the infection of courage spread not less rapidly than the
infection of cowardice. Altogether a compact body of about a hundred men
were collected. Well armed and well disciplined they turned a steadfast
face to the enemy, and were able to make their retreat to a little fort
which stood on a hill to the south-east of the town. Carna, the priest of
Venta and his family, and a few other non-combatants were with them. More,
in the terrible confusion of the scene, it was impossible to rescue. All
through the trying time Cedric distinguished himself by his coolness and
courage. When once he had seen Carna safely bestowed in the centre of the
party, and had also seen that the person of the Pictish chief was secured
(having the presence of mind to foresee that he would be a valuable
hostage), he took up a position in the extreme rear of the retreat, and
performed prodigies of valour in keeping the pursuers at bay.
The occupation of the fort could, of course, do nothing more than give
them a breathing space. Though it had been for some time unoccupied, its
defences were tolerably perfect, and it might have been held against a
barbarian enemy as long as provisions held out. Unfortunately this was the
weak part of their position. Of provisions they had very little. Luckily
the place had latterly been used as a warehouse, and contained some sacks
of flour. A few sheep were feeding in a meadow hard by, and were hastily
driven within the defences. Happily there was a well within the walls.
That night was a dismal experience which none of the party ever forgot. A
confused noise came up from the town, where the savages were busy with
plunder and massacre. Every now and then some piercing shriek was heard,
curdling the blood of all the listeners. At other times the loud crash of
some falling building could be distinguished. Towards midnight flames
could be seen bursting out from various parts of the town, and before an
hour had passed, every eye was fixed on a hideous spectacle, on which it
was an agony to look, but from which it yet seemed impossible to turn.
Venta was on fire. The flames could be seen to catch street after street,
and distinctly against the lurid background of the burning houses could be
seen, flitting here and there, as they busied themselves with the work of
destruction, the dark shapes of the barbarians. When the morning dawned
only a few detached buildings, among them the church, a basilica of some
size, built by the munificence of the Empress Helena, were standing.
The party in the fort reviewed their position anxiously. The civilians
were for the most part in favour of staying where they were. They felt the
substantial protection of the stout walls which surrounded them, and were
indisposed to leave it. The military men, on the other hand, recognized
facts more clearly and more completely. The protection of the fort was
worth this and this only—that it gave them time to reflect. To stand a
siege would be to ensure destruction.
“We must cut our way through,” said the Count. “If we do not try it now we
shall have to try it three or four days hence, and try it with less
courage, and hope, and strength, and probably fewer men than we have now.”
“Cut our way through all those thousands of savages!” said the _Princeps_,
who was one of the few who had escaped from the town. “No; we should be
fools to leave the shelter of these walls.”
“Shelter!” cried the old centurion; “will they shelter you against famine?
No; let us go while we have strength to walk.”
“But how,” said another of the townspeople, “how will you do all the three
things at once—retreat, and fight, and save the women? A few of the men
may get through, but it will be as much as they can do to take care of
themselves.”
The argument was only too clear, and the Count turned away with a groan of
despair. The prospect seemed hopeless. All the comfort that he could find
was in the thought that he and Carna should anyhow, not fall alive into
the hands of the barbarians.
But now Cedric came again to the rescue with the happy thought which had
made him carry off the Pictish chief. He said nothing to any of his
companions; but he managed the affair with the prisoner, and managed it
with an astonishing speed and success. He pointed to a party of the
chief’s fellow-countrymen who were approaching the fort, by way, it
appeared, of reconnoitring its defences, and intimated that he wished to
open communications with them, showing at the same time, by holding up two
of his fingers, that not more than two were to approach. The chief, whose
intelligence was sharpened by a keen sense of his danger, by a shrill
piercing whistle, twice repeated, conveyed this intimation to his
countrymen, and two of them approached to within speaking distance of the
walls. Cedric now addressed himself to the task of making his prisoner
understand that his life and liberty depended upon his inducing his
countrymen to retire. This was not very easily done. The expressive
gestures of drawing a knife across the throat was readily understood; and
at last by a pantomime of signs he was made to comprehend that this would
be the result, if his countrymen were to approach the walls. Then the
other alternative was expressed. One of the bonds with which he was
secured was partially loosed, and this action was accompanied by a
sweeping gesture of the hand towards the north, which was to indicate that
that must be their way, if he was to be freed. A light of comprehension
gradually dawned in the chief’s eye, and the Saxon had little doubt that
he had made his meaning intelligible. Whether the man could be trusted to
keep the engagement was what neither he nor any one could say. But it was
clear that the risk had to be run, for the only possible hope of escape
lay in this direction. A conversation followed between the chief and his
countrymen, accompanied by signs which were intended to convey to the
Saxon the purport of what he was saying. When it was over, they
disappeared, and the chief, turning to Cedric, raised his hands to the sky
in a gesture which the latter interpreted, and rightly interpreted, to
mean that he was calling the powers above to witness his fidelity to the
engagement which he had made.
Cedric then communicated the result of his negotiations through his
interpreter the peddler to the Count. It was not received with unanimous
approval by the party in the fort. The _Princeps_ especially protested
loudly against trusting their lives to the good faith of a couple of
savages. “A Pict and a Saxon!” he cried, “the worst enemies that Britain
has, and you think that they are going to save us!” He was quickly
overruled by the Count, who let him understand quite plainly that he would
be left to shift for himself unless he availed himself of this chance of
escape.
“Do as you please,” was Ælius’s first utterance, “you have authority over
the fort, and if you choose to defend it with as many of your friends as
you can induce to stay with you, I cannot hinder you. But you must take
the consequences, and I haven’t the shadow of a doubt what these will be.
Meanwhile, I and my party mean to go. As for the Pict, I know nothing of
him; the Saxon I would trust with my life, and what is far dearer to me,
the life of my daughter. He has proved his good faith already in such a
way that I for one shall never doubt him again.”
Preparations for departure were hastily made. Indeed there was little to
prepare. The party had simply nothing with them except their arms. Every
one had to walk—for food they had to trust to what they might find on the
road. But before they started the Count loosed with his own hand the
chief’s bonds. The chief put his hand upon his heart, and then lifted it
to the sky with the same gesture of appeal that he made before.
It is sufficient to say that he kept his word, for the party reached the
coast without molestation.