ALESIA AND THE END
That there had been a sea fight was plain from the look of the deck,
upon which blood was splashed about and gathered in some places into
little pools, now turned to a dark purple in the sunlight which was
shining down upon it pleasantly enough. Pleasant also was the breeze
which was carrying the galley westward without any aid of man in
the guiding. Of the fight itself, it seemed as if I could remember
something, though but confusedly, for first it would appear that we
were battling among trees or in open ground, and then again that we
were thrusting and striking and grappling up and down a tossing and
slippery deck and that hoarse shouting was mingled with the roar of a
great wind. Now, there was neither much wind nor any shouting. I lay
with my head upon some sort of a not uneasy pillow and looked upward
into a sky without a cloud. I felt a stiffness in my limbs and there
was inertness to me. I made shift to rise to my knees and at last to my
feet, and looked about me weakly, and considered. Yes, assuredly, there
had been a sea fight. My pillow, the quality of which I had not noted,
showed that, for it had been old Regner, now lying motionless, who had
borne my head upon his bosom while I lay senseless. A huge spear, which
had entered at the shoulder, protruded from his side, and he had bled
much, lying there transfixed so savagely. I found that I had wounds
myself and that there was a great bruise on my temple which still
somewhat affected me.
Slowly, as the wind blew coolly on my forehead, came back to me a
knowledge of what had been our evil fortune and how it was that I,
a man of some presence among our daring company, I, a Viking of the
Angles, should be drifting thus wounded and alone in mine own ship,
helpless to guide it. The crafty Romans had outwitted us and we had not
been spared!
In our fast shield ship, not a very great one but swift upon its way,
we had been lying in wait, as was our custom, in a small bay of the
Gallic coast, awaiting the near passing of any vessel which seemed to
offer booty. What came, we cared not greatly, for we feared no enemy
we might encounter, though preferring much some laden Phœnician trader
still venturing to Britain. In default of such rare prize we must
content ourselves with a chance ship of the Veneti, who also had some
traffic beyond the narrow sea.
Proud were we Vikings, for was not ours the blood of the bold races
of the forest who had swept up the Elbe five hundred years ago and,
dividing into kindred tribes, Jutes, Angles, and Saxons, had seized
upon all Jutland and, from hunters and river fishers, had become most
bold and skilful sailors and the most adventurous of rovers of the sea?
Already there came dread to the dwellers at the riversides and all
along the Gallic coast and, sometimes, even to the shores of Britain,
when our shield ships showed their sails against the distant sky. No
ship of the Gaul we feared, but we sought not acquaintance with the
now frequent Roman galleys, since they were prone to come in squadrons.
Ever we kept a lookout for them and cared not when they appeared if
only there were space enough between us, for we could outsail them
easily. This was not so much because we feared, as because there would
be but little spoil to follow the taking of a ship containing only
legionaries, and there was the further reason that, were we ourselves
to be taken, we would die at once. To the Roman, and it must be said
to most others, we were but ravening pirates, ruthless and dangerous
as the sharks of the sea or the wolves of the land, and meriting only
death. Little cared we! We had but inherited the ways of our ancestors
from the time when they raided the lands, each of the other, in the
German wood or seized upon the holdings which seemed good to them
as they fought their way northward from the branched sources of the
Elbe and Weser. Yet we were never cruel, and lacked not loyalty and
faithfulness unto death to friend and blood kin.
We were not as yet a great force, we rovers of the sea, though each
year our strength increased. Our sharp-prowed ships were swifter than
those of others, our sails bore better, and our arms were stronger at
the oars in failing winds, but as either clan or tribe we, as yet, made
no great war. We were but bold adventurers, each captain fighting for
himself and his own following. Of religion we knew but Odin and the
strong gods with him. It was so among each tribe of us, the Jutes above
us on the great horn of land called Jutland, we Angles next and the
Saxons below and nearer the restless peoples of the vast forest. The
Romans knew us not apart and called all us Northmen, Saxons, though we
were not as one in our scant rulership, and sometimes had our battles
over marks. But we were of the same proud blood and did not fight with
each other when there could be found a common enemy, such as existed
now, since the conquering and oppressing Cæsar had, in a great sea
fight, overcome the fleet of the Veneti, who were traders and had more
ships than any other Gallic tribe. Afterward the victor had built more
ships of his own and landed in Britain and done much damage, besides
exacting submission and hostages from those nearest the coast. After
this there still remained a number of the Roman ships which sailed
about the coast of Gaul but did not come into the northern sea. These
we avoided though we still made forays along the Gallic shores, having
no other place for profitable venture. With this Cæsar, we of the
upper coast beyond the Rhine had made no war, nor had he made war on
us, deeming us but barbarians of a land not worth the conquering and
of a kind only to be done away with, if it might be, when his ships
encountered ours and which had happened but few times, since, as I have
said, we avoided all such meeting. Yet now, I knew as my memory came
back, that we had indeed been tricked and had mingled most bloodily
with these same Romans.
We had been rejoiced when, from a point of land beside a little bay we
had discovered, just as a black storm threatened, a ship nearing us
which, as the manner of its building showed, must be a trader of the
Veneti, having broad sails of skin, such as the Veneti used, and high
prows and lifted stern and showing a structure broad and deep and
strong. We were at first surprised, but considered then that Cæsar was
no longer harrying the coasts of the Veneti and that, since conquering
them and afterward causing the death of many, he had allowed those
remaining to engage in all their avocations as before. So we thought it
was possible that their traders were venturing forth again. Of this we
were more assured as the ship neared us and we saw upon its deck only
the sailors needed for its handling in the increasing tumult of wind
and sea. These wore the Veneti dress and we could scarce restrain our
shouting. There would be little of good fighting, but much plunder.
There were only some thirty of us in our shield ship, for, as I have
told, it was not a large one, but our arms were strong and ready at the
oars, and despite the thundering sky and now high rolling waves, we
swept out from the bay and fairly athwart the course of the oncoming
vessel before its people appeared to see us. Then there were loud cries
from them and a swift rushing about to change their course, though all
too late. Swiftly we circled in beside them and cast up our grappling
hooks and, shouting our hoarse war cry, poured over the unprotected
bulwarks and upon the deck, there to hew down or take captive the weak
Veneti crew. Death rose to greet us!
Leaping to their feet, shouting the Roman battle cry, a full hundred
armed legionaries who had lain concealed upon that treacherous
deck--even as our feet touched wood--were upon us with cast javelins
and spear and sword. We were lost in the mass of them, each one of us
surrounded and defending himself against too many. It was a bloody
fight for but a little time, and only that the storm waxed fiercer and
all footing was uncertain, we would have all been slain the sooner.
There was no quarter to be hoped for. I felt sharp wounds before I
reached the deck, and sprang backward against the bulwark that I might
face the onrush to better vantage. They came in upon me so swiftly and
so closely that I slew two with my axe and then I felt a spear point
lightly, and sprang apart from it and upward, clutching, as I leaped,
the ropes slanting from mast to side, and so stood with my feet upon
the bulwark, holding with one hand to the cordage and smiting downward
with my axe once more. I turned to our ship and, even as I turned, it
was lifted upward to me by the raging sea, then outward, and I heard
the grappling hooks tear harshly away through the oak rail. And in that
swift moment, even as I leaped, a stone cast by a slinger struck my
head and at once I knew no more.
And now, after how many hours I could not tell, I stood clinging to the
mast that I might keep my feet and making study of the body of stark
Regner. He alone had been left on guard aboard our ship when we cast
the grappling hooks, and it was easy to see that he had been slain by
a spear thrown vengefully from above, as was revealed in the manner of
his transfixion. Surely slight suffering had come to Regner, and little
had he felt the shock when I had come down upon him, and the storm tore
our ship away from our enemies and hid us in the bosom of its darkness.
Certainly bold and careless, though very silent, sailors had been we
two as the waves tossed us, and my wonder was that we were yet aboard
and the ship afloat unharmed. It was well built and strong, however,
and no sail had been up when we made our attack, and so, somehow,
and by sheerest fortune, it had floated until the storm subsided and
we were now riding on smooth waters. And now I looked all round and
away upon the sea more searchingly. To the westward I perceived a dim
uplifting, darker than the hue of the water, and, as the breeze carried
the ship forward, this dimness became more solid and it was made plain
that it was land. Well did I comprehend its meaning. I, alone and
wounded and in one of the hated Viking ships, was drifting helplessly
upon the shore of Britain. My death, it might be, had been delayed for
only a little time, but what of that? Death was the Viking’s brother. A
weakness was coming upon me and I slid downward to the deck and slept.
When I awakened something of my strength had come back to me, though
not that of a strong man, for my head had been hurt most evilly. Yet
now I could rise by the mast again and look more calmly and resolutely
upon the land I was approaching and which now rose clearly to my sight,
and not more than an hour’s passage, at the rate the vessel was now
drifting.
Now it chanced that I knew more than a little of this strange isle of
Britain. For years I had been in almost daily speech with a British
slave named Locrin, now an old man and under my protection. He had been
captured long ago when fishing with companions in one of their curious
open coracles of skin, or currachs as they were sometimes called, and
had in time become almost an Angle, for he had been treated kindly
under the roof tree of my own family and clan. Him I had, as I grew in
years, been accustomed to take with me in my hunting, and sometimes
on expeditions, and from him had I learned not only the manner of life
of the Britons, how they fought their enemies, the raiding Caledonians
which sometimes came from the north, and other like things, and had
also gained from him some knowledge of his language. This I had used
with him in sport, with the idle thought that it might some day become
of use to me in my adventures. He had become a most faithful thrall and
I, in turn, had learned to hold him somewhat closely. It was ever said
of the Briton that as a clansman he was most loyal to his chieftain.
Glad was I now, in a somewhat sombre way, that I knew something of
this wild isle toward which I was being carried and of the people whom
I must meet. How I might be received I could but guess, yet I knew
well that it would most likely be as the wild beast caught prowling.
Slight reason had the Britons to welcome with extended arms the Viking
stranger. Who welcomes the plunderer, even though the plunderer be
shorn of strength, and helpless? Assuredly, my thoughts were gloomy as
I drifted.
Very slowly lapped the waves against the galley’s prow, and the wind
which carried it ahead seemed to adjust itself most nicely to its
doubtful mission. I stood with my back still against the mast, as
needs I must, and saw nearing me each moment a prospect which was not
unpleasing in itself. Fair were the Kentish shores of which old Locrin
had often told me, and fair her woods, whatever of danger for me might
lie concealed within them. The shore itself was a bright sandy beach
up which the gentle surge rolled far, and beyond that was a stretch
of sward and bush soon lost in a wood as dense and green and heavy
as I had ever looked upon. Of human beings there were none in sight
nor was there any other sign of life, though far away in the forest I
could discern the rise of smoke. What might that forest hold, I dimly
thought, to fix my fate or fortune?
The tide seemed with the wind, and my sailless ship was nearing the
shore so steadily that soon it must ground itself upon the pleasant
beach in water so shallow doubtless that I might make shift to wade
ashore, if strong enough. Still stood I leaning against the mast and
scanning the long wood narrowly. Then, suddenly, my gaze was fixed.
From around a point where the forest extended far down toward the
beach, swung into view a chariot such as I had never seen, its
galloping horses deftly driven by a swart skin-clad man wearing a sort
of helmet and what appeared to be a breastplate. Behind him, resting
one hand upon his shoulder and swaying easily with the chariot’s
movements, stood the stateliest and fairest woman my eyes had ever
rested on. Behind the chariot followed, running close and easily as
if accustomed to it, some score of guardsmen, a few with shields and
spears, the rest all armed with bows. So, for a moment’s space they
came, then saw the ship and made instant halt, the horses pulled
backward on their haunches and the whole company closing up at once
about the chariot. What marvel that these Britons swerved? A Viking
ship upon their very shore!
The company did not flee, but stood and looked, the woman still in her
place and gazing long, with one hand raised above her eyes to aid the
scrutiny. Some time she studied, then seemingly gave an order, and
the chariot was driven forward, though more slowly now and followed
by its company. My ship had come, by this, close to the land and must
find ground in a moment, which it did just as the Britons drew up
opposite and not more than a spear’s length or two away. They looked
upon me silently, the woman, upon whom the others seemed to wait, most
curiously and gravely. At last she spoke, and her words were brief
enough: “Viking, what do you here?”
Glad was I then that from old Locrin I had gained some knowledge of the
Briton tongue and could make some little shift at speaking it, albeit
most stutteringly, for now it might stand me in some saving stead. What
should I answer?
A little I paused and debated in my mind and then, looking into the
clear and questioning eyes of that proud woman in the chariot, I did
not hesitate nor falter. Stammeringly and haltingly, I told my tale as
best I could in the strange tongue, with bold and simple truthfulness,
concealing nothing. I told of my own name and standing and of the foray
and the sea fight and of all that might concern my captors. The men
stood listening with mouths agape, though with stern and threatening
faces, but the fair countenance of the woman did not alter. I knew
that she was passing judgment. At last she spoke again, slowly and
thoughtfully:
“Viking and wolves are much the same to Britons, but it may be that
your tale is true, and it is not without merit in you that you have
fought the Roman. Other than I must pass upon your fate.”
Then, turning to her people, she commanded that I and the body of dead
Regner be brought to shore, which the spearmen did, supporting me,
who found myself still weak, and laying the body of my comrade upon
the sand. Then, without further parley, and under direction of the
woman, the band returned the way whence it had come, I walking with a
supporting spearman on either side. We reached the point from which the
company had first appeared and there came upon a roadway leading into
the forest. Upon this roadway we travelled it may be half a league when
we reached a crossroad, and there we came to a halt.
“Take him to where the king is sitting,” said the woman then, to those
about me, “and say to King Cadwallon that I will follow swiftly, that I
may make all clear to him relating to the prisoner.”
Then she looked upon me fixedly, but saying nothing, as I also looked
upon her most steadfastly and as I had never before looked upon
the face or into the eyes of woman. There came to me a marvellous
understanding.
There were, among the race of Vikings, poets who made the Sagas and had
gifts in the divination of what was most fair and noble and beyond all
common things or hopes or fears, and from one of these had come the
curious and lofty affirmation that it might happen, though most rarely
in the world, that a man and woman should for the first time look upon
each other and that there should come to each the vast knowledge that
they two were but as one in a loving which could not be in any way
withstood or denied, calling for any sacrifice. And so it was! Well I
know it to be unbelievable, but, as we stood there thus, she a haughty
princess of the haughty Iceni, as I came to know, and I, a Viking
haughty as she, but rude and rough of port and now blood-stained and
grimy, the truth of the thing so strange came out like light between
us. Each knew it well and each accepted it unfalteringly, for we were
made of such a mould. No loftier or more courageous was I in my degree
than my fair and stately Goneril. We spoke no word, but, as we parted
at the crossroad and her chariot swept away, I knew that beyond all
doubting I should find her with King Cadwallon and that she would have
already spoken.
Two days we travelled through the land of Kent, and each day brought
me greater wisdom. Let none say that the country of the Britons is
but a vast waste of forest, moor and fen, peopled only by wild beasts
and tribes of men almost as wild as they. So had I thought it and so
had those on the mainland, deeming only that along the island’s coast
there might exist among the natives a variance from the barbaric and
outlandish customs of the interior. On this same winding journey--for
we sought the easier ways and made no haste--I saw herds of feeding
cattle and droves of horses, and meadows and reaped fields, and many
a rude but goodly homestead. Never had my eyes met fairer prospect
than that on which they rested in this region lately ravished by the
Roman, and I wondered not that its people had defended it as fiercely
as they had vainly. My bent was all with them. My guard of ten sturdy
spearmen, somewhat glum in the beginning, became amenable upon the
way, and from their leader, himself a Kentish spearman and having some
little wisdom, I learned that which gave me cause for wonder and hard
reflection. We were marching through a bruised and smarting region,
one where the souls of men were seething in unavailing rage and bitter
protest. Cæsar had come and gone. He had not advanced far into the
country but he had slain many of the islanders and ravaged the fields
and, having driven the Britons into their forest fastnesses, had forced
from their chieftains a promise of submission, and had taken hostages
away with him. No harm had the Britons done the Romans before this
harsh invasion. Little they knew of Roman intrigues and ambitions, nor
of this Cæsar’s wars and conquests. They were content to live alone in
their own way upon their own green island. Yet to them, unheeding and
unsuspecting, had come this scourge, without a pretext. There seemed no
recourse and no vengeance for them. They had been smitten, and their
hostages were with the Roman army. What wonder that there smouldered
in the breasts of these hurt islanders such hatred and such fear as
may not be described! All this I gained from what the Kentish spearman
told, and it was not in me to feel unlike the islanders. Truly they had
sufficient cause for hatred of the Romans!
I asked the spearman concerning Cadwallon, the king, and learned still
more. He, it seemed, was not the king in straight descent, but because
King Lud, who had reigned before him, had left only children as heirs,
he had come into power as regent, seemingly, but really as king in
fact. Cadwallon, as the Britons called him, and as I also shall, though
he was called Cassivelaunus by the Romans, was not altogether a bad
king, but was held somewhat weak at times and he had, besides, certain
enemies among the more envious and ambitious of the chiefs beneath
him. Fortunately, the invasion of Cæsar had not reached his capital
on the river called the Thames, and he was still secure in power.
This capital was a place called London by its people and by all other
Britons, though the Romans had named it Trinovantum, and was the town
of chief importance in the land, having existed long and, being a port,
reached from the sea and drawing the trade of the Veneti as well as,
sometimes, of the far-trading Phœnicians who came to the southwest,
the Cassiterides, for tin, and who sometimes extended their bartering
voyages up the coast. Much pride had the Britons in their town of
London, of which the legend ran among their Druid priests--some of whom
were learned--that it was founded in the dim past by a Trojan chieftain
who, fleeing after the fall of ancient Troy, had sailed with his people
even to distant Britain and, after overcoming a race of giants living
there, had builded this town beside the Thames and named it Troy
Novant. This tale, however, I hold to be a fable. The Druids were ever
liars.
From this man, too, I learned much concerning the stately lady of whom
I was the captive, and who had given order as to my disposal. She was
the great Lady Goneril, he said, a princess of the Iceni and kinswoman
of King Cadwallon. There had been trouble among the Iceni as to the
succession, and at this time the family opposed to that of Goneril was
somewhat in the ascendancy and it were better in many ways that the
princess should seek refuge, for the time at least, at the court of
her kinsman. An aunt she had also, wife of a chieftain of Kent with
whom she was but now a guest. Only brave words had the man of Kent for
the fair princess, and, even now, my heart went out to him because of
it. Most imperious of mood she sometimes was, he said, and of great
influence with both the king and her uncle in Kent, but ever generous
and just, and much beloved of all, from chieftain down to churl, Iceni
though she might be. All of this much delighted me and gave pride. Most
curious, yet just and due it is, that a man should cherish, even as his
own, the honour and fame of the one woman to him.
On the morning of the third day we had news of King Cadwallon that he
was hunting with a company of his nobles and attendants in a forest not
very far southwestward of his capital, and to this place we took our
course, the Kentish man who led being well acquainted with the region
and all its devious wood-paths. It was not long before we neared the
forest where the hunt was, a region where the guide told me were many
stags and not a few of the brown bear, and soon we came upon parties of
the huntsmen, who gazed upon me curiously but who did not molest us but
gave instruction as to where to look for the king. It was mid-afternoon
when we came to where he had paused for rest and meat after the long
chase of the morning.
There were many tents pitched in a pleasant glade in the midst of the
forest, one of them a pavilion larger than the others, and this was the
king’s. We were halted by guards with spears scattered in a ring about
the brief camping place, who, after our leader had told his mission,
sent one with him to the king’s tent, and kept the remainder of us with
them. It was not long before the Kentish man returned and said that I
was to go with him at once. He took me to the guard at the door of the
great tent, and by this guard I was taken within and so before the king.
There were a goodly company assembled there of chiefs and nobles and
fair and stately ladies who had taken their dinner with the king and
now were moving around and talking together, but who, as I was brought
in, ceased in their conversation and looked upon me with much interest,
from which I judged that my story was already known to them--as indeed
it proved to be. I stood now before King Cadwallon, and there took note
of what manner of man he was. It seemed the Kentish man had told me of
him well. He was of manly height and framed like a good warrior, but
his face was somewhat drawn and the look in his eyes was not of one
who felt his power supreme. Richly garbed he was and grave and stately
of demeanour, yet lacked his eye the eagle flash. Naught have I to say
against this King Cadwallon, naught, though it came to pass that I knew
him well indeed and never did his friendship fail me, but I could have
wished him to be of a front more confident and even arrogant, since he
had about him such wild and untamed lords and chiefs of clans. I shall
not disapprove Cadwallon.
The king addressed me gravely, saying that already he somewhat
understood my story, and asked me that I tell it to him with more
fulness, as affecting, it might be, his own decision in the matter of
his course toward me. I must perforce obey, and so related to him more
completely than to the Lady Goneril all circumstances of the voyage
which brought me such evil fortune, ending with what I thought a not
unwise addition to the effect that we Vikings had no war with Britons
and had never sailed against them.
To all I said Cadwallon listened most patiently and, it seemed to me,
almost with approbation. He answered that it was very true that we had
not forayed in Britain and had done no harm at any time, save it might
be that some reckless ones had captured a few currachs of the fishermen
who ventured too far at sea, for which no grudge was held against us,
and he added, what was to me most heartening and promising, that we
were kindred in spirit, while not of blood, in hatred of the Roman and
that, at this time, we were counted, not as enemies, but as allies in
whatever of war was likely to come to either of us. Then he spoke still
further to me, who had of a sudden become most emboldened and at ease,
saying that, having known of me from Lady Goneril and of my degree
in my own land, he had it in mind to deal with me as one of rank and
one having knowledge of the sea and ships and also of the Romans, and
so to offer me service with him, with such command as might be later
determined.
Here was sudden change of fortune surely for a shipless man and
prisoner in a strange land! At first I knew not what reply to make;
then as it came upon me how many of my friends were slain and how
bereft I was of all things while here was opportunity for adventure
which might lead to important happenings, I was inclined to accept the
service, though still I hesitated, for a Norseman is ever a Norseman
utterly. Then rose before me the face of a woman standing in a chariot,
to whom I had given a great wordless pledge, and I paused no longer! I
swore to give good service to the king and, raising me from my bent
knee, he declared me one among his chieftains and bade me join the
nobles about and make new friends, with one to aid me who was waiting.
Then turned I and looked again into the eyes of Goneril!
Most prideful and stately seemed the lady, yet, in her dark beauty,
there was laughter in her eyes as she took me by the hand and led me
among the company, making me known to many of them and saying, as
she laughed, that the king had accorded me her thrall, since she had
taken me prisoner. I was, she said, to lead her little company to her
uncle’s hold, there to acquire a better knowledge of Britain speech
and Britain forests and ways of fighting, until I should be called to
closer service by Cadwallon. I was well received by most, though some
were silent, and I saw among the company of nobles not a few who seemed
to have in them the stuff of hardy fighting men, though not of such
breed as were in Jutland. Some slight acquaintance made I, but there
was little time--besides, my mind was much on Goneril.
Next morning, with a slender train, we set out on our way through Kent.
Only a rune-maker should tell of that too short journey through the
Kentish woods and winding pathways. It is not in me to give a sense of
its sweet flavour. Not many words we said at first, but we did not need
them. We only knew--we two, each proud and close of heart--but knew
as others might not know it, yet the trees knew it, and the birds and
squirrels in the trees knew, and the horses upon which we rode. Only
the men who followed us could fail to know!
We came upon the evening of the second day to the hold of Gerguint,
who had married Bera, the aunt of Goneril, where we were received
as became the princess’ rank, and where I was accorded as pleasing
welcome, for a messenger had arrived ahead of us to tell of my degree.
Of Gerguint, whom the Romans later called Carvilius, I must now speak
freely, as soon he proved himself to me, and of him I cannot speak too
well. A strong prince of a strong fourth among the Kentishmen, he was
one after my own heart, fearing nothing and having that understanding
which makes one of high blood know of and recognize that which may be
in another. It was in his mind to be to me as a close friend, and so
he was from the beginning, hunting with me and showing to me all the
differences there were between the Viking and the British ways, both in
the chase and in the modes of warfare. Much he delighted to go forth
with me in my Viking ship, which had been brought along the coast and
drawn into a twining small river entering his lands, from which place
we made short voyages along the coast. The Britains were not worthy as
sailors and this was soon perceived by Gerguint, who now desired that
they should build them better vessels, learning the things which would
serve greatly for their own defense, and this he sought to bring to the
attention of the king. So he and I became good friends.
And for Goneril and myself what shall I say? It is hard for a man to
tell properly, so that it may be at all conceived or understood, of
what is between him and the woman whose breath has become his own. No
difference made it with us that the blending and welding had been so
swift and unaccountable. It was a fate met willingly and, even when
the time for words of mine had come, few were demanded. I sought to
tell, in my unfashioned mode, of what was in my heart, and she but
smiled upon me and told me that I need not speak. What days were ours
as we rode the glowing Kentish woods in the late autumn and she told
me of her people’s ways and sought to make me comprehend them, and of
the boundaries and friendships and animosities of the many tribes and
clans, and all else that might tend to make me fitted for some rule
among them.
And what strange half history and legends had those islanders! Of these
dim tales my Goneril told me many, and in a few there must have been
some truth, as of the great king, Belinus, who had even invaded Gaul
and conquered there. His sword was hidden, it was said, in the heart of
a mighty oak tree, but none knew where the oak stood, unless it might
be held among the Druid mysteries. And many another story and tradition
of the Britons she related, not less curious. She knew the Gallic
tongue and something of this she gave to me.
Even their art of war she taught me, and therein made me marvel. In her
full veins pulsed only warrior blood and made itself so manifest that
it seemed wondrous that in the same warm current ran all of tenderest
womanhood and faithfulness. Indeed she was herself a warrior bold
enough. Well do I bear in mind the first time she took me with her
out upon the sands to teach me chariot driving, and how in the essay
I swayed and tottered, guiding the horses bunglingly as we rushed
along, her chariot in the lead, circling or overtopping and descending
the steep dunes, or darting upward from the beach, to swerve and
rock along a hillside. Never in any storm at sea had I such strain to
keep my feet beneath me, though in time I gained the needed reckless
skill, to Goneril’s vast approbation. Most solicitous had she been
that I should excel in this, for the chariot was much relied upon in
all the battles of the islanders. In fight, the warrior had with him
a charioteer who drove against the enemy while the warrior, standing
beside him, fought with javelin or spear or axe, or other weapon, as
the ranks were neared or broken. When the mêlée became most furious
the warrior, leaping from his place, would then engage on foot, the
charioteer withdrawing from the fray a little to be in readiness
in case of swift retreat or further charge on a massed body. Most
formidable were these chariots, though only when they were afforded
ground for evolution. In the close forest battles they were useless.
Winter came, sharp and keen and not unpleasant in this land of
Britain with its climate tempered by a great sea current from the
southwest, and, almost before it had begun, came my first service to
King Cadwallon. There had come an uprising of a certain tribe whose
overweening and ambitious chief sought, with the alliances he had made,
to cast off the king’s authority. Gerguint was summoned to attend with
a force, which I was to accompany, which body was joined to others,
and soon we met the rebels in the northwest forests. It was not a
long campaign, but there were sharp skirmishes and, finally, a battle
which was one of merit and wherein I had opportunity for the dealing
of Viking blows when much they counted. It chanced, too, that I had
occasion to save the life of Gerguint, who had risked it foolishly,
charging ahead among the savage clansmen and going down beneath a
mass of them. Hard it was to hew a way to him and lift him to his feet
again before they added other and more deadly spear-thrusts to the ones
he had received, but I was well repaid. There came occasion for such
gluttonous fighting, to shield ourselves until our own warriors reached
us, as might have gorged a Baresark. Thor! but it was good cleaving!
Back to back we stood, and I could ask no better shield than Gerguint.
Fairly beholden proved he when the encounter ended with the night and
the death of him who had been rebellious, and closer yet we became in
comradeship. We swore blood-brotherhood, a thing which was excellent
for me and later came to serve me in good stead. The return to London
came, and there the king, to whom something had been related of my way
in battle, had good words for me and made promise of some honour.
And why delay the story of what was the crowning of my desire and great
and overmastering resolve? I asked that Goneril be made my wife, she
proudly joining, and Gerguint did not fail me nor did the Lady Bera,
for I had become as of the family. Then was the King Cadwallon sought,
and, for a time, he hesitated. Counting all, I was but an adventurous
stranger and of altogether alien blood. Yet, since that blood was noble
and since I had sworn him fealty and had proved myself in battle, and,
it may be, also because he felt the need of each strong arm, and, above
all, because of the firm words of Gerguint, he at last gave his consent
and had grace to give it finely.
There was a great attendance of the Kentish chieftains in the hall of
Gerguint and of many from the court, and there was our marriage, and
ceremonies by the Druids--whose former power, as well as the length of
some few of them, had been curtailed by good King Lud--and abundant
feasting and drinking and music by the harpists; and so we two, thus
joined before all, found happily what life may hold. The winter passed,
and spring came, and in the bursting of stream and bud and song of bird
there was not more warmth and glory than in ours. So passed the days.
Then, as the summer neared, a pall fell on the land!
It was in the air, a vague unrest and dread. There was no frolicking
beneath the moon in any of the scattered hamlets; the labourer in the
field looked often toward the wood; the hunter moved with senses more
alert; the wild beasts themselves one thought were seeking deeper
harbourage; it was as if all nature were afraid; the very winds seemed
whispering repeatedly, in fear, the one word--“Cæsar!”
The alarm had come across the sea from the Veneti. A little vessel of
that friendly people had eluded the Roman ships patrolling the Gallic
shores, and so reached Britain with news of recent movements of the
devastator. He had, it seemed, been engaged in suppressing a revolt
of the Treviri, who lay somewhere near the Rhine, but, meanwhile, had
given orders that a great number of ships should be made in readiness
for his army at a port called Itius, lying nearest to the shores of
Britain. That he had it in mind to once more make a descent upon the
islanders was, so the Veneti messengers declared, a thing assured. It
was this fell news which had sped through Britain and had aroused the
sudden dread of which I have already spoken. What time the scathe
might come no man could tell.
But if there were trembling throughout Britain there came also the
courage which goes with desperation. Feuds were forgotten, as were
boundaries, and there ensued wide summoning and a gathering of the
many princes to consider swiftly what might be done in the impending
struggle with the invader. It was agreed that Cadwallon as the chief
among the southeastern rulers of the island, and in sort an overlord of
some, should have the supreme command, and then the warriors came from
every part, ranging themselves under their own leaders and forming, at
last, a great force of charioteers and archers and spearmen and hosts
of the wild skin-clad forest men, an army numerous as the leaves, but
all in bands and with little discipline or order. So in and about the
southern hills the great force hung. Then, one day, at noontime, there
showed across the sea a mighty spread of sail. Cæsar would strike!
Eight hundred sail! What scores of thousands of the trained legionaries
must they carry and what chance had an unordered host in an encounter
on open even ground? It was decided by the leaders not to give battle
at the shore, where the nature of the beach gave easy landing to the
Romans, but rather to meet them on the high places, which had been
fortified in a rude way by the felling of many trees in front of them.
Here we awaited the attack.
Of that first desperate struggle against the veteran foe I can tell but
vaguely, for I was in its midst, fighting as for my life and unseeing
as to the general battle. Fiercely we charged and drove among the
enemy with our chariots, but could not shatter them. These were the
trained slayers of the world, and when one rank wavered or was broken,
another rose behind it and ever the whole pressed forward, killing as
it came and irresistible against a force with no planned manner of
cohesion. We were driven backward, though fighting stubbornly, and,
finally, the enemy overwhelmed and seized the camp, and the Britons,
leaving a host of dead, were driven into the forests. There was a kind
of re-formation and then began the running fight of days, as Cæsar
neared the capital. There were bloody stands and skirmishes and we cut
off many of the Romans in the woods, but nothing could stay their firm
advance.
My Goneril was in London, where I had thought her most secure in this
time of great jeopardy, though stubbornly she had insisted on following
me into the field. Gerguint had joined his brother Kentish princes, and
together they had attacked the Roman camp left with the ships and had
been beaten, and there had Gerguint been sorely wounded and, barely
escaping, had been carried to the harbourage of his castle. The main
body of the Britons was now within and about London, and Cadwallon was
to make his last stand against the approaching army of Cæsar, which
threatened the passage of a ford above the city. At this ford all must
be decided.
There had been treachery. Mandubratius, crafty and wavering chief of
the Trohantes, to save himself, had cast his lot with Cæsar. Androgeus,
a chief in command in London itself, had turned against Cadwallon and
was tampering with the conqueror; and all these things gave fear.
Yet we would make such stand as should be remembered long, and so
all Cadwallon’s forces were drawn up beside the ford to dispute its
passage. The Romans came, their legions rolling to the shore and
entering the waters boldly while our own massed armament stood awaiting
them with eager weapons, a multitude looking upon us from the slope
behind, even our women among them, as was the Briton’s way. Then came
the clash and struggle.
As the Romans neared the land, avoiding as best they could the
sharpened stakes which had been set against them, their onrush was
almost hidden by the cloud of spears and arrows falling upon them, and
many were slain and carried downward by the glad current of the British
river, but there was no checking them. Some struggled through and
others followed as the first were slain, and soon the ranks had gained
a footing, their front being lopped off as it came, but ever heaved
forward by the tremendous mass behind. As in the surges of a growing
storm, each succeeding wave crept further up the shore and the fight
was soon on land. Though hate is in my heart for them, let none speak
lightly of the dauntless courage or the stern hardihood and discipline
of the Roman soldiers. Those ranks of iron pressed forward, though we
raged among them with our chariots and met them manfully on foot with
blows as fierce as their own and thrusts as deadly. But what could
avail such ragged and open charge as made the wild Britons against an
advancing wall which ever renewed itself as it was broken here and
there? I, myself, fought side by side with chieftains of the Iceni,
kinsmen of Goneril, with whom I had made friendship, and well they
bore themselves. High up the slope were the Romans now, and there was
at the front much intermingling of the opposing forces. My charioteer
had fallen, and the horses had been slain, and I, on foot, was making
red my heavy Viking battle-axe, but in dire peril, for we were driven
backward step by step and soon I was half surrounded and felt a wound
or two and began to breathe too heavily. Then came to my ears a woman’s
cry. Circling downward and at one side from the slope above where were
the onlooking multitude, had come Goneril, driven by grizzled Leir, her
charioteer, and swinging to the front and very centre where she knew I
would be found. There had been none who could restrain her. Mad with
her fear for me, wild as a she-bear for her bayed mate, she had come
storming on the battlefield, her dark hair streaming and the love flame
in her eyes, seeking only to be with me, even in death together. And
timely was her coming, for I had been beaten to my knee and was in sore
strait. Surely the gods guided, for the chariot came to me through the
mêlée as the wild bull through brush, and I was lifted to it by Leir’s
strong arm as, scarcely slacking in its course, it passed athwart the
raging lines and so away toward safety. And, even at that moment, as
Goneril bent down toward me tenderly, there came a Roman javelin which
drove deep into her side and, as it lurched out and away with the
chariot’s surge, left, following it, a rush of her dear heart’s blood,
drenching her robe with red. Into my arms she sank, and so I held her
until, flying, we reached the wood, then laid her gently down on the
greensward.
[Illustration: “I am weakening and dying. The Valkyrie are circling in
the sky”]
What can I say of that awful, awaiting moment, or of what came? She was
still alive, my glorious Briton girl. She smiled upon me and sought
to reach up her arms about my neck, and could not; then sighed a little
and there died! Then all things passed away, and I fell as dead beside
her.
There is little more to tell of Britain. Cæsar had triumphed; London
had fallen; the conqueror had wreaked his stern will upon the land;
Cadwallon had yielded and had agreed to pay tribute, and Cæsar, taking
hostages and many prisoners to be sold as slaves in Roman marts, had
sailed away. For a hard four hundred years the Roman heel would press
on Britain’s neck. What was all this now to me! They had carried me
and my dead Goneril away into the forest and, joined by certain of her
kinsmen who had escaped, we took up our journey with my dead to the
country of the Iceni, where they would bury her with the ceremonies
befitting such a princess. All this we did, but I could speak no word.
Men looked upon me with a sort of fear. My speech seemed lost, but
came at last with the new swelling of the heart and the humming of
the dark thoughts in my head. Nothing of Britain knew I longer. I was
a Viking again with only Viking gods and Viking thoughts, and these
transformed me. Cæsar had slain my Briton girl and, though it were
forced or proffered, all the weregild of all the Roman world could
bring no solace. Goneril was dead, and henceforth I lived but to bring
death such as I might to every Roman! No oath of vengeance needed I
to take on the white holy stone of Odin’s priests. I sought Gerguint,
still wounded in his castle, and was received as if the castle was my
own, but abode there only as a silent and unheeding guest. Time passed
and, finally, I sought the little band of those I had hardened and
taught to sail my shield-ship, and they joined me nothing loth, and in
the darkness of a stormy night we crossed to the coast of Gaul, where
I would fight against the Romans, for secret word came that there was
nearing a head a vast uprising to cast off the Roman yoke.
Far to the south and west we laid our course, for I would hold it so
well out at sea that we might avoid the Roman ships now haunting all
the Gallic coast. Some days we sailed and, at last, having escaped
them, made entrance at the mouth of a fair river called the Seine and
sailed inland upon it until we reached an island where was a town, the
capital of a partly maritime and trading people, the Parisii, who,
because of their lack of strength, had allied themselves with the
Senones, a more powerful tribe lying to the south of them. In this
capital of the Parisii, or Paris, though called Lutetia by the Romans,
were many who understood the Briton tongue; my small possession of
Gallic also aided us somewhat and we were received with willingness and
provided with food and a place for harbourage. The scene about us was
of utmost tumult.
It was winter now and all Gaul was aflame with the hope of casting
off the Roman power, in which great enterprise the various tribes
had, after a council, ranged themselves under the leadership of
Vercingetorix, a noble of the Arverni, and than of whom they could
not have made wiser choice or one more likely to be followed by great
outcome. Not only was he a man of courage and much skill in warfare,
but also one who thought, not for himself alone, but calmly for the
general good. Already had he a strong army in the field and was, after
some slight successes, seeking to check the advance of Cæsar upon
Avaricum, the chief city of the Biturges, and one which should have
been abandoned. Vercingetorix had pleaded with the Biturges that they
should sacrifice it for the sake of the whole country, that it might
not fall into the hands of the Romans and so give them stores and
shelter until they might carry on the invasion to better advantage
when spring should come. In this he was overruled or overpersuaded by
his assembled leaders, for the Gauls had some of the weaknesses of
the Britons, in that they were most difficult to control as a united
body. So Cæsar was advancing, though but slowly, upon the city, and
Vercingetorix was hanging near him with his forces, making sudden
attacks upon his flanks and withdrawing swiftly and with much display
of wise generalship as the need came. To Vercingetorix, then, came I
at once, followed by my little handful of adventurous Britons who were
most faithful and men of hardihood, for such I had selected for my
shield-ship.
In this journey I attached myself to a small force led by one
Critognatus, an Arvernian of note, who had come to Lutetia to encourage
in the uprising and was now on his way to rejoin the Gallic army.
Him I found a man of firmness of mind and of a fierce and unbounded
patriotism, and he it was who promised to bring me personally to
Vercingetorix.
Through many a devious forest path, across many a silent stream and
over wide frozen marshes, we took our way and reached the Gallic
camp on the evening of the third day. It made an amazing and curious
sight, with its far extending fires beneath the trees of the dense
wood lighting the ways between hosts of rude shelters of boughs or
sods or tents of skins until the lights but twinkled in the distance,
for it was a huge force which had now gathered. Through a long way
I was guided by Critognatus to see that I had audience. The tent of
Vercingetorix stood near the centre of the camp and was somewhat larger
than the others and had sentries at its door. I was taken within by
Critognatus and my name and mission told to Vercingetorix, but I need
have had no sponsor.
Most cordial was my greeting, though of a certain dignity, for
Vercingetorix was one of a commanding and grave air, albeit his eyes
gleamed brightly. There proved occasion for little speech. Of all that
had occurred in Britain this wise leader had made himself acquainted
and it so chanced that he knew my story well, and well could understand
what impulse drove me now and what manner of service I might give.
He placed me with the command of Critognatus, and, upon my asking,
directed him to allow me, under my own leadership, a company of some
hundred of a wild outlying clan of the Arverni, with whom I might
adventure in my own way. Glad was I then!
What days and nights of brooding came to me! Ever I saw the tomb of
Goneril or the fanes of my own gods! No puling gods of the weak races
they, but war gods and gods of vengeance! Wild and savage and unfearing
was my band of an outlandish mountain group to whom I had joined my few
of Britons, and whom I now trained to more knowing warfare, but even
they were scarcely equal to the fierceness and persistence of their
leader. No venturing foragers from the Roman camp were safe from our
ambushes or sudden onslaught, for I hovered like a wolf about a fold,
and many a legionary’s blood made the snow brighter in my eyes. There
came to me something of a name, and I was made welcome among the Gallic
chieftains, stately in their glittering helmets and tunics and rich
furs, and some of them most gallant men and good, but I could not be as
One with them. I held myself aloof in a stern loneliness. They were not
of me or mine. What says the Norsemen’s rune:
“Gasps and gapes
When to the sea he comes
The eagle over old ocean;
So is a man
Who among many comes
And has no advocates.”
But little recked I of it all. I only sought and slew with my hardened
following. Then, later, fell Avaricum, and Cæsar, his army fed and
rested, turned toward Vercingetorix, who, after some well fought but
unavailing battles, entrenched himself in the city of Alesia, where
he awaited the issues. Alesia was a town of the Mandubii and one well
fortified and of importance, founded anciently, it was related, as a
trading-place of the Phœnicians. It lay upon the flat crest of a great
hill, almost a mountain, and was protected on two sides by the rivers
Lutosa and Osera. In the front the mountain sloped down into a plain
a league in width, behind which, at some distance, rose other hills
which surrounded the plain completely. The army of Vercingetorix now
occupied the wide slope of the city’s hill down to the plain and had
made before it a long deep trench and a stone wall the height of a
man throughout. Upon the plain and nearer the hills were arrayed the
Romans, who began at once a gigantic work of encircling fortifications
such as I had never seen before and which gave me new comprehension of
the utter inflexibility and hungry and all-conquering resolve of this
great Cæsar. None other could have devised so vast a plan, and by no
other army than his could it be executed. The inner circuit of this
enclosing zone was a full ten miles in length and, gigantic as was the
work, there was built in front of it a trench twenty feet in depth and
of the same width, and, within this and nearer the fortifications, two
other trenches each fifteen feet deep and wide, and filled with water
let in from the river. All this was as a hindrance and protection
against any sudden sally by the Gauls, of whom there were with
Vercingetorix some hundred thousand. Not only this, but, at a distance
and in the rear of Cæsar’s army, was erected another and longer line
of defense against the Gauls elsewhere, who were rallying in great
numbers to come to Vercingetorix’s assistance. I had somewhere heard a
strange tale of a huge serpent which had coiled its vast length around
an Afric village and engulfed the starving groups as they came forth in
desperation, and the thought came to me again with this coiling of the
awaiting serpent, Cæsar.
There were sharp conflicts as the work progressed, for we made frequent
sallies from our wall, and there was one fight of the cavalry which
caused great loss on both sides and might have ended still more hardly
for the Romans had not Cæsar sent to their aid a great force of the
Germans who were with him, and who fought solidly and well together.
Much it enraged me to behold these Germans, for they were somewhat of
the same blood as my own.
Still grew the Roman fortifications and the whole thing was marvellous.
Each Roman soldier, it seemed, was trained to every sort of labour and
accustomed to it as to the march or battlefield. The army was made up
of legions, containing from three thousand to six thousand men; the
legion was divided into ten cohorts, the cohort into three maniples,
and the maniple into two centuries, and each moved as if a part of one
great being. Never before was army a machine so deadly, propelling
itself in whole or in its smallest part as guided by a single mind.
What Briton or Gallic force, however great, could cope with this!
And now came anxious days to Vercingetorix. The promised succour was
delayed, and famine threatened. It was resolved to send away the
helpless people of the Mandubii, but they could not pass the Romans.
Very early in the siege Vercingetorix had fairly divided, man by man,
all corn and cattle and other food, and this was near its end. A
council of the leaders was now held at which was to be considered the
best course to be taken, and at this council Critognatus spoke most
eloquently, counselling a sally and a swift determining of the great
issue, however fatal. Then came the news by messengers who had passed
the enemy that our allies had come and that, under the leadership of
Commius, they were about to attack the Romans in great force!
There was no faltering now! We must sally forth when our allies made
their attack. The assault soon came, and for two days there were
fierce charge and countercharge and much slaughter, the Gauls outside
assailing the farther Roman works as did we the inner ones. On the
fourth day came the bloody climax.
There was at the extremity of the Romans’ northern line a hill which
could not easily be included in their works, and the outer Gauls had
perceived this hill’s advantage. They took from their main army sixty
thousand of their best men, and these, under command of Vergasillaunus,
passed round and seized the hill at night. At noon, it was decided,
this great force should make its charge. Then all would join the battle
and all knew that, before the night fell, there would come an end
either of free Gaul or of the dreadful Cæsar!
My axe was red with Roman blood. My arm was wearied and my body sore
that night, and through the brief hours of rest I snatched I slept but
fitfully. That my sleep would fail me in the night to come I had no
fear, for I knew in my heart what must befall. It did not daunt me.
What warrior had done better? What says the Havamal of Odin:
“Cattle die,
Kindred die,
We ourselves also die;
But the fair fame
Never dies
Of one who deserves it!”
At noon the battle burst with utmost fury, as Vergasillaunus hurled
his force upon the Romans and, almost at the same time, we from within
assailed the ramparts. Nothing could stay us. The ditches were filled
with clay and hurdles, the walls were mounted, their defenders slain,
the turrets cleared, and we burst fairly through the breached wall
and struck our foes on even ground. What foaming struggle then, what
vengeance sought for wrongs, what strokes for freedom! Should victory
come to him, what mercy would he show, this harsh and treacherous
Cæsar! Even I, who fought for my own hand and for my vengeance, could
not but feel hate with the Gauls. For this man surely the gods must
have a punishment. The noble Vercingetorix may grace his triumph, to
be later murdered in a Roman dungeon; each Roman soldier may boast a
Gallic slave; a servile populace may greet the conqueror madly, but
certainly the evil day and evil end must come. May the daggers of false
friends some time await him!
We raged ahead and slew, but ever came swinging into support the Roman
legions in the way I knew so well from Britain. And no longer could we
force them. Oh, for a thousand of my wild Jutlanders, Angle, Saxon, or
Jute, I cared not, to hew a way with me into those solid ranks! There
came a sudden rush and so close a press about me that I had not room
for the swinging of my wet axe. The Roman short sword is most keen
and, driven into a man’s side and cleanly through him, he must reach
the earth. The feet of a host of charging legionaries passed over and
beyond me, and there came to my ears their distant shout of triumph.
The blood is flowing from my side and I am weakening and dying. The
Valkyrie are circling in the sky. It is the end. How will they appear
to me and how receive me, Odin, the all-father; Thor, the hammerer;
Balder, the beautiful, and Freyja and all the great queens and warriors
of the past? That must be as it may be. I have fought well. And now
even the gods are lost in mist. Strange visions are coming to me,
visions of shining seas and the vast ocean, of warm, palm-clad lands
and lands of ice and snow, of plains and forests and the dark mountain
passes, of a thousand fierce encounters and of other and more gentle
things. Above and beyond all, I see a creature, soft-furred of arm,
dark-eyed and wild and beautiful of her kind, near to me in the lofty
treetops and gazing at me gravely from between leaved branches!
THE END
[Illustration: Publisher’s mark]
COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
Transcriber’s Note
Page 111: “would not deride here” changed to “would not deride her”
Page 220: “made such bouyant” changed to “made such buoyant”
Page 256: “uptilting or decending” changed to “uptilting or descending”