THE LAST CALL TO ARMS.
But for my uncertainty concerning the fate of my children, immediately
upon the "horse-dealer's" departure I would have killed myself by
butting my head against the wall of my prison, or by refusing all
nourishment. Many Gauls had thus escaped the doom of slavery. But I felt
that I should not die before doing what I could to snatch them from the
destiny which menaced them.
I examined my room to see whether, my strength once restored, there was
any chance for escape. Three sides of the room were solid wall, the
other was a thick partition re-enforced with beams, between two of which
opened the door which was always carefully bolted without. A bar of iron
crossed the window, leaving an opening too narrow to give me passage. I
examined my chain, and the rings, one of which was riveted to my leg,
the other to one of the cross-bars of the bed. It was impossible for me
to unchain myself, even at my greatest strength. I then thought of a
plan, a trick, to put myself in the good graces of the "horse-dealer,"
so as to obtain from him information of my little Sylvest and Syomara.
With that end in view, it would not do to repine, to appear sad or
afraid of the lot reserved for the children. I feared I might not be
able to carry out the role, for I came of a race unaccustomed to deceit
and lying. The Gauls either triumphed or died.
On the evening of that same day when, regaining consciousness, I had
become aware of my slavery, I witnessed a spectacle of terrible
grandeur. It raised my courage. I could no longer despair for the safety
and liberty of Gaul. The night was about to fall, when I heard the
tramping of several troops of cavalry arriving at a walk in the great
public square of Vannes, which I could see from the narrow window of my
prison. I looked out, and beheld the following scene.
Two cohorts of Roman infantry, and one of cavalry, both in battle array,
surrounded a vacant space, in the middle of which rose a large scaffold
of timber. On the platform was a heavy block, such as is used for
chopping meat on. Beside the block stood a Moor of gigantic stature and
bronzed of color. His arms and legs were bare, his hair was bound with a
scarlet band; he wore a coat and a pair of short trousers of tanned
skin, splashed here and there with dark red; in his hand was an axe.
In the distance sounded the long clarions of the Romans, playing a
funeral march. The sound drew nearer. One of the cohorts that were drawn
up on the square opened its ranks, forming a double row. Through this
lane the clarioneers entered. They preceded a troop of steel-clad
legionaries. After the troop came the prisoners taken in the Gallic
army, tied two and two. Then came the women and children, also in
bonds. More than two stone's throws separated me from these captives. At
such a distance I could not distinguish their features, try as I might.
Nevertheless, my little son and daughter might be among them. The
prisoners, of all ages and sexes, closed in by the two rows of soldiers,
were stationed at the foot of the platform. Still more troops marched
into the square; after them, five and twenty captives were led in, in
single file, but not chained. I recognized them by their free and
haughty pace. They were the chiefs and elders of the town and tribe of
Vannes, all white-haired fathers.[22] Among them, marching last, I
distinguished two druids and a bard of the college of the forest of
Karnak, marked, the first by their long white robes, the second by his
tunic striped with purple. Then appeared more Roman infantry; finally,
between two escorts of white-robed Numidian cavalry, Caesar, on
horse-back, in the midst of his officers. I recognized the scourge of
Gaul by his armor, which was the same he wore when, aided by my brother
Mikael the armorer, I was carrying him off in full panoply on my horse.
Oh, how at the sight of the man I cursed anew my stupid astonishment,
that so unfortunately proved the safety of my country's butcher.
Caesar drew rein a short distance from the platform, and made a sign
with his hand. Immediately the twenty-five prisoners, the bard and
druids passing last, mounted with calm tread the steps of the scaffold.
One by one they placed their white heads on the block, and each one of
the venerable heads, stricken off by the axe of the Moor, rolled at the
feet of the bound captives.
The bard and the two druids were the only ones left. The three rushed
together in a final embrace, they raised their faces and their hands
towards heaven, and intoned in a loud voice the song of Hena, the virgin
of the isle of Sen, uttered at the hour of her voluntary sacrifice on
the rocks of Karnak, that song which had been the signal for the rising
of Brittany against the Romans:
"Hesus, Hesus! By the blood which is about to flow, clemency for Gaul!"
"Gauls, by the blood which is about to flow, victory to our arms!"
And the bard added:
"The Chief of the Hundred Valleys is safe. There is hope for our arms!"
Thereupon all the Gallic captives, men, women, and children present at
the execution, all together repeated the last words of the druids,
acclaiming them with so powerful a voice that the air shook even in my
prison. After that supreme chant, the three placed their sacred heads in
turn upon the block, and went the same way as the elders of Vannes. As
the bard's and the druids' heads rolled upon the scaffold, all the
captives took up the war-cry of the druids--"Strike the Roman! Strike at
the head!"--in a voice so fierce and menacing that the legionaries,
lowering their lances, hurriedly surrounded the unarmed and chained
prisoners in a circle of iron, bristling with lance heads. But that
mighty voice of their brothers and sisters had reached the wounded men
shut up in the slave-shed, and all, myself included, answered the
refrain:
"Strike the Roman! Strike! Strike at the head! Strike the Roman hard!"
Thus ended the war in Brittany. Thus ended the call to arms made by the
druids from the heights of the sacred rocks of the forest of Karnak,
after the sacrifice of Hena--the call to arms that led to the battle of
Vannes. But in my lonely cell I did not yet lose hope. Our native Gaul,
although invaded on all sides, would still resist. The Chief of the
Hundred Valleys, forced to leave Brittany, had gone to arouse the
regions still unvanquished.