WACE'S ROMAN DE BRUT

Constantine came to Totnes, and many a stout knight with him--there

was not one but was worthy of the kingship. The host set forth towards

London, and sent messages in every part, bidding the Britons to their

aid, for as yet they were too fearful to come from their secret

places. When the Britons heard these tidings they drew, thick as rain,

from the woodlands and the mountain, and came before the host in

troops and companies. To make short a long matter, these marched so

far and wrought such deeds that in the end they altogether discomfited

those evil men who had done such sore mischief to the land. After

these things they held a great council at Cirencester, commanding

thereto all the lords and barons of the realm. In that place they

chose Constantine as their king, with no long tarrying, none being so

bold as to say him nay. So when they had ordained him king, they set

the crown on his head with marvellous joy, and owned themselves as his

men. Afterwards, by their counsel, Constantine took to wife a dame who

was come of gentle Roman blood. On this lady he begat three sons. The

eldest--whom the king named Constant--he caused to be nourished at

Winchester, and there he made him to be vowed a monk. The second son

was called Aurelius, and his surname Ambrosius. Lastly was born Uther,

and it was he whose days were longest in the land. These two varlets

were held in ward by Gosselyn, the archbishop.

So long as Constantine lived the realm had rest and peace; but he died

before his time had come, for he reigned but twelve short years. There

was a certain Pict of his household, a traitor, a foul felon, who for

a great while had been about his person. I cannot tell the reason why

he bore the king so mortal a grudge. This Pict took the king aside

privily in an orchard, as though he would speak to him of some hidden

matter. The king had no thought to keep himself from this false felon,

who whilst he made seeming to speak in his master's ear, drew forth a

knife and smote him therewith so shrewdly that he died. Then he fled

forth from the garden. But many a time have I heard tell that it was

Vortigern who caused Constantine to be slain. Great was the sorrow the

lords and all honest people made above their king, for the realm had

now no prince, save only those children of so tender an age. They laid

him in his tomb, but in no wise put him from remembrance. The whole

realm assembled together that they might make to themselves a king.

They doubted sorely which of the two young children they should

choose, for of them they knew neither good nor ill, seeing they were

but small and frail, and yet in their warden's charge. As to Constant,

the eldest son, who was of more fitting years, they dared not to pluck

the habit from his back, since all men deemed it shame and folly to

hale him forth from his abbey. The council would have ordained one of

the two children to be king had it not been for Vortigern, who arose

before them all. This Vortigern came from Wales, and was earl in his

own land. He was a strong knight of his body, exceeding rich in goods

and kin. Very courteous was he of speech; right prudent in counsel;

and long since had made straight the road that he coveted to tread.

"What reason is here," said he, "for doubtfulness? There is naught

else to do but to make this monk, Constant, our king. He is the

rightful heir; his brothers are not long from the breast; neither is

it fitting that the crown should be placed upon a stranger's head. Let

us strip the gown boldly from his shoulders. I charge the sin upon my

own soul. My hand alone shall draw him from the abbey, and set him

before you as your king." But all the lords of the council kept

silence, for a horrible thing it seemed in their eyes that a monk

should wear the mantle of a king. Vortigern, purposing evil in his

heart, took horse, and rode swiftly to Winchester. He sought Constant

at the abbey, praying the prior of his courtesy that he might speak

with him in the parlour. "Constant," said he, "thy father is dead, and

men seek to bestow his throne upon thy brothers. Such honour is not

seemly, for thine is the crown and seat. If thou bearest me love and

affiance, and for thy part wilt promise to make richer all the riches

that are mine, on my part I will free thee from these sullen rags and

array thee in the purple and ermine of a king. Choose now between

this monastery and the heritage that is thine own." Very desirous was

Constant of the lordship, and little love had he for his abbey. Right

weary was he of choir and psalter, and lightly and easily he made him

ready to be gone. He pledged oath and faith to all that Vortigern

required, and after he had so done Vortigern took him with a strong

hand from the monastery, none daring to gainsay his deed. When

Vortigern was assured of his fealty, he caused Constant to put off the

monk's serge, and clothe him in furs and rich raiment. He carried him

to London, and sat him in his father's chair, though not with the

voice and welcome of the people. The archbishop who should have

anointed the king with oil was dead, neither was any bishop found to

give him unction, or to put his hand to the business. It was Vortigern

alone who took the crown and set it on his head. This king had no

unction nor blessing, save from the hand of Vortigern alone.

Constant reigned in his father's stead. He who had betrayed the

commandment of God, was not one to hold his realm in surety; and thus

he came to an evil end. Sorrow not thereat. The man who sells his

master with a kiss may not hope to spend the wages of his sin.

Vortigern held Constant and his senarchy in the hollow of his hand.

The king did all according to his pleasure, and granted freely to

his every need. Very quickly, by reason of divers matters, Vortigern

perceived that the king knew but little of the world, since he was

nourished in a cloister. He remembered that the two princes were of

tender age. He saw that the mighty lords of the realm were dead, that

the people were in sore trouble and unrest, and judged that the place

and time were come. Mark now the cunning craft with which he set about

to take his seisin of the realm. "Sire," said he, "I have learned and

would bring to your knowledge that the sea folk are gathered together

from Norway, and from the country of the Danes. Since our knights are

few in number, and because of the weakness of the land, they purpose

to descend upon the kingdom, and ravish and spoil your cities. Draw

now together thy men, to guard the realm and thee. Set food within the

strong places, and keep well thy towers. Above all, have such fear of

traitors that thy castles are held of none save those true men who

will hold them to the death. If you act not after this counsel right

speedily there must reign another king." "I have granted," answered

Constant, "everything to thy hand, and have done all according to thy

will. Take now this fresh burthen upon thee, for thou art wiser than

I. I give you all the realm to thy keeping, so that none shall ravage

it or burn. Cities and manors; goods and treasure; they are thine as

constable. Thy will is my pleasure. Do swiftly that which it is seemly

should be done." Vortigern was very subtle. None knew better how

to hide away his greed. After he had taken the strong towers, the

treasure, and the riches to himself, he went again before the king.

"Sire," said he, "if it seem good to the king, my counsel would be

that he should send to the Picts of Scotland to seek of them horsemen

and sergeants to have with him about his household. In that place

where the battle is perilous we can call them to our aid. Through

these Picts and their kindred we shall hear the talk of the outland

men. They will parley between us and these Danes, and serve as embassy

between us and our foes." "Do," replied the king, "at thy pleasure.

Bring of these Picts as many as you wish. Grant them as guerdon what

you deem befits. Do all which it is seemly should be done."

When Vortigern had taken to himself the walled cities, and gathered

together the treasure, he sent such messages to the Picts as he

desired, so that they came according to his will. Vortigern received

them with much honour, giving them greatly to drink, so that they

lived in mirth and in solace, altogether drunken and content. Of his

bounty Vortigern granted such wages, and spoke so sweetly in the ear

of each, that there was not one amongst them who did not cry loudly

in the hearing of any who would hearken, that Vortigern was more

courteous and of higher valiance than the king--yea, that he was

worthy to sit upon the king's throne, or in a richer chair than his.

Vortigern rejoiced greatly at these words. He made much of his Picts,

and honoured them more sweetly than ever before. On a day when they

had sat long at their cups, and all were well drunken, Vortigern came

amongst them in the hall. He saluted them sadly, showing the semblance

of a woeful man. "Right dear are you to my heart;" said he, "very

willingly have I served you, and right gladly would I serve you still,

if but the wealth were mine. But this realm belongs altogether to the

king. Naught can I bestow, nothing is mine to spend, save only that I

render him account of every doit. So little revenue is mine of this

land, that it becomes me to seek my fortune beyond the sea. I have set

my whole intent to serve my king to the utmost of my might, and for

recompense have of him such estate that I can maintain scarce forty

sergeants to my household. If all goes well with me we may meet again,

for I commend me to your goodwill. This weighs heavily upon me that

I must leave you now. But, beggar as I am, I can do no other; only I

entreat you this, that if you hear my business has come to a fair end,

you will of a surety seek my love again." For all his piteous speech

Vortigern was false, and had falsely spoken, but those who had well

drunken gave faith to his words. They held for gospel truth what this

vile traitor had told them. They murmured together amongst themselves:

"What then shall become of us, since we lose so generous a lord! Let

us rather slay this mad king, this shaveling, and raise Vortigern to

his seat. Worthy is he of crown and kingdom; so on him we will cast

the lot. Too long already have we suffered this renegade monk, whom

now we serve." Forthwith they entered in the king's chamber, and

laying hands upon him, slew him where he stood. They smote the head

from off his shoulders, and bare it to Vortigern in his lodging,

crying, "Look now, and see by what bands we bind you to this realm.

The king is dead, and we forbid you to go from amongst us. Take now

the crown, and become our king." Vortigern knew again the head of his

lord. He made semblance of bitter sorrow, but rejoiced privily in his

heart, though of his cunning he hid his gladness from the eyes of

men. To cover his falseness the deeper, Vortigern called the Romans

together in council. He struck the heads from off those traitors,

leaving not one to escape alive. But many a citizen was persuaded, and

some said openly, that these murderers would not have laid hands

upon the king, neither looked evilly upon him, nor thought to do him

mischief, had not Vortigern required of them such deed.

When the death of the king was told to them who held the two brothers

in ordinance, they were assured that he who slew the king would not

scruple to serve the princes in the self-same fashion. For fear of

Vortigern they took Aurelius and Uther, and fled beyond the sea to

Little Britain, commending themselves to the pity of Budes, the king.

Since they were of his kin King Budes welcomed them right courteously.

He received them to his table with great honour, and bestowed upon

them many rich gifts. Now having taken to himself the strong places,

the castles, and the cities of the kingdom, Vortigern proclaimed him

to be king with marvellous pride. His joy was the less because the

realm was harassed by the Picts, who would avenge their kindred, whom

he had slain with the sword. Moreover he was sorely troubled, since

it was noised abroad that the two princes were gathering a company

together, purposing in a short space to return to their own land. The

rumour ran that the barons were resolved to join this great host, and

to own the brothers as their lords, so that in a while Vortigern would

be utterly destroyed. Many there were who told of such things.

Whilst men talked thus, there came to a haven in Kent three galleys,

bearing a strange people to the land. These folk were fair of face and

comely of person. They owned as lords Hengist and Horsa, two brethren

of mighty stature, and of outland speech. The tidings came to

Vortigern at Canterbury, where he abode that day, that a foreign folk

from a far country had drawn to the realm in ships. The king sent

messages of peace and goodwill to these strangers, praying that be

they whom they might, they would come quickly and speak with him in

his palace, and return swiftly to their own place. When they received

his commandment they sought him with the more surety. They came into

the king's presence and did reverence, with a proud bearing. Vortigern

looked closely upon the brethren. Shapely were they of body, bright of

visage, taller and more comely than any youth he knew. "From what land

have you come," inquired the king, "and on what errand? Tell me now

the place of your birth." The elder and the mightier of the brethren,

called Hengist, made answer in the name of all his fellows. "We be of

a country called Saxony," said he, "there were we born and there we

abode. If thou wilt learn the chance we seek upon the sea, I will

answer truly, if so it be according to thy will." "Say on," said the

king, "and hide nothing. No harm shall come to thee of this." "Fair

king," answered Hengist, "gentle sire, I know not if I can make it

plain. Our race is of a fertile stock, more quick and abounding than

any other you may know, or whereof you have heard speak. Our folk are

marvellously fruitful, and the tale of the children is beyond measure.

Women and men are more in number than the sand, for the greater sorrow

of those amongst us who are here. When our people are so many that the

land may not sustain nor suffice them, then the princes who rule the

realm assemble before them all the young men of the age of fifteen

years and upwards, for such is our use and custom. From out of these

they choose the most valiant and the most strong, and, casting lots,

send them forth from the country, so that they may travel into divers

lands, seeking fiefs and houses of their own. Go out they must, since

the earth cannot contain them; for the children came more thickly than

the beasts which pasture in the fields. Because of the lot that fell

upon us we have bidden farewell to our homes, and putting our trust in

Mercury, the god has led us to your realm." When the king heard the

name of Mercury as the god of their governance, be inquired what

manner of men these were, and of the god in whom they believed. "We

have," answered Hengist, "gods a many, to whom it is our bounden duty

to raise altars. These gods have to name Phoebus and Saturn, Jupiter

and Mercury. Many another god we worship, according to the wont of our

country, and as our fathers have told us. But above all gods we keep

in chiefest honour Mercury, who in our own tongue is called Woden. Our

fathers held this god in such reverence that they devoted the fourth

day of the week to his service. Because of their hope in Woden they

called his feast Wednesday, and yet it bears his name. By the side of

this god of whom I have spoken, we set our goddess Freya, who is

held in worship of us all. To show forth their love, our fathers

consecrated the sixth day to her service, and on the high authority of

the past we call Friday by Freya's name." "Ill is your faith," replied

the king, "and in an evil god you put your trust. This thing is

grievous to me, but nevertheless I welcome your coming right gladly.

You are valiant men, as I deem, accustomed to harness, and so you will

be my servants, very willingly will I make you of my household, and of

wealth you shall find no lack. Certain thieves from Scotland torment

me grievously at this time, burning my land and preying on my cities.

So it be God's pleasure, your coming may turn to my rich profit, for

by His aid and yours, I look to destroy these same Picts and Scots.

For from that land come and return these thieves who so harass and

damage my realm. You shall find me no grudging master, and when I am

avenged upon them, you will have no complaint to find with bounty or

wages or gifts." In this manner the Saxons came from out their ships,

and the king's court was strengthened by a mighty company. Now in no

long time afterwards the Picts entered the king's realm, with a great

host, burning, wasting, and pilling at their will. When they would

have passed the Humber, the king, who was told thereof, hastened to

meet them with his lords, the Britons, and these Saxons. The hosts

came together, and the battle was grim and lasting, for many were

discomfited to death that day. The Picts, doubting nothing but

that they would gain the victory as they had done before, carried

themselves hardily, and struck fiercely with the sword. They fought

thus stoutly, and endured so painfully, since they were shamed to do

less than was their wont. But their evil custom was broken, for the

Saxons gained possession of the field. Since by these Saxons, and

their aid, Vortigern was delivered of this peril, he gave them their

wages, and added thereto of his bounty. On Hengist he bestowed fair

manors, and goods, and great riches, so that love lasted between them

for a long space.

When Hengist saw that the king might in no wise pass him by, he sought

to turn this to his own profit, as was his undoubted right. He knew

well how to flatter the king to his own advantage by specious words.

On a day when the king's heart was merry, Hengist opened out what was

in his mind. "Thou hast given me many honours," said he, "and bestowed

on me plenteously of thy wealth. I am not ungrateful, but am thy

servant and will remain thy servant, striving to serve thee better in

the future even than I have striven in the past. But the longer I am

about the king's person, and the more closely I know his court, the

more clearly I see and hear and am assured that thou hast not the love

of one only baron of thy realm. Each bears thee hate, each nurses his

own grudge. I cannot speak, since nothing I know, of those children

who have stolen away the love of thine own house. They are the lawful

lords of thy barons, and these are but loyal to the sons of their

king. Within a little they will come from over sea, and spoil thee of

this realm. Not one of thy men but purposes to do thee a mischief.

Evil they wish thee, and evil they hope will be thine end. Horribly

art thou abhorred; horribly art thou menaced; for evil is on thy

track, and evil purposes shortly to pull thee down. I have considered

how best I may help thee in this peril. If it pleases the king to

bring my wife and children and all that is mine from my own land,

the sweeter hostages will be his, and the more faithful will be my

service. So diligently will I keep my trust that no foe, however bold,

shall spoil thee of one foot of thy heritage Moreover, sire, it is now

a great while since I became thy servant, and many bear malice against

me by reason of thy love. Because of their wrath I dare not tarry at

night outside my house, nor go beyond the walls. For this cause, sire,

so it may please thee, it would become thy honour to grant me some

town or tower or strong place, where I may lie in peace of nights,

when I am weaned in the king's quarrels. When thy enemies mark the

generosity of the king, they will cease to annoy so large a lord." "As

to the folk of thine house," made answer the king, "send thou at

thy pleasure, and receive them with all worship. The cost of their

sustenance shall be mine. For the rest thou art not of the faith.

Pagan thou art, and no Christian man Men, therefore, will deem that I

do very wrongfully should I grant thee the other gift you require."

"Sire," replied Hengist, "I would of thy bounty a certain manor. I

pray thee of thy courtesy to add thereto so much land--I seek no

more--as I may cover with a hide, and as may be compassed therewith.

It will be but the hide of a bull, but for the gift's sake I shall go

the more surely." Vortigern granted the boon, and Hengist thanked his

master. He made ready his messenger, and sent for his kindred from

oversea. He took the hide of a bull, and cutting it as small as he

might, made one thong of the whole skin. With this thong he compassed

a great spoil of land, and gathering good masons together, built

thereon a fair castle. In his own tongue he called this place

Vancaster, which being interpreted means Thong Castle, forasmuch as

the place was compassed by a thong. Now it is hight by many Lancaster,

and of these there are few who remember why it was first called after

this name.

When Vancaster was well builded there drew near eighteen war galleys,

bearing to land Hengist's kindred, together with knights and footmen.

With these came Hengist's daughter, Rowena by name, a maiden yet

unwed, and most marvellously fair. After all things were made ready

Hengist prayed the king to lodge with him awhile, that he might

delight himself with meat and drink, and view the new folk of his

household, and the castle that he had builded. And the king was

pleased to hearken unto his prayer. The king rode to Vancaster with

a mean company, since he would not have it noised about the land. He

marked the castle and its towers, which were both strong and fair, and

much he praised the work. The knights who were freshly come from sea

he took to his service, and gave of his bounty. At the feast that day

men ate and drank so greatly that for the most part they were drunken.

Then came forth from her chamber Rowena, Hengist's daughter, sweetly

arrayed and right dainty to see, bearing in her hand a brimming cup

of wine. She kneeled before Vortigern very simply, and saluted him

courteously after the fashion of her land, saying, "Washael, lord

king." The king, who knew nothing of her language, sought the meaning

of the maiden's words. This was made plain to him by Redic, the

Breton, a fair scholar, who--as it is related--was the first to become

apt in the Saxon tongue. He answered swiftly, "The maiden saluted thee

courteously, calling thee lord. It is the wont of her people, sire,

that when friend drinks with friend, he who proffers the cup cries,

'Washael,' and that he who receives answers in turn, 'Drinkhael'. Then

drinks he the half of this loving cup, and for joy and for friendship

of him who set it in his hand, kisses the giver with all fair

fellowship." When he had learned this thing, the king said

"Drinkhael," and smiled upon the damsel. Rowena tasted of the cup, and

placed it in the king's hand, and in taking it from the maiden the

king kissed her sweetly. By the Saxon were we first taught in

this land to greet, saying, "Washael," and afterwards to answer,

"Drinkhael," to drain the cup in full measure, or to share it with

one other, to kiss together when the cup was passed. The custom was

commenced as I have shown you, and we observe this ritual yet, as well

I know, in the rich feasts of our country.

Now the maiden was gracious of body, and passing fair of face, dainty

and tall, and plump of her person. She stood before the king in a web

of fine raiment, and ravished his eyes beyond measure. She filled the

king's cup willingly, and was altogether according to his wish. So

merry was the king, so well had he drunken, that he desired the

damsel in his heart. The devil, who has led many a man astray, snared

Vortigern with such sorcery, that he became mad with love to possess

Hengist's daughter. He was so fast in the devil's net that he saw

neither shame nor sin in this love. He denied not his hope, though the

maid was of pagans born. Vortigern prayed Hengist that he would grant

him the maid in marriage, and Hengist accorded her with goodwill. But

first he took counsel with his brother and his friends. These praised

the marriage, but counselled Hengist to give the damsel only on such

covenant that the king should deliver him Kent as her dowry. The king

coveted the maiden so greatly, he doted so dearly, that he made her

his queen. She was a pagan woman, and became his wife according to

the rites of the paynim. No priest blessed that marriage, there was

neither Mass nor prayer. So hot was the king's love that he espoused

her the same evening, and bestowed on Hengist Kent as her dowry.

Hengist went into Kent, and seized all the country into his hand.

He drove forth Garagon, the governor, who had heard no word of the

business. Vortigern showed more credence and love to the heathen

than to christened men, so that these gave him again his malice, and

abandoned his counsel. His own sons held him in hatred, forsaking his

fellowship because of the pagans. For this Vortigern had married

a wife, who long was dead and at peace. On this first wife he had

begotten three sons, these only. The first was named Vortimer, the

second Passent, and the third Vortiger. Hated was this king by all the

barons of his realm, and of all his neighbours. His very kindred held

him in abhorrence. He came to an evil end, for he died in his shame,

and the pagans he befriended with him. "Sire," said Hengist to the

king, "men hold thee in hatred by reason of me, and because of thy

love they bear me malice also. I am thy father, and thou my son, since

thou wert pleased to ask my daughter for thy wife. It is my privilege

to counsel my king, and he should hearken to my counsel, and aid me to

his power. If thou wilt make sure thy throne, and grieve those who use

thee despitefully, send now for Octa my son, and for my cousin Ebissa.

There are not two more cunning captains than these, nor two champions

to excel them in battle. Give these captains of thy land towards

Scotland, for from thence comes all the mischief. They will deal with

thy foes in such fashion that never more shall they take of thy

realm, but for the rest of thy days we shall live in peace beyond the

Humber." Then answered the king, "Do what you will, and send messages

for such men as it is good for us to have." At the king's word Hengist

sent messages to his son and nephew, who hastened to his help with a

fleet of three hundred galleys. There was not a knight of their land,

who would serve for guerdon, but they carried him across the water.

After these captains were come, in their turn, from day to day, came

many another, this one with four vessels, this other with five, or

six, or seven, or eight, or nine, or ten. So thickly did the heathen

wend, and so closely did they mingle with the Christians, that you

might scarcely know who was a christened man and who was not. The

Britons were sorely troubled at this matter, and prayed the king

not to put such affiance in the outland folk, for they wrought much

mischief. They complained that already were too many pagans in the

land, working great shame and villainy to the people. "Separate

thyself from amongst them," they said, "at whatever cost, and send

all, or as many as may be, from the realm." Vortigern made answer that

he might not do this thing. He had entreated the Saxons to the land,

and they served him as true men. So when the barons hearkened to his

words they went their way to Vortimer.

The Britons assembled themselves together, and taking the road to

London, chose Vortimer--the eldest of the king's three sons--to be

their lord. The king, who was assotted on his wife, clave to her

kindred, and would not forsake the heathen. Vortimer defied the

Saxons, and drove them from the walled cities, chasing and tormenting

them very grievously. He was a skilful captain, and the strife was

right sore between Vortimer and the Britons, against his father and

the Saxons. Four times the hosts met together, and four times Vortimer

vanquished his foe. The first battle was fought upon the banks of the

Darent. The second time the hosts strove together was upon the ford

near Aylesford. In this place Vortiger, the king's son, and Horsa the

Saxon, contended so fiercely in combat, body to body, that each did

the other to death, according to his desire. The other battle was

arrayed on the sea shore in Kent. Passing grim was this third battle,

for the ships fought together upon the water. The Saxons withdrew

before the Britons, so that from beyond the Humber even to Kent they

were deceived in their hope. The heathen fled in their galleys to an

islet called Thanet. The Britons assailed them in this fastness, and

so long as it was day, harassed them with arrows and quarrels, with

ships and with barges. They rejoiced loudly, for the pagans were

caught in a corner, and those not slain by the sword were fain to die

of hunger. For this reason, the Britons raised a mighty tumult and

shouting, when they trapped their enemy in the Isle of Thanet. When

the Saxons were assured that worse would befall them, save they

departed from the realm, they prayed Vortigern to go in embassy to

Vortimer his son, persuading him to give them safe conduct from the

land, and not to do them further mischief. Vortigern, who was in their

company and would in no wise depart from their fellowship, went to his

son to procure such truce as the Saxons required. Whilst he was about

this business the Saxons entered in their galleys, and with sail and

oar put out to sea as swiftly as they were able. Such was their haste

to escape that they left their wives and sons with the Britons,

returning to their own country in exceeding fear. After the Saxons

had all forsaken the realm, and the Britons were assumed of peace,

Vortimer gave again to every man that of which the heathen had spoiled

him. To build anew the churches, and to declare the law of God, which

had fallen into disuse amongst the people because of Hengist and his

heathendom, St. Germanus came to Britain, sent by St. Romanus, the

Apostle of Rome. With him came St. Louis of Troyes. These two fair

bishops, Germanus of Auxerre and Louis of Troyes, crossed the sea

to prepare the way of the Lord. By them were the tables of the law

redelivered, and men converted again to the faith. They brought many a

man to salvation; many a miracle, many a virtue, did God show in their

persons, and many a country was the sweeter for their lives. When the

law of God was restored, and Britain made again a Christian land,

hearken now what foul work was done by treason and by envy. Rowena,

that evil stepmother, caused Vortimer, her husband's son, to be

poisoned, by reason of the hatred she bore him, since he chased

Hengist from the realm. After Vortimer was certified that he must die,

and that no physician might cure him of his hurt, he called together

all his barons, and delivered unto them the treasure which he

had greatly gathered. Listen well to that he prayed his friends.

"Knights," said he, "take into your service warriors not a few, and

grudge not the sergeant his wages. Hold one to another, and maintain

the land against these Saxons. That my work may not be wasted, and

avenged upon those who live, do this thing for their terror. Take my

body, and bury it upon the shore. Raise above me such a tomb, so large

and lasting, that it may be seen from far by all who voyage on the

sea. To that coast where my body is buried, living or dead, they shall

not dare to come." Having spoken in this fashion the gentle king died,

finishing his course. His body was borne to London, and in London he

was lain to his rest. The barons raised no barrow upon the shore, as

with his dying speech he had bidden them.

After Vortimer's death, the Britons made Vortigern their king, even

as he had been in days before. At the entreaties of his wife he sent

messages to his father-in-law, Hengist. Him he prayed to return to the

kingdom, but with a small company, so that the Britons should not give

heed to the matter; for since Vortimer his son was dead, there was

no need of a host. Hengist took ship gladly, but with him he carried

three hundred thousand men in mail. For dread of the Britons, he made

him ready as never he had done before. When the king learned that

Hengist drew to land with so mighty a host, he was altogether fearful,

and knew no word to say. The Britons assembled together in great

wrath, promising amongst themselves that they would join them in

battle, and throw the heathen from the realm. Hengist was cunning and

felon of heart. He sent false messages to the king, praying for a

truce and love-day to be granted, that they might speak together as

friend with friend. Peace above all he desired; peace he ensued; peace

was his love, and he sought her with tears. Nothing was further from

his wish than war, and he would rather be banished from the realm than

remain by force of arms. It was for the Britons to elect those whom

they willed to stay, and for the others they would return whence they

came. The Britons granted the love-day, and the two peoples took

pledges, one of the other; but who can trust the oath of a liar? A

time was appointed when this council should be holden. The king sent

messages to Hengist that he must come with few companions; and Hengist

plighted troth right willingly. Moreover, it was commanded that none

should bear weapons at the council, for fear that men should pass

from words to blows. The two parties met together near the Abbey of

Ambresbury, on the great Salisbury plain. The day was the kalends of

May. Hengist had taught his comrades, and warned them privily, that

they should come each with a sharp, two-edged knife hidden in his

hose. He bade them to sit in this Parliament, and hearken to the talk;

but when he cried, "Nimad covre seax" (which being interpreted means

"Pluck forth your knives," and would not be understanded of the

Britons), they were to snatch out their daggers and make each a dead

man of his neighbour. Now when the council was met, and men were

mingled together, the naked Briton near by the false heathen, Hengist

cried loudly, "Nimad covre seax." The Saxons, at his word, drew forth

the knives from their hose, and slew that man sitting at their side.

Hengist was seated very close the king. He held the king fast by his

mantle, so that this murder passed him by. But those who gripped the

knives thrust the keen blades through cloak and mantle, breast and

bowels, till there lay upon back or belly in that place nigh upon four

hundred and sixty men of the richest and most valiant lords of the

kingdom. Yet some won out and escaped with their lives, though they

had naught to defend their bodies save the stones.

Eldof, Earl of Gloucester, got a great club in his right hand, which

he found lying at his feet, though little he recked who had carried it

to the council. He defended his body stoutly with this mighty staff,

striking and smiting down, till he had slain fully sixty and ten of

the pagan. A mighty champion was he, and of rich worth. He clave a

path through the press, without taking a wound; for all the knives

which were flung at his body he escaped with not a hurt to the flesh.

He won at the end to his horse, which was right strong and speedy,

and riding swiftly to Gloucester, shut himself fast in his city and

victualled tower. As to Vortigern, the Saxons would have slain him

with his barons, but Hengist stood between them, crying, "Harm not the

king, for nothing but good have I received at his hand, and much has

he toiled for my profit. How then shall I suffer my daughter's lord to

die such a death! Rather let us hold him to ransom, and take freely

of his cities and walled places, in return for his life." They,

therefore, slew not the king but binding him fast with fetters of

iron, kept him close in bonds for so long a space that he swore to

render them all that they would. In quittance of his ransom, and to

come forth from prison, Vortigern granted Sussex, Essex, and Middlesex

to Hengist as his fief, besides that earldom of Kent which he had held

before. To remember this foul treason, knives were long hight seax

amongst the English, but names alter as the world moves on, and men

recall no more the meaning of the past. In the beginning the word was

used to rebuke the treason that was done. When the story of the seax

was forgotten, men spoke again of their knives, and gave no further

thought to the shame of their forefathers.

When Vortigern was a naked man he fled beyond the Severn, and passing

deeply into Wales, dwelt there, taking counsel with his friends. He

caused his wise clerks and magicians to be summoned, inquiring of them

in what fashion he should maintain his right, and what they would

counsel him to do, were he assailed of a mightier than himself. This

he asked because he feared greatly the two brothers of Constant, who

were yet living, and knew not how to keep him from their hate. These

sorcerers bade him to build so mighty a tower, that never at any time

might it be taken by force, nor beaten down by any engine devised by

the wit of man. When this strong castle was furnished and made ready,

he should shut himself within, and abide secure from the malice of his

foes. This pleased the king, who searched throughout the land to make

choice of a fitting place to raise so strong a keep. Such a place he

met, altogether according to his mind, on mount Erir. [1] He brought

masons together, the best that might be found, and set them to the

work as quickly as they were able. The masons began to build, getting

stones ready and making them fast with mortar, but all the work that

the builders raised by day, adown it fell to the ground by night.

They laboured therefore with the more diligence, but the higher they

builded the tower the greater was its fall, to the very foundations

they had digged. So it chanced for many days, till not one stone

remained upon another. When the king knew this marvel, and perceived

that his travail came in nowise to an end, he took counsel of his

wizards. "By my faith," said he, "I wonder sorely what may be amiss

with my tower, since the earth will not endure it. Search and inquire

the reason of this thing; and how these foundations shall be made

sure."

[Footnote 1: Snowdon]

Then the magicians by their lots and divinations--though, for that

matter, it may well be that they lied--devised that the king should

seek a man born of no earthly father, him he must slay, and taking of

his blood, slake and temper therewith the mortar of the work, so that

the foundations should be made fast, and the castle might endure.

Thereat the king sent messengers throughout all the land to seek such

a man, and commanded that immediately he were found he should be

carried to the court. These messengers went two by two upon their

errand. They passed to and fro about the realm, and entered into

divers countries, inquiring of all people, at the king's bidding,

where he might be hid. But for all their labour and diligence they

learned nothing. Now it came to pass that two of the king's embassy

went their road until they came together to the town called

Caermerdin.[1] A great company of youths and children was gathered

before the gate at the entrance to the city, and the messengers stayed

awhile to mark their play. Amongst those who disported themselves at

this gate were two varlets, named Merlin and Dinabus. Presently the

two youths began to chide and jangle, and were passing wroth the one

with the other. One of the twain spake ill of his fellow, reproaching

him because of his birth. "Hold thy peace, Merlin", said Dinabus, "it

becomes you not to strive with me, whose race is so much better than

thine own. Be heedful, for I know of such an evil matter that it were

well not to tempt me beyond my power. Speak then no more against my

lineage. For my part I am come from earls and kings, but if you set

out to tell over your kindred, you could not name even your father's

name. You know it not, nor shall learn it ever; for how may a son tell

his father's name when a father he has never had?" Now the king's

messengers, who were in quest of such a sireless man, when they heard

this bitter jibe of the varlet, asked of those around concerning the

youth who had never seen his sire. The neighbours answered that the

lad's father was known of none, yea, that the very mother who had

borne him in her womb, knew nothing of the husbandman who had sown the

seed. But if his father was hidden, all the world knew of the mother

who nourished him. Daughter was she to that King of Dimetia, now gone

from Wales. Nun she was of her state, a gentlewoman of right holy

life, and lodged in a convent within the walls of their city.

[Footnote 1: Carmarthen.]

When the messengers heard these tidings, they went swiftly to the

warden of the city, adjuring him, by the king's will, to lay hands

upon Merlin--that sireless man--and carry him straightway to the king,

together with the lady, his mother. The warden durst not deny their

commandment. He delivered Merlin and his mother to the embassy, who

led them before the king. The king welcomed the twain with much

honour, and spoke kindly unto them. "Lady," said he, "answer me truly.

By none, save by thee, can I know who was the father of Merlin, thy

son." The nun bowed her head. After she had pondered for a little, she

made reply, "So God have me in His keeping, as I know nothing and saw

nothing of him who begat this varlet upon me. Never have I heard,

never may I tell, if he were verily man by whom I had my child. But

this I know for truth, and to its truth will I pledge my oath. At that

time when I was a maid growing tall, I cannot tell whether it was a

ghostly man, but something came often to my chamber, and kissed me

very close. By night and by day this presence sought me, ever alone,

but always in such fashion as not to be perceived. As a man he spake

soft words in my ear; as a man he dealt with me. But though many a

time he had speech with me, ever he kept himself close. He came so

often about me, so long were his kisses on my mouth, that he had his

way, and I conceived, but whether he were man in no wise have I known.

I had of him this varlet; but more I know not, and more I will not

say."

Now the king had a certain clerk, named Malgantius, whom he held for

very wise. He sent for this learned clerk, and told over to him the

whole matter, that he might be assured whether things could chance as

this woman had said. The clerk made answer, "In books I have found it

written that a certain order of spirit ranges between the moon and our

earth. If you seek to learn of the nature of these spirits, they are

of the nature partly of man, and partly of a loftier being. These

demons are called incubi. Their home and region is the air, but this

warm world is their resort. It is not in their power to deal man great

evil, and they can do little more mischief than to trick and to annoy.

However they know well how to clothe themselves in human shape, for

their nature lends itself marvellously to the deceit. Many a maid has

been their sport, and in this guise has been deceived. It may well be

that Merlin was begotten by such a being, and perchance is of a demon

born." "King." cried Merlin suddenly, "you brought me here; tell me

now what you would, and wherefore you have sent after me." "Merlin,"

answered the king, "know it you shall. Hearken diligently, so shall

you learn of all. I commenced to build a high tower, and got mortar

together, and masons to set one stone upon another, but all the work

that the builders raised by day, adown it fell to the ground, and was

swallowed up of night. I know not if you have heard tell thereof.

The day has not so many hours to labour, as the night has hours to

destroy; and greatly has my substance been wasted in this toil. My

councillors tell me that my tower may never stand tall, unless its

stones and lime are slaked with thy blood--the blood of a fatherless

man." "Lord God," cried Merlin, "believe not that my blood will bind

your tower together. I hold them for liars who told over such a gab.

Bring these prophets before me who prophesy so glibly of my blood, and

liars as they are, liars I will prove them to be." The king sent for

his sorcerers, and set them before Merlin. After Merlin had regarded

them curiously, one by one, "Masters," said he, "and mighty magicians,

tell us now I pray you the reason why the king's work faileth and may

not stand. If you may not show me why the tower is swallowed up of

the earth, how can your divinations declare to you that my blood will

cause it to endure! Make plain to us now what troubles the foundation,

so that the walls tumble so often to the ground, and when you have

certified this thing, show to us clearly how the mischief may be

cured. If you are not willing to declare who labours secretly to make

the house to fall, how shall it be credited that my blood will bind

the stones fast? Point out this troubler to the king, and then cry the

remedy." But all the wizards kept silence, and answered Merlin never a

word. When Merlin saw them abashed before him, he spake to the king,

and said, "Sire, give ear to me. Beneath the foundations of your tower

there lies a pool, both great and deep, and by reason of this water

your building faileth to the ground. Right easily may this be assured.

Bid your men to delve. You will then see why the tower was swallowed

up, and the truth will be proven." The king bade therefore that the

earth should be digged, and the pool was revealed as Merlin had

established. "Masters and great magicians," cried Merlin, "hearken

once more. You who sought to mix your mortar with my blood, say what

is hidden in this pond." But all the enchanters kept silence and were

dumb; yea, for good or ill they made answer never a word. Merlin

turned him again to the king. He beckoned with his hand to the king's

servants, saying, "Dig now trenches, to draw off the water from this

pool. At the bottom shall be found two hollow stones, and two dragons

sleeping in the stones. One of these dragons is white, and his fellow,

crimson as blood." Thereat the king marvelled greatly, and the

trenches were digged as Merlin had commanded. When the water was

carried about the fields, and stood low in the pool, two dragons got

them on their feet, and envisaged each the other very proudly. Passing

eager was their contention, and they strove together right grievously.

Well might be seen the foam within their mouths, and the flames that

issued from their jaws. The king seated himself upon the bank of the

pool. He prayed Merlin to show him the interpretation of these dragons

which met together so furiously. Merlin told the king what these

matters betokened, as you have oft-times heard. These dragons

prophesied of kings to come, who would yet hold the realm in their

charge. I say no more, for I fear to translate Merlin's Prophecies,

when I cannot be sure of the interpretation thereof. It is good to

keep my lips from speech, since the issue of events may make my gloss

a lie.

The king praised Merlin greatly, and esteemed him for a true prophet.

He inquired of the youth in what hour he should die, and by what means

he would come to his end. For this king was marvellously fearful of

death. "Beware," said Merlin, "beware of the sons of Constantine. By

them you shall taste of death. Already have they left Armorica with

high hearts, and even now are upon the sea. Be certified of this, that

their fleet of fourteen galleys comes to land on the morrow. Much evil

hast thou done to them; much evil will they do to thee, and avenge

them of their wrongs. In an ill day you betrayed their brother to his

death: in an ill day you set the crown on your head; in an ill day, to

your own most bitter loss, you entreated this Saxon heathenry to your

help. You are as a man against whom arrows are loosed, both this side

and that; and I know not whether your shield should be arrayed to left

or to right. On the one road the Saxon host draws near, eager to do

you a mischief. Along this other comes the rightful heirs, to pluck

the realm from your hand, the crown from your head, and to exact the

price of their brother's blood. If you yet may flee, escape quickly;

for the brethren approach, and that speedily. Of these brethren

Aurelius shall first be king, but shall also die the first, by poison.

Uther Pendragon, his brother, will sit within his chair. He will hold

the realm in peace; but he, too, will fall sick before his time, and

die, by reason of the brewage of his friends. Then Arthur of Cornwall,

his son, like to a boar grim in battle, will utterly devour these

false traitors, and destroy thy kinsfolk from the land. A right

valiant knight, and a courteous, shall he be, and all his enemies

shall he set beneath his feet." When Merlin had come to an end, he

departed from Vortigern, and went his way. On the morrow, with no

longer tarrying, the navy of the brethren arrived at Totnes, and

therein a great host of knights in their harness. The Britons

assembled themselves together, and joined them to the host. They came

forth from the lurking places whence they had fled, at that time

Hengist harried them by mount and by dale, after he had slain the

lords by felony, and destroyed their castles. At a great council the

Britons did homage to Aurelius as their king. These tidings came to

Vortigern in Wales, and he prepared to set his house in order. He

fled to a strong castle, called Generth,[1] and there made him ready,

taking with him the most valiant of his men. This tower was on the

banks of a fair running water, called by the folk of that country the

Wye. It stood high upon Mount Droac, in the land of Hergin, as testify

the people of these parts. Vortigern furnished his fortress with a

plenteous store of arms and engines, of food and sergeants. To keep

himself the surer from his foes, he garnished the tower with all that

wit might devise. The lords of the country, having joined themselves

to the brethren, sought so diligently for King Vortigern, that in the

end they arrayed them before the castle where he lay. They cast stones

from their engines, and were ever about the gates, paining themselves

grievously to take it, for they hated him beyond measure. Much cause

had the brethren to nurse so bitter a grudge against Vortigern,

since by guile and treason he had slain their brother Constant, and

Constantine, their father, before him, as all men held to be the

truth. Eldof, Earl of Gloucester, had done homage to Aurelius, and was

with him in the host. Much he knew of this land of Wales. "Eldof,"

said Aurelius, "hast thou forgotten my father who cherished thee, and

gave his faith to thee, and dost thou remember no more my brother who

held thee so dear! These both honoured thee right willingly, with love

and with reverence in their day. They were foully slain by the device

of this tyrant, this cozener with oaths, this paymaster with a knife.

We who are yet alive must bestir ourselves that we perish not by the

same means. Let us think upon the dead, and take bitter vengeance on

Vortigern for these wrongs."

[Footnote 1: In Hereford.]

Aurelius and Eldof laced them in their mail. They made the wild fire

ready and caused men to cast timber in the moat, till the deep fosse

was filled. When this was done they flung wild fire from their engines

upon the castle. The fire laid hold upon the castle, it spread to the

tower, and to all the houses that stood about. The castle flared like

a torch; the flames leaped in the sky; the houses tumbled to the

ground. In that place the king was burned with fire, and all his

household who fled to Generth with him. Neither dame nor damsel got

her living from that pyre; and on the same day perished the king's

wife, who was so marvellously fair.

When the new king had brought the realm into subjection to himself,

he devised to seek the pagans, that he might deliver the country from

their hand. Right fearful was Hengist to hear these tidings, and at

once set forth for Scotland. He abandoned all his fiefs, and fled

straightway beyond the Humber. He purposed to crave such aid and

succour from the Scots as would help him in his need, and made haste

to get him to Scotland with all the speed he might. The king pursued

him swiftly with his host, making forced marches day by day. On the

road his power was increased by a great company of Britons; till with

him was a multitude which no man could number, being innumerable as

the sand of the sea. The king looked upon his realm, and saw it gnawed

to the bone. None drave the plough, nor cast seed in the furrow. The

castles and the walled cities were breached and ruined. He marked the

villages blackened by fire, and the houses of God stripped bare as a

peasant's hovel. The heathen pilled and wasted, but gathered neither

corn into barns nor cattle within the byre. He testified that this

should not endure, so he returned in safety from the battle.

When Hengist knew that the king followed closely after, and that fight

he must, he strove to put heart and hardihood into the breasts of

his fellows. "Comrades," said he, "be not dismayed by reason of this

rabble. We know well enough what these Britons are, since they never

stand before us. If but a handful go against them, not one will stay

to fight. Many a time, with but a mean company, have I vanquished and

destroyed them. If they be in number as the sand, the more honour is

yours. A multitude such as this counts nothing. A host like theirs,

led by a weak and foolish captain, what is it worth? These are a

trembling folk, without a chief, and of them we should have little

fear. The shepherd of these sheep is a child, who is yet too young to

bear a spear, or carry harness on his back. For our part we are heroes

and champions, proven in many a stour, fighting for our very lives,

since for us there will be no other ransom. Now be confident and bold.

Let our bodies serve us for castles and for wall. Be brave and strong,

I say, for otherwise we are but dead men." When Hengist ceased

heartening his comrades, the knights arrayed them for the battle. They

moved against the Britons as speedily as their horses might bear

them, for they hoped to find them naked and unready, and to take them

unawares. The Britons so misdoubted their adversary that they watched

in their armour, both day and night. As soon as the king knew that the

heathen advanced to give battle, he ordered his host in a plain that

seemed good for his purpose. He supported the spearmen with three

thousand horsemen, clothed in mail, his own trusty vassals, who had

come with him from Armorica. The Welsh he made into two companies. The

one part he set upon the hills, so that the Paynim might not climb

there if they would. The other part he hid within the wood, to stay

them if they sought shelter in the forest. For the rest he put every

man into the plain, that it should be the more strongly held

and defended. Now when he had arrayed the battle, and given his

commandment to the captains, the king placed himself amidst the chosen

men of his own household, those whom he deemed the most loyal to his

person. He spoke apart with his friends concerning the battle. Earl

Eldof was near the king's side that day, together with many another

baron. "God," said Eldof, "what joy will be mine that hour when

Hengist and I meet face to face, with none between us. I cannot forget

the kalends of May, and that murder at Ambresbury, when he slew all

the flower of our chivalry. Right narrowly escaped I from his net"

Whilst Eldof spake these reproachful words, making complaint of

Hengist, the Saxons drew near the field, and sought to take it. With

no long tarrying the battle was joined. What time the two hosts looked

on each other they hastened together. There you might see the vassals

striving, hand to hand. They fought body to body, those assailing,

these defending. Mighty blows with the sword were given and received

among them. Many a champion lay stark upon the ground, and the living

passed over the bodies of the dead. Shields were hewn asunder; spears

snapped like reeds; the wounded were trampled beneath men's feet, and

many a warrior died that day. The Christians called on Christ, and

the heathen answered, clamouring on their gods of clay. Like men the

pagans bore them, but the Christians like heroes. The companies of

the heathen flinched, giving ground on the field. The Britons

pressed about them, redoubling their blows, so that the Saxons were

discomfited, and turning their backs, strove no more.

When Hengist saw his champions turn their backs, like children, to

the stroke, he fled to the town called Caerconan,[1] where he was

persuaded of shelter. The king followed fast after him, crying to the

hunters, "On, on." Hengist heard the noise of the pursuit, and had no

care to be trapped in his castle. Better to fight in the open at the

risk of his body, than to starve behind walls, with none to bring

succour. Hengist checked the rout, and rallying the host, set it again

in order of battle. The combat was passing sharp and grievous, for the

pagans advanced once more in rank and by companies. Each heartened

his fellow, so that great damage and loss were sustained by the

Christians. The host fell in disarray, and began to give back before

the onset of the foe. All would have been lost were it not for those

three thousand horsemen, who rode upon the Saxon in one mighty troop,

bringing succour and help to the footmen when they were overborne. The

pagans fought starkly and grimly. Well they knew not one would escape

with his life, if they did not keep them in this peril. In the press,

Eldof the Earl lighted on Hengist. Hatred gave him eyes, and he knew

him again because of the malice he owed him. He deemed that the time

and the means were come to satisfy his lust. Eldof ran in upon his

foe, striking him mightily with his sword. Hengist was a stout

champion, or he had fallen at the stroke. The two closed together,

with naked brands and lifted shields, smiting and guarding. Men forgot

to fight, and stared upon them, watching the great blows fall and the

gleaming swords.

Whilst the heroes strove, Gorlois, Earl of Cornwall, came hastening

like a paladin to the battle. Eldof saw him come, and being assured of

the end, arrayed himself against his adversary yet more proudly. He

sprang upon Hengist, and seizing him by the nasal of his helmet,

dragged him, with fallen head, amongst the Britons. "Knights," he

cried, "thanks be to God Who has given me my desire. He is vanquished

and taken who has caused such trouble to the land."

[Footnote 1: Conisburg in Yorkshire.]

Eldof showed the captive to his company, who demanded that he should

be slain with the sword. "A short shrift for the mad dog," they

clamoured, "who knows neither mercy nor pity. This is the source of

the war. This is the shedder of blood. Smite the head from his body,

and the victory is in your hands." Eldof made answer that Hengist

should have the law, good law and just. He bound him fast in fetters,

and delivered him to King Aurelius. The king chained him, hands and

feet, and set him in a strong prison to await judgment.

Now Octa, Hengist's son, and Ebissa, his cousin, who were in the

field, hardly escaped from the battle, and fleeing, entered into York.

They strengthened the city, and made all ready, till men might come to

their aid. As for the others they hid in divers places, in the woods

and valleys, in caves and in the hills. But the power of the paynim

was broken, for many were dead, and of the living most were taken, and

in bonds, or held as thralls. The king made merry over his victory,

and gave the glory to God. He abode three full days at Caerconan to

heal the wounded of their hurt, and to give a little leisure to the

weary. At that place he called a council of his captains, to know what

it were good to do with the traitor Hengist; whether he should be

held in prison or slain outright. Eldad got him to his feet. A right

learned clerk was he, a bishop of his orders, and brother by blood to

that Earl Eldof, of whom you have heard. "My counsel to the king,"

said the bishop, "is to do to the traitor Hengist--our earthly

adversary--that which holy Samuel did in old days to King Agag, when

he was made captive. Agag was a prince, passing proud, the right

glorious king of the people of Amalek. He set a quarrel upon the Jews,

that he might work them a mischief, since he sought to do them evil.

He seized their lands; he burned their goods with fire, and very often

he slew them for his pleasure. Then on a day this King Agag was taken

at a battle, the more to his sorrow. He was led before Saul, whom

these Jews so greatly desired for their king. Whilst Saul was

considering what it were well should be done with Agag, who was

delivered into his hand, Samuel stood upon his feet. This Samuel was a

holy prophet of Israel; a saint of God of the utmost sanctity; never

has there lived his like amongst the sons of men. This holy Samuel

seized on Agag, the proud king. He hewed him in many pieces, dividing

him limb from limb, and his members he sent throughout the realm.

Hearken and learn what Samuel said whilst he was hewing Agag small.

'Agag, many a man hast thou tormented for thy pleasure; many a fair

youth hast thou spoiled and slain. Thou hast drawn out many a soul

from its body, and made many a mother troubled for her son. Many a

babe hast thou rendered fatherless; but, O Agag, things evil and good

come to the like end. Now your mother presently will I make barren,

and from thy body shall the soul of thee be wrung.' Mete therefore to

your captive, O king, the measure which Samuel counted out to his."

Eldof, Earl of Gloucester, was moved by the example furnished by the

bishop. He rose in the council, and laying hands on Hengist led him

without the city. There Eldof struck the head from Hengist with his

own sword. The king caused the head to be set again on the shoulders,

and gave Hengist's body seemly burial, according to the rite and

fashion of those who observe the law of the paynim.

The king made no long stay at Caerconan, but followed eagerly after

his enemies. He came to York with a great host, and sat himself down

before the city. Octa, the son of Hengist, was within, and some of his

kindred with him. When Octa was persuaded that none might win to his

aid, he considered within himself whether he should render him to the

king's mercy. If he took his fate in his hand, and humbly besought

pity of the king, so mercy were given him all would be well, but if

his prayer was scorned, then he would defend himself to the death.

Octa did as he devised, and as his kinsfolk approved. He came forth

from the gate of the city with a company of all his barons. Octa

wore a chain of iron upon his wrists, and walking at the head of his

companions, came first to the king. "Sire," said he, "I beseech you

for mercy and pity. The gods in whom we put our trust have failed us

at need. Your gods are mightier than they. They have wrought wonders,

and set strength upon you, since we are stricken to the dust. I am

vanquished, and own myself thy servant. Behold the chain of thy

bondman! Do with me now according to thy will, to me, and these my

men. Life and limb, yea, all that we have, are at thy pleasure. But

if it seem good to the king to keep us about his person, we will

toil early and late in his service. We will serve him loyally in his

quarrels, and become his liege men."

The king was a devout man, very piteous of heart. He looked around

him to learn what his barons thought of this matter and what would be

their counsel. Eldad, the fair bishop, spake first as a wise elder.

"Good it is, and was, and ever shall be, to show mercy on him who

requires mercy to be shown. He who forgives not another his trespass,

how may he hope that God will pardon him his sin? These cry loudly

upon thee for mercy, mercy they implore, and mercy they must have.

Britain is a great realm, long and wide, and in many a place is

inhabited of none, save the beast. Grant them enough thereof that they

may dig and plant, and live of the increase. But take first of them

such hostages, that they will serve thee loyally, and loyally content

them in their lot. We learn from Holy Writ that the children of Gibeon

sought life and league from the Jew when the Israelites held them in

their power. Peace they prayed, peace they received; and life and

covenant were given in answer to their cry. A Christian man should not

be harder than the Jew proved himself to be in his hour. Mercy they

crave, mercy they should have; so let not death deceive them in their

hope."

The king granted land to the Saxons, according to the counsel of Eldad

The lot was appointed them in Scotland, and they set out speedily

to the place where they must dwell. But first they gave to the king

hostages of the children of their proudest blood and race. After the

king was fifteen days in the city, he sent messages commanding his

people to attend him in council. Baron and clerk, abbot and bishop, he

summoned to his court. At this council the rights of the heir and the

privileges of the orders were re-affirmed. He bade and assured that

the houses of religion, destroyed by the Romans, should be rebuilt. He

dismissed his soldiers to their homes, making viscounts and provosts

to keep his fiefs in peace, and to ensure his revenues and rent. He

sought masons and carpenters and built anew the churches. Such chapels

in his realm as were hurt or damaged in the wars, the king restored to

their former estate, for the fairer service and honour of God. After

the council was done the king set forth towards London, where his

presence was greatly desired of the citizens. He found the city but

the shadow of its former splendour, for the streets were emptied of

people, and houses and churches were alike fallen or decayed. Right

grievously the king lamented the damage done to his fair city. He

founded anew the churches, and bade clerks and burgesses to attend the

service of God, as was of wont and right. From thence the king went to

Ambresbury, that he might kneel beside the graves of those who were

foully slain at Hengist's love-day, near the abbey. He called together

a great company of masons, carpenters, and cunning artificers; for it

was in his mind to raise to their worship a monument of stone that

would endure to the world's end.

Thereat spake to the king a certain wise man, Tremonius, Archbishop of

Caerleon, praying him to send for Merlin, and build according to his

bidding, since there was none so skilled in counsel or labour, more

truthful of word or apter in divination. The king desired greatly to

behold Merlin, and to judge by hearing of his worth. At that time

Merlin abode near the Well of Labenes. This fountain springs in a

hidden place, very deep in Wales, but I know not where, since I have

never been. Merlin came straightway to the king, even as he was

bidden. The king welcomed him with marvellous joy, honouring him right

gladly. He cherished him richly, and was ever about him with prayers

and entreaties that he would show him somewhat of things that were yet

to come, for these he was on itch to hear. "Sire," replied Merlin,

"this I may not do. I dare not open my lips to speak of such awful

matters, which are too high for me, save only when needs speak I must.

Should my tongue be unloosed by greed or lightness, should I be puffed

up by vanity, then my familiar spirit--that being by whom I know

that which I know--would withdraw his inspiration from my breath. My

knowledge would depart from me, and the words I speak would be no

weightier than the idle words on every gossip's lips. Let the future

take care of itself. Consider rather the concerns of to-day. If thou

art desirous to make a fair work and a lasting, of which men will brag

till the end of time, cause to be brought hither the carol that a

giant wrought in Ireland. This giant laboured greatly in the building

of a mighty circle of stones. He shaped his carol, setting the stones

one upon another. The stones are so many, and of such a kind; they are

so huge and so weighty; that the strength of man--as men are in these

times--might not endure to lift the least of his pebbles" The king

laughed loudly. "Merlin," said he, "since these stones are of such

heaviness that it passes the strength of the strong to move them, who

shall carry them to my masons? Have we not in this realm stones mighty

enough, and to spare?" "King," answered Merlin, "knowest thou not that

wit is more than strength! Muscle is good, but craft is better. Skill

devises means when strength fails. Cunning and engines bring many

matters to a good end, that strength would not venture even to begin.

Engines can move these stones, and by the use of engines we may make

them our own. King, these stones were carried from Africa: there they

were first shapen. The giant who ravished them to Ireland, set up his

carol to his own content. Very serviceable were these stones, and

right profitable to the sick. It was the custom of the surgeons of

that land to wash these stones with fair water. This water they would

make hot in baths, and set therein those who had suffered hurt, or

were grieved by any infirmity. They washed in this water, and were

healed of their sickness. However sore their wound, however grievous

their trouble, other medicine needed they none." When the king and his

Britons heard of the virtue residing in the stones, they all desired

them very greatly. Not one but would gladly have ventured on the quest

for these stones, of which Merlin told such marvels. They devised

therefore to pass the sea with fifteen thousand men to make war upon

the Irish, and to ease them of the stones. Uther, at his own desire,

was chosen as their captain. Merlin also went with them to furnish

engines for their toil. So Uther and his company crossed to Ireland on

such quest. When the King of Ireland, that men called Guillomer,

heard tell that strangers were arrayed in his land, he assembled his

household and the Irish, and menaced them proudly, seeking to chase

them from the realm. After they had learned the reason of this

quarrel, and that for stones the Britons were come, they mocked them

loudly, making them their mirth and their song. For mad it seemed in

the eyes of these Irish that men should pain themselves so grievously

by land and sea to gain a treasure of naked stones. "Never a stone,"

said these, "shall they have; not one shall they carry with them to

their homes." Very lightly you may scorn your enemy in your heart, but

at your peril you seek to do him mischief with your hands. The Irish

mocked and menaced the stranger, and sought him until they found. The

combat was joined directly the hosts met together, but the Irish

were men of peace, unclad in mail, and not accustomed to battle. The

Britons were their jest, but they were also their victors. The King of

Ireland fled from the battle discomfited. He went from town to town,

with no long tarrying in any place, so that the Britons might not make

him their captive.

After the Britons had laid aside their armour, and taken rest from the

battle, they were brought by Merlin, their companion, into a mountain

where the carol was builded. This high place was called Hilomar,[1] by

the folk whom they had vanquished, and the carol was upon the summit

of the mount. The Britons stared upon the stones.

[Footnote 1: Kildare.]

They went about them, saying each to his fellow that none had seen so

mighty a building. They marvelled how these stones were set one upon

another, and how they should be got across the sea. "Comrades," said

Merlin, "you are strong champions. Strive now if of your strength you

may move these stones, and carry them from their seat." The young men

therefore encompassed the stones before, behind, and on every side,

but heave and tug as mightily as they could, the stones for all their

travail would not budge one single inch. "Bestir yourselves," cried

Merlin, "on, friends, on. But if by strength you can do no more, then

you shall see that skill and knowledge are of richer worth than thews

and fleshly force." Having spoken these words Merlin kept silence, and

entered within the carol. He walked warily around the stones. His lips

moved without stay, as those of a man about his orisons, though I

cannot tell whether or no he prayed. At length Merlin beckoned to the

Britons. "Enter boldly," cried he; "there is nought to harm. Now you

may lift these pebbles from their seat, and bear and charge them on

your ships." So at his word and bidding they wrought as Merlin showed

them. They took the stones and carrying them to the ships, bestowed

them thereon. Afterwards the mariners hoisted their sails, and set out

for Britain. When they were safely come to their own land, they bore

the stones to Ambresbury, and placed them on the mountain near by

the burying ground. The king rode to Ambresbury to Keep the Feast of

Pentecost. Bishops, abbots, and barons, he had bidden them all to

observe the Feast. A great company of folk, both rich and poor,

gathered themselves together, and at this fair festival the king set

the crown upon his head. Three days they observed the rite, and made

merry. On the fourth--because of his exceeding reverence--he gave

pastoral crosses to two prelates. Holy Dubricius became Bishop of

Caerleon, and York he bestowed upon holy Sampson. Both these fair

prelates were great churchmen, and priests of devout and spotless

life. At the same time Merlin ranged the stones in due order, building

them side by side. This circle of stones was called by the Britons in

their own tongue The Giant's Carol, but in English it bears the name

of Stonehenge.

When the rich feast was come to its appointed end, the court departed,

each man unto his own place. Now Passent, that was a son of Vortigern,

had fled from Wales and Britain, for fear of Aurelius and his brother

Uther. He sought refuge in Germany, and there purchased to himself

ships, and men who would serve him for guerdon; but of these he had no

great company. This Passent arrived in the north country and ravaged

it, burning the towns and spoiling the land. He dared make no long

stay, for the king hastened to the north to give him battle, and this

he might not endure. Passent took again to his ships, and fearing to

return whence he came, fared so far with sail and oar that in the end

he cast anchor off the coast of Ireland. Passent sought speech of the

king of that realm. He told over his birth and state, and showed him

his bitter need. Passent prayed the king so urgently; the twain took

such deep counsel together; that it was devised between them to pass

the sea, and offer battle to the Britons. This covenant was made of

Passent that he might avenge his father's death, and dispute his

heritage with Aurelius; but of the King of Ireland to avenge him upon

the Britons, who had vanquished him in battle, robbed his folk, and

taken to themselves the carol with a strong hand. Thus they plighted

faith to satisfy each the other for these wrongs. Guillomer and

Passent made ready as many soldiers as they might. They ordained their

ships, and with a fair wind crossed the sea, and came safely to Wales.

The host entered in Menevia, that city so praised of the Welsh, and

now called of men, Saint David. It befell that King Aurelius lay sick

at Winchester. His infirmity was sore upon him, for the trouble was

long and grievous, and the surgeons knew not whether he would mend or

die. When Aurelius learned that Passent and the King of Ireland were

come together in Wales to make sorrow in the land, he sent for Uther

his brother. He grieved beyond measure that he could not get him from

his bed. He charged Uther to hasten into Wales, and drive them from

the realm. Uther sent messages to the barons, and summoned the knights

to the war. He set out from Winchester; but partly by reason of the

long journey, and partly to increase the number of his power, he

tarried for a great while upon the road. Very long it was before he

arrived in Wales. Whilst he dallied in this fashion a certain pagan

named Appas, a man born in Saxony, craved speech of Passent. This

Appas was meetly schooled, and apt in parts. He spoke to many people

in their own tongues; he was wise in all that concerned medicine and

surgery; but he was felon and kept bad faith. "Passent," said Appas

privily, "thou hast hated this King Aurelius for long. What should

be mine if I were to slay him?" "Ease and riches I will give thee,"

answered Passent. "Never a day but I will stand thy friend, so only

thy word be fulfilled, and the king taste death at thy hand" "May your

word," said Appas, "be true as mine" So the covenant was ordained

between them that Passent should count out one thousand livres, what

time Appas had done to death the king Appas was very cunning, and

right greedy and covetous of wealth. He put upon him a habit of

religion; he shaved his crown, and caused his hair to be polled close

to his head. Like a monk he was shaven, like a monk he seemed; in gown

and hood he went vested as a monk. In this guise and semblance Appas

took his way to the royal court. Being a liar he gave out that he was

a good physician, and thus won to the king's bed. Him he promised to

make whole very speedily, if he would trust himself to his hand. He

counted the pulse, and sought for the trouble "Well I know," said he,

"the cause of this evil. I have such a medicine as will soon give

you ease." Who could misdoubt so sweet a physician? The gentle king

desired greatly to be healed of his hurt, as would any of you in

a like case. Having no thought of treason, he put himself in this

traitor's care. Appas made ready a potion, laced with venom, and gave

the king to drink. He then wrapped the king warmly in a rich coverlet,

and bade him lie in peace and sleep. After the king was heated, and

the poison had lain hold upon his body, ah, God, the anguish, there

was nothing for him but death. When Aurelius knew that he must die, he

took oath of his household, that so truly as they loved him they would

carry his body to Stonehenge, and bury him within the stones that

he had builded. Thus died the king and was buried; but the traitor,

Appas, escaped and fled with his life.

Uther entered in Wales with his host, and found the folk of Ireland

abiding yet at Menevia. At that time appeared a star, which was seen

of many. This star was hight Comet, and according to the clerks it

signified death and the passing of kings. This star shone marvellously

clear, and cast a beam that was brighter than the sun. At the end

of this beam was a dragon's head, and from the dragon's mighty jaws

issued two rays. One of these rays stretched over France, and went

from France even to the Mount of St. Bernard. The other ray went

towards Ireland, and divided into seven beams. Each of these seven

beams shone bright and clear, alike on water and on land. By reason of

this star which was seen of all, the peoples were sorely moved.

Uther marvelled greatly what it might mean, and marvellously was he

troubled. He prayed Merlin that he would read him the sign, and the

interpretation thereof. Merlin answered not a word. Sorrow had him by

the heart, and he wept bitterly. When speech returned to his mouth he

lamented with many words and sighed often. "Ah, God," said he, "sorrow

and trouble and grief have fallen on Britain this day. The realm has

lost its great captain. The king is dead--that stout champion who has

delivered the land from such evil and shame, and plucked his spoil

from the pagan."

When Uther was certified that his brother and good lord had finished

his course, he was right heavy, and much was he dismayed. But Merlin

comforted him as he might. "Uther," said he, "be not altogether cast

down, since from Death there is no return. Bring to an end this

business of the war. Give battle to thine enemies, for to-morrow shall

see Passent and the King of Ireland vanquished. Fight boldly on the

morrow; so shalt thou conquer, and be crowned King of Britain. Hearken

to the interpretation of the sign. The dragon at the end of the beam

betokens thee thyself, who art a stout and hardy knight. One of the

two rays signifies a son born of thy body, who shall become a puissant

prince, conquering France, and beyond the borders of France. The other

ray which parted from its fellow, betokens a daughter who shall be

Queen of Scotland. Many a fair heir shall she give to her lord, and

mighty champions shall they prove both on land and sea." Uther lent

his ear to the counsel of Merlin. He caused his folk to rest them the

night, and in the morning arm them for the battle. He thought to take

the city by assault, but when the Irish saw him approach their walls,

they put on their harness, and setting them in companies, issued forth

to fight without the gates. The Irish fought valiantly, but right soon

were discomfited, for on that day the Britons slew Passent, and the

King of Ireland, his friend. Those who escaped from the field fled

towards the sea, but Uther following swiftly after, harried them to

the death. Such as reached the water climbed wildly upon their ships,

and with sail and oar set out to sea, that Uther should work them no

more mischief.

When Uther had brought his business to a good end, he took his way

towards Winchester, and the flower of his chivalry with him. On his

road a messenger met him who told him of a surety the king was dead,

and as to the manner of his death. He related how the bishops had laid

Aurelius to rest with great pomp in the Giant's Carol, even as he had

required of his sergeants and barons whilst he was yet alive. At these

tidings Uther pressed on to Winchester, sparing not the spur. The

people came before him on his passage clamouring shrilly. "Uther,

sire," cried the common folk, "since he is dead who maintained the

poor, and did nought but good to his people, we have none to defend

us, save thee. Take then the crown, as thine by heritage and right.

Fair sire, we thy poor commons pray this thing, who desire nothing but

thy worship and thy gain." Uther rejoiced greatly at their words. He

saw clearly where his profit lay, and that no advancement is possible

to a king. He hastened, therefore, to do as the folk entreated. He

took the crown, and becoming king, loved well his people, and guarded

the honour of the realm. In remembrance of the dragon, and of the

hardy knight who should be king and a father of kings, which it

betokened, Uther wrought two golden dragons, by the counsel of his

barons. One of these dragons he caused to be borne before him when he

went into battle. The other he sent to Winchester to be set up in the

church of the bishop. For this reason he was ever after called Uther

Pendragon. Pendragon was his name in the Britons' tongue, but Dragon's

head in that of Rome.

Uther was a mighty lord, who had confidence in his power. His sacring

at Winchester he held for proof and token that he was a king who would

beget puissant princes, by whom great deeds should be done. This faith

in his destiny gave him increase of strength. He determined in his

heart that he would accomplish all that was foretold of him, and that

through good report and ill, never would he turn back. He knew and was

persuaded that whatever the task he took in hand, he must in fulness

of time bring it to a good end. Merlin was a true prophet; and since

no lying spirit was in his mouth, it was impossible to doubt that very

swiftly all these things would come to pass.

Now Octa, the son of Hengist, had received from Aurelius broad lands

and fair manors for him and his companions. When Octa knew that the

mighty captain was dead, he kept neither loyalty nor faith with a king

whom he despised in his heart. He called together a great company of

his friends and kinsmen, and amongst them Ossa, his cousin. Octa and

Ossa were hardy champions, and they were the lords of the host. With

them moreover were such folk as had escaped from Uther at the slaying

of Passent. These Octa had taken to himself, so that his fellowship

was passing strong. This host overran the realm from Humber to

Scotland, and subdued it in every part. Octa then came before York,

and would have seized it by violence, but the burgesses of the city

held it stoutly against him, so that the pagans might not enter within

the walls. He sat down, therefore, before the gates, and invested the

city straitly, by reason of the numbers of his host. Uther had no

thought but to succour his city, and to rescue his friends who were

shut within. He marched hot foot to York, calling his men together

from every part. Being resolved at all cost to force the heathen to

give over the siege, Uther offered them battle without delay. The

Melly was right sharp and grievous. Many a soul was parted from the

body. The heathen played their parts as men, and contended boldly with

the sword. The Britons could do them no mischief. They might not force

their way into the city, neither could those within prevail to issue

forth. The Batons might endure the battle no longer. They gave back in

the press, and as they fled, the pursuing Saxons did them marvellous

damage. The pursuit lasted until the Britons took refuge in a fastness

of those parts, and the night parted the adverseness one from the

other. This mountain was named Damen. The peak was very sharp. About

its flanks were rocks and precipices, whilst close at hand stood a

thicket of hazel trees. Upon this mountain the Britons climbed. By

this way and that, they ascended the height, until they sought safety

on the summit. There the heathen shut them fast, for they sat beneath

them in the plain, whilst all about them stretched the mountain.

The king was very fearful, and not for himself alone. He was in sore

straits and perplexity as to what he should do to get his spearmen

from the trap. Now Gorlois, Earl of Cornwall, was with the king. This

lord was very valiant and courteous, though stricken in years, and was

esteemed of all as a right prudent councillor. To him the king went,

and unravelled all the coil. Uther prayed Gorlois to counsel him as

became his honour, for he knew well that the earl regarded honour

beyond the loss of life or limb. "You ask me my counsel," said

Gorlois. "My counsel--so it be according to your will--is that we

should arm ourselves forthwith, and get down from this hill amongst

our foes. They are assuredly sleeping at this hour, for they despise

us overmuch to deem that we shall challenge them again to battle. In

the morning they will come to seek us--so we await them in the trap.

Let us take our fate in our hands like men, and fall upon them

suddenly. The foe will then be confused and bewildered, for we must

come upon them silently, without battle cry or blowing of trumpets.

Before they are awakened from sleep, we shall have slain so many in

our onset, that those who escape from our swords will not dare to

rally against us in their flight. Only this thing first. Let every man

have penitence for that he has done amiss. Let us ask God's pardon for

the sins that we have wrought, and promise faithfully to amend our

lives. Let us turn from the wickedness wherein we have walked all

these days; praying the Saviour to hold us in His hand, and grant us

strength against those who fear not His name, and make war upon His

Christians. If we do these things God will sustain our quarrel; and if

God be with us who then can do us wrong?"

This counsel seemed good to the king and his captains. They did as

Gorlois said, and humbled themselves before God with a contrite heart,

promising to put away the evil from their lives. After they had made

an end of prayer, they took their arms, and stole down the hillside to

the valley. The Britons came amongst the pagans lying naked upon the

ground, and fast in sleep. The swordplay was right merry, for the

slaughter was very great. The Britons thrust their glaives deep in the

breasts of the foe. They lopped heads and feet and wrists from their

bodies. The Britons ranged like lions amongst their enemies. They were

as lions a-hungered for their prey, killing ewes and lambs, and all

the sheep of the flock, whether small or great. Thus the Britons

did, for they spared neither spearman nor captain. The heathen were

altogether dismayed. They were yet heavy with sleep, and could neither

get to their harness, nor flee from the field. No mercy was shown them

for all their nakedness. Armed or naked the sword was thrust through

their breast or heart or bowels. In that place the heathen perished

from the land, since the Christians destroyed them utterly. Octa and

Ossa, the lords of their host--these troublers of Britain--were taken

alive. They were led to London, and set fast in a strong prison, bound

in iron. If any of their fellows escaped from the battle, it was only

by reason of the blackness of the night. He who was able to flee, ran

from the field. He tarried not to succour his own familiar friend. But

many more were slam in that surprise than got safely away.

When Uther parted from York he passed throughout Northumberland. From

Northumberland he entered into Scotland, having many ships and a great

host with him. He went about the length and breadth of the land, and

purged it throughly in every part. Such folk as were oppressed of

their neighbours he confirmed in their rights. Never before had the

realm such rest and peace as in the days of Uther the king. After

Uther had brought his business in the north to an end, he set forth

to London, where he purposed to take the crown on Easter Day. Uther

desired the feast to be very rich and great. He summoned therefore

dukes, earls, and wardens, yea, all his baronage from near and far,

by brief and message, to come with their wedded dames and privy

households to London for his feast. So all the lords came at the

king's commandment, bringing their wives as they were bidden. Very

richly the feast was holden. After the Mass was sung, that fair

company went in hall to meat. The king sat at the head of his hall,

upon a dais. The lords of his realm were ranged about him, each in his

order and degree. The Earl of Cornwall was near the king's person, so

that one looked upon the other's face. By the earl's side was seated

Igerne, his wife. There was no lady so fair in all the land. Right

courteous was the dame, noble of peerage, and good as she was fair.

The king had heard much talk of this lady, and never aught but praise.

His eyes were ravished with her beauty. He loved her dearly, and

coveted her hotly in his heart, for certainly she was marvellously

praised. He might not refrain from looking upon her at table, and his

hope and desire tyrned to her more and more. Whether he ate or drank,

spoke or was silent, she was ever in his thought. He glanced aside at

the lady, and smiled if she met his eye. All that he dared of love

he showed. He saluted her by his privy page, and bestowed upon her a

gift. He jested gaily with the dame, looking nicely upon her, and made

a great semblance of friendship. Igerne was modest and discreet. She

neither granted Uther's hope, nor denied. The earl marked well these

lookings and laughings, these salutations and gifts. He needed no

other assurance that the king had set his love upon his wife. Gorlois

deemed that he owed no faith to a lord who would supplant him in her

heart. The earl rose from his seat at table; he took his dame by the

hand, and went straight from the hall. He called the folk of his

household about him, and going to the stables, got him to horse. Uther

sent after Gorlois by his chamberlain, telling him that he did shame

and wrong in departing from the court without taking leave of his

king. He bade him to do the right, and not to treat his lord so

despitefully, lest a worse thing should befall him. He could have but

little trust in his king, if he would not return for a space. Gorlois

rode proudly from the court without leave or farewell. The king

menaced him very grievously, but the earl gave small heed to his

threats, for he recked nothing of what might chance. He went into

Cornwall, and arrayed his two castles, making them ready against the

war. His wife he put in his castle of Tintagel, for this was the home

of his father and of his race. It was a strong keep, easily holden of

a few sergeants, since none could climb or throw down the walls. The

castle stood on a tall cliff, near by the sea. Men might not win to

enter by the gate, and saving the gate, there was no door to enter in

the tower.

The earl shut his lady fast in the tower. He dared hide his treasure

in no other place, lest thieves broke through, and stole her from him.

Therefore he sealed her close in Tintagel. For himself he took the

rest of his men-at-arms, and the larger part of his knights, and rode

swiftly to the other strong fortress that was his. The king heard that

Gorlois had garnished and made ready his castle, purposing to defend

himself even against his lord. Partly to avenge himself upon the earl,

and partly to be near his vassal's wife, the king arrayed a great

host. He crossed the Severn, and coming before the castle where the

earl lay, he sought to take it by storm. Finding that he might not

speed, he sat down before the tower, and laid siege to those within.

The host invested the castle closely for full seven days, but could

not breach the walls. The earl stubbornly refused to yield, for he

awaited succour from the King of Ireland, whom he had entreated to his

aid. King Uther's heart was in another place. He was weaned beyond

measure of Gorlois and his castle. His love for Igerne urged and

called him thence, for the lady was sweeter to his mind than any other

in the world. At the end he bade to him a baron of his household,

named Ulfin, who was privy to his mind. Him he asked secretly of that

which he should do. "Ulfin," said the king, "my own familiar friend,

counsel me wisely, for my hope is in thee. My love for Igerne hath

utterly cast me down I am altogether broken and undone. I cannot go or

come about my business; I cannot wake nor sleep, I cannot rise from my

bed nor lay my head on the pillow; neither can I eat or drink, except

that this lady is ever in my mind. How to gain her to my wish I cannot

tell. But this I know, that I am a dead man if you may not counsel me

to my hope." "Oh my king," answered Ulfin, "I marvel at your words.

You have tormented the earl grievously with your war, and have burned

his lands. Do you think to win a wife's heart by shutting her husband

close in his tower? You show your love for the dame by harassing the

lord! No, the matter is too high for me, and I have one only counsel

to give you. Merlin is with us in the host. Send after him, for he is

a wise clerk, and the best counsellor of any man living. If Merlin may

not tell you what to do, there is none by whom you may win to your

desire."