The Legend of Coombs Rocks.
For some time after the invasion of Britain by Julius Cæsar (55 B.C.)
no proper steps were taken by the Romans to reduce to submission the
northern portion of the island. The civil war in Rome, which resulted
in the establishment of a monarchy under Augustus, prevented the
Romans from making further attempts upon Britain, for Augustus was
unwilling to endanger the empire by extending its limits. At length,
however, the Emperor Claudius, remembering the island, sent over an
army which carried the Roman line beyond the Thames. Later in the same
reign the Romans subdued an insurrection among the Brigantines--a
nation which inhabited Lancashire, Yorkshire and the other Northern
counties. The kingdom of the Brigantines extended to Longdendale,
where it was bounded by the territory of the Cornavii, another ancient
British tribe who were masters of Cheshire and several other counties
to the south of the Brigantine line. These warlike tribes again rose
in opposition to the Romans, but were finally subdued by Julius
Agricola, who, coming to Britain about the year 79 A.D., took
possession of Cheshire, and occupied the county with his own legion.
He is supposed to have either led or sent a strong force of soldiers
to overcome the inhabitants of Longdendale, and one outcome of this
expedition was the series of incidents narrated in the following
legend.
It would be about the year 80 A.D. when the Romans advanced up the
north-east Horn of Cheshire to attack the people of Longdendale.
Agricola heralded his coming by a summons to surrender, which was met
by a defiant refusal from the haughty Britons. Proud of their country
and her great traditions, the local Britons determined to fight for
their freedom to the last, preferring death in battle to slavery
beneath the yoke of Rome.
"Tell thy proud chief that the sons of Britain are warriors and free
men. Free men will they live, and free men die. Never will they submit
their necks to the yoke of the Eagle. Rather will they perish on the
spears of the legionaires."
Thus spoke Edas the son of Atli, the brave hill warrior, who was chief
of the Britons in Longdendale. The Roman heard, and, proud and haughty
though he was, could not help admiring the heroic audacity of the
white, half naked savage who stood before him. Edas, son of Atli, was
a finely built man, six feet and more in height, broad of chest and
stout of limb, and standing thus, with no garment save a covering of
wolf-skin about his loins, the beautiful proportions of his frame
stood out with the clearness of a statue. His long hair hung loose
about his shoulders, shining golden in the sunlight, and truly was it
said of him that no hero of the old time was more glorious to look
upon.
For a moment the Roman paused. Then at length he spake.
"Why battle with the legions? Why fight against fate? Why not live as
free men? To be a citizen of Rome is to be a free man indeed--a
citizen of an empire which rules the world. Welcome the Eagles and
live. But resist the legions, and--what then?"
"Then," replied Edas, "we shall at least preserve our honour; we shall
at least remain free as our fathers were; we shall have the chance to
emulate the deeds, and die deaths as glorious as those of the heroes
of whom the bards sing, and we shall not live to see our wives and
daughters dishonoured by the ruthless soldiers of Rome."
He looked the Roman full in the face, and the emissary of Agricola
flushed with anger at the implication contained in the chief's
concluding words.
"Is that all?" he asked. "Is that thy message to Agricola? Not peace
but war?"
"War," answered the chief fiercely. "War to the death against the
Romans."
"So be it. The legions will surely come. Farewell."
A short time only elapsed after the dispatch of this defiant
declaration ere the British outposts brought news of the Roman
advance. Perfect master of the art of war, Agricola left nothing to
the last moment, and the same day which brought the message from the
Britons, saw the Roman army in motion. The troops marched along the
course of the Mersey, and halted for a space at Stockport, where they
afterwards built a strong station. Then they moved on, still following
the stream, and passed up the banks of the river Etherow, until the
great basin of the Coombs Valley lay before them.
Meanwhile the Britons had vigorously prepared themselves for the great
struggle. Over the heathery wastes of the hills--into what are now the
counties of Lancashire, Yorkshire, and Derbyshire--through the thick
forests where the wolves, bears, and other wild beasts of prey
lurked--went the war message of Edas the chief, rallying the warriors
to battle. For once the tribal jealousies were forgotten, feuds
vanished in face of the common danger, and Brigantines joined with
Cornavii to offer a united front to the common enemy. For days
succeeding the arrival of the Roman herald there was a great massing
of warriors, fleet-footed graceful men from the Cheshire plains, big
wild men from the mountains which lie to the north and east of
Longdendale. Day and night the forest altars and the stone circles of
the Druids, which stood amid the heather on the summit of the Coombs,
were constantly the scenes of sacrifices and other savage rites of
Druid worship. Young men and maidens were slain by the golden knife of
the Arch Druid, and their spirits passed, with the strains of weird
singing, to intercede with God for the cause of Britain. All day the
bards sang the songs of old, and at night the ghosts of buried heroes
sailed past on the wings of the wind. Thus were the hearts of the
British warriors strengthened for the battle which was to come.
Night fell, and the forests of Longdendale were full of the white,
fierce warriors, who moved silently yet swiftly in the direction of
the Coombs. It was the last night of peace; on the morrow the songs of
war would arise, and brave men would die. Also, it was the night of
sacrifices, and the Druid altar--that strange group of stones now
known as the Robin Hood's Picking Rods--would witness the supreme
sacrifice--the offering to the Gods of that which was most dear to the
hearts of the Britons. That day, just before the setting of the sun,
Arwary, the fleet-footed, had bounded into the camp with the lightness
of the deer, bringing tidings of the Roman advance. The legions would
attack on the morrow, and so that night must be a night of
sacrifice--the greatest sacrifice of all. Caledon, the ancient Druid,
had summoned the Druid priests to the sacred groves of oak, and the
warriors were bidden to gather about the altar shortly before the
rising of the moon.
In the wood, near the dwelling of Edas, stood the chief. By his side
was a maid--Nesta the fair--the beloved of Edas, son of Atli. Soon, if
the gods willed, she would become his bride. Meanwhile she was the
fairest maid in all Britain, and even the voluptuous Romans sang her
praises about the camp fires at night.
Edas, son of Atli, spoke of love, and Nesta the fair drew close to his
breast. Her arms were about his neck, and the lovers kissed. Edas, son
of Atli, and Nesta the Fair, were happy.
Presently a voice was heard, and the maiden started. It was the voice
of Caledon, ancient Druid and he called for Nesta the Fair.
"The gods have need of thee," he cried. "They have sent to me their
message, and they ask as a sacrifice the beloved of Edas--the bride of
the chief."
The voice of the Druid was stern and terrible. Edas the chief stood
like one bereft of reason. Only Nesta the Fair remained calm.
"It is the will of the All-Giver," she said, and sighed. "Yet--I had
dreamed of happiness and love."