“The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling....”
So the winter and spring passed, and in summer they set out for Britain.
Meromic was intensely excited; his master thought he might hate it,
knowing how much Britons and Celts were one kin: not he! If Gandoc had
sent his people two years before, it would have been another matter; as
it was, he was looking forward to his revenge.
They lay for some time in the camp by the sea, waiting for a favourable
wind. There Meromic used to see the Hæduan Dumnorix roaming about with
his guard of horsemen always at his heels; he had heard him once making
a speech to the half hostage chiefs, telling them that Cæsar designed to
take them over to Britain and there to murder them, that his own life
was in danger, that the hope of Gaul lay in their rising together
against the oppressor! He had watched him ride out at a fast trot, past
the astonished sentries, at the head of his cavalry, and an hour later
had heard the bugles all across the camp calling to saddle, and the
steady pouring out of the pursuers. And late in the same day he saw the
Hæduans come back, shamefaced and draggled, their standards drooping,
and heard how Dumnorix had called on them in vain, and turned and died
on the Roman swords, crying out that he was free, free, and the son of a
free state!
The next day they sailed, and Meromic made himself useful among the
sailors. The next week they were making their camp on a low hill;
eastward they looked back towards the blue sea, dying away to haze in
the distance; westward there was haze again, always haze in this island,
but over trees, a forest with clearings in it, patches of corn, herds of
swine and cattle, bridle-paths among the thick hazels. The ships had to
be hauled up off the beach and earthworks built round them: it took
time. While fifty miles further inland the King, Cassivellaun, was
arming the tribes, assembling the war-chariots, sending out messengers
with fire and spears to rouse the country against its invaders.
One day Meromic came to his master: “If we come back within the week,
will you let Lerrys and me go now? And not ask me why?”
Titus hesitated for some time, but at last let them go and lent them
arms; the Gaul waved his hand once; they plunged down a forest path and
were out of sight.
Gandoc the Briton was now Chief among the Men of the Iron; he had a
house of timber, cattle and pigs herded about the woods, pack-ponies to
carry the smelted iron down to the coast, and the very valuable
friendship and protection of Cassivellaun. Just now the forges were all
in full blast, but the pack-ponies were going north, carrying new-made
weapons to the gathering-place of the armies among the rushes and
dragon-flies of the Thames. Gandoc himself was plying the very
honourable trade of a smith; the hammers fell in time, the sparks flew,
the bellows roared on the wood, the swords were beaten out, cooled in
spring water, and packed in hay ready for their journey. The smiths wore
aprons of hide from neck to knee, and nothing else; they sang as they
worked, and their women brought them in great jugs of drink and loads of
wood for the fires. One of them told Gandoc there was a stranger who
wished to see him. “Let him come in,” said the Briton, squinting along
the straight spear-head he held in his tongs, almost too busy to wonder
who this stranger could be.
The stranger stood in the door of the forge, wearing a Gallic dress; he
threw down his spear in token of friendship and said to Gandoc, “Do you
remember me?” Gandoc stared, saw, dropped the spear-head and started
guiltily towards his own sword. Meromic laughed: “There’s no need. You
played an ill trick on me and mine, once; but that’s over. See, I’ve
deserted from the Roman army to come to you: look at my Roman arms.”
The smiths left their hammers and crowded round; Lerrys was brought
forward--another deserter; only Gandoc hung back: “You blame me, I know.
But I was going to send--it was a difficult year--we had everything
ready and then the wind failed. Besides, we could have done no more than
you did. We heard about the battle, but not what happened to you or your
father: tell me! And--and your sister?”
The Gaul looked him full in the face: “Dead, all dead; but we’ll not
talk about that.”
“I’m sorry, very sorry. But I did what I could, believe me, Meromic.”
“That’s as may be; but let us not think of it now.”
“No, no; there are other things. You’ll come to my house?” He led them
up, still visibly nervous, keeping his distance from the son of the
Wolf.
The others followed them in; it seemed the moment to turn Gandoc’s
thoughts. Meromic leapt on to a bench and raised one hand for silence:
“Brothers,” he said, “brothers by blood and brothers by arms, brothers
most of all through the cause you fight for! I come from the camp of
your oppressors: you are right not to trust me. But look,”--and he bared
his shoulder--“this is the mark that should carry faith, this is the
wound I got in the battle of the ships. Shall I forget it easily? Not
while waves break or leaves grow, not while the Gods we worship together
are yet strong to help us, not while the groves are standing and the
stones lie blood-wet to the sun! I know there is a broken promise
between us; but yet there is this greater thing in my heart and in your
hearts that makes that promise only a blown straw. We who are one kin,
with one speech and one memory, we Celts, shall we not put old hatreds
aside now we are in sight of the enemy? I tell you, Britons, I was sick
to see the Roman soldiers trampling your pastures! My hope was your
hope, my sword is your sword: use me how you will. I was a slave among
the Romans, I am a free man again with you; but it is you I will obey.
For you are my people now that my own are dead, your chiefs I will
follow, your arms I will bear, and with you I will go forward to drive
the Romans out into the sea!”
The Britons shouted and clashed their spears; Gandoc, with tears in his
eyes, caught Meromic’s two hands and pressed them: “You have a great
heart!” he said. “I was wrong to doubt you. You are my brother from this
day on. Welcome, you and your friend, and take of mine what you will;
for I know by your words you must be true.” He brought them to the
table, poured mead, gave them meat and bread. Meromic could hardly
speak; his own words had moved him, he had said them with conviction;
and now this open trust and hospitality! How could he carry out his
plan? These were his people, even as he had said: he must not betray
them.
But as he sat there a tall woman came in, a woman with haze-blue eyes
and straight hair like washed flax; she had a child by her side who ran
over to Gandoc, calling him father: a boy-child. So should his nephew
have been! He turned to Gandoc: “If you will, I can lead you by a hidden
path to where you can look right over the Roman camp; I can show you
where the sentries are, and how each legion is lined; will you come?”
“I will surely; to-morrow early, you shall both take the oath and we
will set out at nightfall.”
“It will take a day and a night to ride. What oath is it?”
“You will go to the grove of the Shining One and you will swear faith to
us and to the King Cassivellaun on the high stone of sacrifice. I do not
ask this oath to bind you, because I believe in all you say, only it is
the custom here, and a custom is never good to go against.”
Meromic and Lerrys slept that night among the rushes on the hall floor;
during the first hours of the morning, Meromic woke his friend with a
hand on his mouth, saying, “I can’t take the oath, but you must, Lerrys;
they are not your Gods: they will not hurt you. I daren’t. It’s hard
enough to do what I have to do, let alone breaking an oath to the
Shining One. And they’ll suspect unless you go. So there it is.”
Lerrys stirred uneasily: “Meromic, I can’t either. These Gods mayn’t be
my Gods, but I am in their country and they’ll revenge themselves on
me.”
“Not they. You have never worshipped them, they don’t know you; it will
mean nothing to them, just as the oath will mean nothing to you.”
“But Gods are Gods everywhere. No, if I take this oath I can’t and won’t
help you against what I have sworn.”
“Lerrys, is this my reward for getting you out of that house? Remember,
if it hadn’t been for me you might be there still, rotting in a prison
all these warm nights.”
“I know, and I feel it too, but--but----”
“Well, there’s no more to be said then; but I thought you’d do it for
me, Lerrys.”
Lerrys stared down at the rushes; he thought of the Roman house,
hurrying down hot passages, Marses standing over him with a whip in his
hand; he remembered the night when he and Meromic were awake and
whispering in the close darkness of the slaves’ quarters. Meromic would
not be friends with him any more unless he took the oath. But these
Gods: the Shining One--who was he?--what were his powers? Better not to
ask. He would make a sacrifice later to his own Gods; they might help
him. He whispered, “I’ll take it,” and felt the other’s hand close on
his: it would be worth it to keep his friendship. “But what will you do
so as not to have to take it yourself?”
“You’ll see to-morrow, Lerrys. And though this will matter nothing to
you, yet I’m grateful. I’ll repay you if I’ve a chance. But be sure
there’s no need for you to be afraid. Pray to your own Gods.”
“My Gods are far off; I do it for you.” The other sleepers began to turn
over and wake; they said no more.
In the morning they all ate together from great wooden bowls of porridge
and honey; later they set out towards the Grove, laughing and talking
with one another, and leaping the fallen trees in the fine early air.
Suddenly Meromic fell with a cry, one foot in a rabbit hole; he got to
his feet, clinging to Gandoc’s arm, limped on a few steps, but then
stopped; the Britons were sympathetic, but he winced when they touched
his ankle. He protested that he must go on to the Grove, but it was
plain he could not walk; Gandoc sent one of his men for a pony, but a
minute or two afterwards Meromic fainted.
“You can’t take the oath to-day,” said his host; “it’s three miles
further on, and you must be fit to ride this evening.”
“Well then,” said Meromic, “as soon as we come back. My friend can take
his now.” He was helped on to the pony and went back, looking so sick
that Lerrys himself hardly knew what to think; only the ankle wasn’t
really swollen. The Colchian looked after his friend, and then turned
cheerfully back to the forest path again, and on towards the Grove, on
towards the anger of the Shining One!
The flaxen-haired woman was nursing a younger baby, but she ran down at
once to meet her guest, to bathe and bind up his ankle and to pile soft
furs for him to lie on. While she was busy getting food, Meromic had
time to wonder what she would say to her man’s death by the broken faith
of one who had eaten his bread. But what was the use of that? This
Briton had betrayed him and his folk: their bodies had rotted unavenged
for nearly two years; now it was Gandoc’s turn for betrayal. Yet this
woman and her children were innocent; well, he would not kill them,
though maybe he had the right to: Fiommar had been innocent too. So the
day passed. Sometimes the woman was talking to him or singing, sometimes
she was busy with her household and her babies. Sometimes the clearing
in front of the hall-door was brilliant with sunshine, sometimes it
would suddenly cloud over. Sometimes Meromic was sure of himself,
sometimes he was very doubtful.
In the Grove the oaks were beautiful and friendly with their thick
shade; the foxgloves rocked in the breeze. But Lerrys was frightened; he
wished he could see behind every tree; the palms of his hands were
sweating. The Druids led him up to the stone under the biggest oak-tree;
it was worn and stained with many sacrifices. He repeated the oath after
them; they held a hare on the stone and he slit its throat, watching the
life die out of its eyes and its kicking grow still; so would the
Shining One slit his throat if he broke his oath. They came back along
the path, and when a herd of pigs rushed across in front of them he was
nearly choked by his own violent heart-beating. He was quick at picking
up languages, and could talk to the Britons a little, but now he could
not think of the words; he wanted to pray in his own tongue to his own
Gods. When he was back at the house he looked more of a sick man than
the bandaged Meromic.
They set out in the evening, with much praise of the Gaul for mounting
so bravely, hurt foot and all. Their road lay along a flinty ridge with
hollies at each side. Gandoc and Meromic rode ahead, and Lerrys rode
behind; every now and then he would glance over his shoulder, though
there was nothing to be seen. The night came slowly and cloudlessly, a
gradual starlight; they slept for a few hours beside their ponies. “At
least, nothing will happen _yet_,” thought Lerrys. They rode on again
with the first light; the rising sun came full on to their faces--Lerrys
did not know for certain whether _he_ was the Shining One.
At mid-day they ate, and Gandoc asked how near the Roman camp was. “Five
hours yet,” said Meromic; and then he began talking--as he could talk if
he chose, a quick, coloured unravelling of words--about his home, about
his father and about Fiommar. Vainly Gandoc tried to turn him to
something else; he went on speaking, to the trees, to the sky, anywhere.
He told of his sister’s death on the island, and how, one-handed, he had
covered the last silky curl with earth, till all that was left was that
mound and the stain on the crushed grass. “What do you say to that?” he
ended abruptly, turning to the Briton, who stammered a vague distress,
and then he whistled, very deliberately, the first line of a Roman
marching song. Lerrys heard: it was for him; he edged his pony up,
looked right and left at the thick wood, thought of his friendship,
leant over and seized the Briton from behind by both elbows, jerking the
reins away; while Meromic, in front, had his dagger just pressing into
Gandoc’s throat and his left hand over his mouth. They had him off his
pony and down to the ground, tied fast and painfully with his own belt
and theirs.
Lerrys held the three ponies, shivering, though it was a mild day.
Meromic was crouching over his enemy, like a wolf over a deer, and he
muttered, “This is for you, Fiommar!” And he laid his hands, with all
his weight on them, on to Gandoc’s shoulders, and looked him full in
face, hating him. Gandoc spat the leaves out of his mouth: “So! I should
have known never to trust a Gaul!”
“You should have known never to trust a man you’ve betrayed.”
Meromic got up and rubbed the dagger over the ball of his thumb, rocking
from one foot to the other.
“And you didn’t even twist your ankle!” Gandoc said, considering; “but
that other took the oath! The Shining One is on his track now.” He
turned his head towards Lerrys: “Your throat--like the hare’s. You’ll
die: kicking ... soon.”
Lerrys backed a step against the solid, reassuring ponies; Meromic put
his foot hard down on to Gandoc’s mouth.
“Listen, you! All that summer, two years ago, we waited for you to
send; the wind was with you any time in four months. It was a shame on
my sister that her man had deserted us; now I wipe out that shame. For
want of your help my people died; for want of your help we were beaten
in the end, my father was killed, and I was sold as a slave! Did you
think I would let you live after that?--you who brought on me sorrow and
blows and curses, all that house-full of pain! For my father’s honour,
my sister’s honour, my own honour, say is it justice that I kill you
now!”
The Briton’s mouth was bleeding, but he answered steadily enough: “Am I
to answer you in your own words, the words you spoke in my house, as my
guest, two days ago? It comes ill from you to talk of your honour, you
that have eaten with me and given me promises! What pledge have I broken
that you have not broken too? I say you cannot set yourself up as my
judge.”
Meromic drew the point of the dagger slowly in a deep scratch across
Gandoc’s chest: he was thinking.
“You are talking of oaths,” he said. “There’s another oath of mine: I’d
forgotten it; you shall help me to keep it. Lerrys,”--he turned to his
friend--“my oath to Titus Barrus: it would be good to give my enemy up
to him; shall we do it?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Lerrys eagerly, “and the blood-guilt off our heads!”
“Don’t think he’ll escape me,” Meromic said; then to Gandoc: “This is a
better way--you’re going to find out what happened to me, your turn to
be a slave! And I shall be waiting behind you for my revenge, oh, it’ll
be sweeter so! Oh, I shall be glad to see you in chains! On to the
horse with him!” He pulled Gandoc suddenly to his feet.
Gandoc looked from one to the other. “You--you Romans!” he said
bitterly. They tied him on to his pony; Meromic would not let him speak
again: he had frightened Lerrys too much already. They went on along the
lonely path; Lerrys listened to the blood thudding in his own ears: it
sounded like foot-steps--the sun had gone in.
It was nearly evening when they heard a far-off trumpet call from the
camp, and Gandoc made one last desperate appeal to the Gaul, not to give
him up to the enemy, not to forswear by such a deed all Gallic kinship,
not to be a traitor to all his young vows, his hopes of two and three
years back! But Meromic did not listen; he had heard a voice he knew,
leapt off his pony and ran forward to meet Titus Barrus, and to tell him
that he and Lerrys had taken a prisoner, one Gandoc.
“Not the Chief of the Men of the Iron?” asked Quintus Velanius, from the
other side.
“Yes, sir.”
Both the officers were much excited: “We couldn’t have got a better
hostage!” “The one man we needed!” “Where is he?”
Gandoc was led off to headquarters, silently miserable; Titus Barrus
came back to the tent later, to find the two slaves whispering together
over the flaming wood, Meromic with one arm round Lerrys. He was very
well pleased.
“What reward do you want, Meromic?”
“Nothing. This is my vengeance.”
“How did you get him?”
The slaves glanced at one another; Lerrys kicked a log into the fire and
looked round at his friend: “Tell him the whole truth. I want him to
know; I want his advice.” So Meromic told, not leaving out his own
speech, nor all Gandoc had said.
Titus sat with his hands clasped between his knees, frowning, and, at
the end, got up and walked about the tent for a minute or two to get it
clear in his head, then stood still, pulled at the gold chain round his
neck, and turned, a little grimly, to Meromic: “I don’t like this.
However much the man was your enemy, whatever wrong he had done you, it
does not justify treachery. Two wrongs never make a right. If you hold
your word to your own kin so lightly, how do I know you will keep your
oath to me?”
Meromic flushed hotly and made a step forward, his fists clenched: “If
you think that, sir!--” he checked himself and looked away from the
Roman, speaking low: “Would you have clean hands now if it was revenge
for your sister, your father, and your friends? Besides, I swore nothing
to him.”
“Lerrys did swear; you are playing with words, Meromic.”
Meromic did not answer; he was a slave and he had to take what his
master said, whether he thought it just or unjust; at any rate he had
done what he meant to do.
Suddenly Lerrys was kneeling before Titus, looking up at him with dark,
uneasy eyes: “There’s no question but that I broke my oath. Oh, master,
what am I to do?”
Titus spoke more gently to him: “I think the guilt is mostly on Meromic,
not on you. But oaths are not taken to be broken at once; you know that.
These Gods may have some power; you had better both keep to the camp. We
shall not stay in this island beyond Autumn.” He frowned again at the
Gaul: “Now I shall have to go back and tell this story of yours. I wish
to God I had never let you go; the islanders will think this is the
Roman way!”
Titus Barrus had rather an uncomfortable time for the rest of the
summer, with his two slaves. Meromic went about like a man with a
grievance, sullen, bad-tempered, slow at his work, not doing things
unless he was told, absolutely impossible to talk to. Lerrys was not
much better: he was very anxious to please, anxious to do whatever his
friend left undone; but it was little use having a slave who didn’t hear
what you told him because he was for ever looking over his shoulder at
something that wasn’t there, who stopped in the middle of his work with
a look as if the rat, gnawing away at the back of the tent, was his
deadliest enemy, who seemed so tired he could hardly see straight, and
indeed confessed that he dreamt every night of a throat-slit hare with
its head jerking over to its bent-up back, and sometimes he held the
bloody knife and sometimes he felt his own head beginning to jerk
backwards too. More than once their master would have sold them both and
bought a sensible, well-trained man, only there was nobody to buy
them--he couldn’t sell them to a dealer--and, anyhow, he felt rather
directly responsible for them. The evening of the battle with the four
Kentish kings, Titus came back tired out, after having gone the round
of the camp, seeing to the defences, and for no special reason lost his
temper completely with Meromic; he tied him up to the tent-pole, broke a
stick over his back without getting a cry out of him, untied him and
threw himself down on his blankets, saying, “What a fool I was ever to
take you! I ought to have had sense enough to mind my own business last
autumn. As soon as ever I get back to Gaul I shall get rid of you both
and be thankful!”
Titus was wounded the next day, a spear-thrust through his leg; he was
knocked over by a great wave of British attackers under their great
fighting-man, Lugotorix, and his own men had no time to re-form before
they were swept back. He was hopelessly pinned to the ground by the
spear, and his sword had been kicked out of reach; he was trampled
underfoot, he could make out nothing of what was happening; he buried
his face in his arms and waited, for how long he could not tell. When he
was conscious again Meromic and Lerrys were washing and bandaging his
wound, and a centurion was kneeling beside him, eager to give his news:
the Britons had been beaten, the camp was safe, they had taken many
prisoners and recaptured all their own.
“How was I found?”
“No thanks to us, sir; it was that man of yours”; the centurion pointed
to Meromic. “He’s a good fighter and no mistake; we saw him standing
over you, and five of them against him. He didn’t wait, though, once you
were safe; he was off again into the thick of them. And if Lugotorix is
prisoner, it’s because he brought down his horse with a spear cast!”
Titus half raised himself to thank Meromic, but the Gaul was silent and
frowning as usual.
The wound was not very serious, but it would mean ten or twelve days in
bed, which would be quite unbearable if Meromic went on in his present
temper. So the next morning Titus called to him to put the pillows
straight behind his back, and then, when he couldn’t face away, spoke to
him seriously: “What’s wrong with you, Meromic? What’s been the matter
all this time? It’s no good always saying nothing! After yesterday, I’m
not going to sell you, and I’m sorry I beat you that evening. Won’t you
tell me what you want?” At first Meromic would not say; there seemed to
be an impassable barrier between him and the Roman; he was pure
barbarian. But gradually, after much questioning, Titus got out of him
what it was.
Gandoc was a very important hostage. While they had him in the camp, the
iron could no longer be dug and smelted and wrought for Cassivellaun;
the Men of the Iron looked up to their Chief and would not have him
sacrificed for any promises to the midland King. So Gandoc was guarded
well and never given a chance of escape. But, on the other hand, it
would be a pity to make too great an enemy of him; even in this
disappointing and pearl-less island of savages it was better that the
Roman state should have friends; one could hardly consider the Britons
apart from the Gauls, and there every influence was important. Gandoc
had therefore to be conciliated as well as guarded. The officers had
him to eat with them and filled him with wonder at their cups and
dishes, the furnishing of their tents, their harness, and their
hog-maned Italian horses, none of which stood less than a head higher
than the best of his own shaggy ponies. As a smith, too, he was very
much interested in their armour; he wanted to know how it was made,
about the welding of the joints between breast-plate and back-plate, the
tempering of the swords, the gold inlay on the officers’ shields, most
of all about the making and handling of steel. They told him a certain
amount and let him go to the camp forge and watch their armourers’
methods, taking care that he did not learn too much. And then Cæsar had
spoken to him, as Cæsar knew how, making the Briton feel strangely more
important than he had ever done before, and yet at the same time a child
before the strength of Rome. He had sent a message to the flaxen-haired
woman that he was being well treated, and her message back said, as he
had hoped it would, that she was with child again. Altogether, he was
not so unhappy as he had expected to be.
But this was what had been angering Meromic all the time; he saw his
enemy, not suffering, not bound and cursing his fate, but strolling
about the camp with some young officer among the salutes of the
sentries, well-housed and well-fed, his wishes considered, his person
respected--a fine sort of vengeance, that! Fiommar and Kormiac lay cold
underground; and yet when he had their enemy in his power he had given
him up for the sake of another oath, gratitude to the Roman--all his
thanks to be accused of treachery!--and now the revenge was gone, the
chance was missed, he was a shame on the house of the Wolf!
Titus tried to get Meromic calmed down, to tell him what good service he
had done to Rome, after all--but “That’s nothing to me!” cried the Gaul.
“Rome! I hate Rome! I made Gandoc prisoner for myself, and I gave him up
for you--you--you!” He dropped to the ground, staring at Titus. “You who
saved my life in that house!” Lerrys came in just then, with an extra
blanket over his arm; he thought unhappily that Meromic was feeling for
Titus all that he himself felt for Meromic, and he wondered if one could
not anyhow find an equal friendship. Poor Lerrys! He had not dared,
since that day, go out of sight of friends, beyond the shadow of the
Roman camp; on the march he tried to get to the inside of the column, he
would not willingly go under an oak-tree; and at night he slept as close
as he could to Meromic, with his hands over his throat in case the
Shining One should come and find him bared to the knife. Still, he could
have borne it if his friend had been grateful, had tried to help him,
instead of going about cold and silent, laughing at him even! He could
not help being glad not to be guilty of Gandoc’s actual death; he could
not hate the Britons as Meromic did; he would not go out and help him,
after the fighting, to cut the throats of the wounded enemies; he wished
they were well out of this damp, haunted country.
Soon afterwards Cassivellaun sent his ambassadors to Cæsar; the whole of
the Roman army was back in the camp by the sea; Autumn had come, the
acorns were dropping, the waves were beginning to run high, it was time
to go back to Gaul. Everything was being got ready; British chiefs and
Roman officers had agreed very seriously on the tribute to be sent over
every year, but neither side really believed it would ever be paid.
Titus Barrus had made a great collection of local things: furs, weapons,
pottery and ornaments; now he had reluctantly to decide what would have
to be left behind and what could be brought over. Lerrys was helping him
to pack, and, in the intervals, was being kind to a new British slave
Titus had bought, one Dith, Son of the Hornbeam, partly because he was
sorry for him, partly because he hoped, in this way, to appease a little
the Gods of Britain. Meromic was helping part of the time too, but he
went out of his way to be brutal to Dith, and he was always going off to
Headquarters to try and find out what was happening to Gandoc. At last
he heard: the Men of the Iron had bought back their Chief with many
promises, tribute of gold and iron, and a few lesser hostages. Gandoc
was brought out among the cheers of his own men, shook hands all round
with the friendly officers, and rode off with many small gifts, a
finely-wrought cup from one, a bronze lamp from another, and a jar of
Italian wine from a third. He was thinking about his children, most of
all the one that was soon to be born, his home, the ring of the hammers
again, his own food and fire and bed; he had forgotten Meromic.
Titus Barrus was due to embark with the first convoy; he had seen to his
men, checked the numbers, rounded up stragglers, got provisions and
baggage safe into the hold, and at last given word for the anchor to be
raised and the sails hoisted. When it was all done he went off to where
his own things had been piled on deck. Lerrys was there, trying to talk
to the unhappy Dith, who was bound hand and foot to the rail of the ship
and had his eyes fixed on the high white cliffs, the last sight of his
own island; he would not answer Lerrys, only cowered away, shivering,
partly sea-sick--he came from the inland Cassi--partly just miserable;
he had been wounded in several places, and now he was getting well--to
this!
“Where’s Meromic?” asked Titus.
Lerrys jumped up: “Meromic? Isn’t he with you, sir? He said you’d told
him to stay by you.”
“Never. I thought he was here; I wonder where he is.”
Lerrys looked troubled: “I can’t think. Dith, Dith! Have you seen
Meromic--the Gaul?”
Dith answered slowly, not taking his eyes from the dimming coast-line:
“Yes, I saw him early this morning; I’ve a message from him; he hit me
five times on the mouth to make me remember. He said when you asked for
him I was to say he had gone after his revenge; and if he never comes
back it will not be that he has broken faith, but that the revenge has
turned on his own head.” And Dith laid his cheek against the cool, damp
wood of the railing, and hoped that something bad would come to this
fierce, unfriendly Gaul, who had hurt him without reason.
Lerrys and his master looked at one another; Lerrys spoke first: “He
must have followed Gandoc out of the camp; if only I’d been with him! He
never said a word to me.”
“And now we can’t hear anything for weeks!”
Lerrys had hoped they had put Britain behind them for ever, Britain and
the Shining One; but it was all to think of again, and Meromic--what
mightn’t be happening to him now! He crouched down among the bundles,
looking north; the night fell in mid-channel, with the sudden flop
inboard of cold spray, the creaking of the tackle, the little lanterns
on the masts less bright than stars, and Dith muttering to himself in
the dark. There seemed to be a kind of flicker on the wake behind them,
a spot of light dancing from one wave-crest to the next--following them!
Lerrys slid down, very cautiously, and whispered to the Briton:
“Dith, tell me: can you see anything on the sea--there where I’m
pointing?”
“Yes,” said Dith.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a God walking along the water.”
Lerrys heard his own teeth chattering; he kept looking steadily at that
pale gleam; sometimes he thought it was gaining on them, sometimes it
kept its distance. His eyes were blinking, he could hardly keep them
open, but yet he mustn’t shut them or turn away; the light grew larger
and then smaller, slid up and down. It had come slowly in towards the
ship, it had climbed up on to the deck, it was sliding over to him; he
could neither move nor cry; and then he felt he was leaning back, not on
the hide-wrapped bales, but on something hard, on stone; and the spars
above him had twisted and roughened to oak-boughs. The spot of light
touched his foot, and it felt sticky and cold; it crawled over him, his
hands were fixed; it came up, up, reaching for his throat! He woke,
stiff in every joint, with a throbbing headache, to the chill grey
morning far over the water, the ships of the fleet rocking dim on each
side, and the coast of Gaul ahead of them. Titus Barrus was sleeping
peacefully, curled up in his rugs; Dith was asleep; there was nothing
strange about the sea.
They landed near their old camp and the ships were made ready to cross
again for the second contingent. Lerrys had been looking forward so much
to being back on Gallic soil; but now he was not certain: one could not
put a God off one’s track so easily; and he had not even got Meromic to
sleep beside. He was busy all day, doing a double share of work for his
master, and besides, teaching Dith, who was not exactly willing; but he
had time to dream. All sorts of rather unpleasant things happened: twice
he had stumbled across a dead hare; once an adder had nearly struck him,
though he broke its back with a stick afterwards; there were shooting
stars; he had seen a beast he did not know coming out of the sea; an old
woman was going round the camp telling fortunes, but when she looked at
him she shook her head and would say nothing; and then, one day when
they were out cutting wood, Dith had picked up a shining black stone
with a white spot on it and said, “A God has been here.” And the rest of
the army came back from Britain, but no Meromic.
But now their Legate, Crassus, had his legions camped among low hills in
the country of the Bellovaci. One day Dith was going over to the
horse-lines; he wanted to do it in one journey instead of two, so he was
trying to carry a bundle of hay, a sack of beans, a sack of oats and a
bucket of water, all at once. He ploughed along, cursing the sacks and
spilling the water, almost sure Lerrys would send him back for more.
Suddenly some one called him: “Dith, Son of the Hornbeam!” He dropped
the sacks and looked round; it was long since he had been last called by
his full name, and he was pleased. It was the Gaul--the man who had hit
him, who, he hoped, was dead! He made a grab for the sacks, expecting to
be hit again; but Meromic was friendly and smiling, he took them from
him, threw them over one shoulder, and then took the bucket. Dith looked
round at him cautiously; he was very dirty, his hair hung down on his
neck, solidly matted, except that at one side it was only just beginning
to grow again over a long, red scar; his knee was bandaged; he wore an
ox-hide with a hole in the middle for his head to go through, and a lot
of woad; and there was an axe at his belt, the haft tied round with a
long piece of yellow hair.
“You got your revenge?” said the Briton.
Meromic grinned: “I did that.”
They got to the horse-lines; Lerrys started, saw, threw himself on
Meromic’s neck; they kissed one another, both talking at once; Meromic
showed the axe handle: “I cut it off when he was dead. Now, Lerrys, you
give me that bucket; I’ve got to wash.” He looked distastefully at the
woad: “I can’t get this off though.” Dith had to fetch some more water,
but the work was done in half the time, the horses fed and bedded down,
the wood brought in, the food prepared. Meromic did not talk much: he
laughed about nothing, threw his axe into the air, sang scraps of songs,
and on the way back quite unnecessarily jumped over all the tent ropes.
He frightened Dith at first, but he didn’t lay a hand on him, and he
showed him how to lace willow boughs together as a shelter for the
horses; Lerrys wasn’t good at that sort of thing.
Titus Barrus was late that evening; there was a cold wind blowing, with
a whirl of leaves over the ground; he pulled his cloak tightly round
him, wondered how the new slave’s education was getting on, and also
whether he’d find a decent meal ready, and wished the Gaul were back,
temper or not. At any rate, the fire was burning well outside his tent,
and he could smell the roasting meat. Lerrys, with his back to him, was
unhooking the joint from the crossed sticks over the glow,
and--“Meromic!”
That night they all sat together, listening to Meromic, who walked about
the tent, fingering the familiar things, telling his story in bursts,
just as he felt it. There was a lantern hung from the tent pole and the
fire still gave some light; Titus sat upright on the bed, Lerrys lay on
the ground, his arms crossed under his chin, and Dith listened from the
darkest corner, head down on knees. Meromic began by justifying himself
to the Roman: “I killed him in fair fight; you couldn’t have said it was
treachery. He nearly killed me too, and I had to run from his men; I had
to go west, I couldn’t get back to the camp in time; I came over in a
trading ship, working my way. We landed down along the coast; if I’d
chosen I could have gone on with them: they were going back to my
country, my very own Canton. But I didn’t choose: though you say I break
my promises!”
Titus murmured something inaudible with his head down; he didn’t like
being made to feel apologetic by his slave, but after all, perhaps he
had been unfair; and he was very glad to have Meromic back. Lerrys got
up to throw an armful of wood on to the fire, then settled down again to
listen.
Meromic told how he had followed Gandoc and his friends, on a stolen
pony, keeping well behind them, how they had camped for the night and he
had gone up and thought to kill Gandoc in his sleep, but remembering
what his master had said about treachery, left him lying there, and
slept himself among the drifted leaves. Gandoc got home and was welcomed
by all; the tall woman, whose time was very near, kissed him at the door
of the hall; soon the forges were at work again. Meromic had exchanged
the pony for food, his axe and ox-hide, and a pot of woad, and hired
himself out to a Chief living near by; and he waited many days before he
found a chance of meeting Gandoc alone.
But at last one evening, a little time after the child was born, the
Chief of the Men of the Iron went hunting; he galloped on ahead of his
men, hoping to bring back the boar’s tusks as a trophy for his new son’s
mother; suddenly he saw there was another rider beside him. They
dismounted and fought, first with boar-spears until they broke, then
sword against axe. The axe won; Gandoc lay dying in the forest with his
skull broken; Meromic hacked off the lock of hair and rode for his
life, hearing in the distance the shouts of the hunting party. Riding
east for the camp he almost met them, spread out and beating for him; he
turned south-west. The pony went lame and he left it. Twice he had
climbed a tree and slept uneasily in a fork for a few hours, but they
were tracking him with hounds, and he could not get them off his scent
until at last he came to a wide marsh; there he had swum over branch
after branch of some river, between islands of mud too soft to bear him,
or where the angry wild swans attacked him and drove him off. But in the
end he came to the other side and lay down on hard, dry ground again,
where the oaks come down to meet the alders: desperately tired, but
safe.
He lay up in those far woods for a week or more, while his wounds were
healing; it was the right time of year: there were nuts and berries
everywhere, it was not too cold, and he could snare rabbits and birds.
For two days he had followed the right bank of that river, swimming the
creeks and always avoiding the villages, until the water grew brackish,
sea-gulls were flying overhead, and the reed-beds heightened into
cliffs. The river was wide and dancing with small waves; there was an
island in front of its mouth, and sea-going ships moored in the
tide-way. He found a town with strong, wooden houses, a crowded
market-place, and a good harbour; and there were traders from the
Aremorican cantons, loading their ships to get off before the autumn
storms began in earnest. He offered himself as a sailor to three or four
of them, but they had all the crew they needed, and besides they
thought from his woad and ox-hide that he must be an inland Briton and
useless on board a ship.
Here Meromic stopped in his story; he stood in the door of the tent,
looking out at the night, one hand on his axe; at last he went on: “Well
then, I was wandering about the streets of that town, looking for some
one to take me, and I heard a voice I knew. It was Louaven, a friend of
mine, a man of the Veneti. He did not know me at first; he thought I was
dead, just as I had thought he was dead. He had gone over to Britain
after the battle of the ships, and married there; he wanted me to stay
with him, to be the Wolf again on that coast, which is not so different
from mine. I was his guest for a day and a night, then I told him I had
an oath to keep in Gaul and I must go; but I did not tell him I was the
slave of a Roman. He found a ship that was ready to sail, and told them
I was a friend of his; we were four days at sea. They landed me, and
went on west themselves; they will be home by now.”
For a little none of the others spoke; it was near midnight; the candle
in the lantern was flickering to its end; there were few lights in the
rest of the camp. Titus felt he had to say something, but could not
think what; Meromic had put all the gratitude upon him; but really, if a
slave went off without leave--he had not thought of that during the
story--and killed an ally of the Roman people, and only came back two
months later, what did he suppose his master would say? He ought to be
thankful not to be blamed! And yet, after all, there was a good deal:
the Gaul might so easily have gone back to his own people to be a chief
again, and no one would have known; and anyhow he was Meromic. Titus got
up, went over and took his hand, saying: “It’s good to get you back; we
missed you.” And Meromic said, “Oh, well; I expect Lerrys did
everything. How’s your leg, sir?” Then Lerrys got up too and put one arm
round Meromic’s neck and said, “You know I’m glad,” and Meromic smiled
back at him. But Dith, the Briton, muttered from his corner, “What fools
there are in the world!”
After that the slaves went off to their own place to sleep; Lerrys
wanted to ask Meromic hundreds of questions, so they sat up, talking,
while Dith, huddled among the dry fern, slept the light sleep of a
savage, heedless of them, and dreamed his own dreams of freedom. “Were
you frightened,” asked Lerrys, “alone in that wood, an oak wood too?”
“No. I’d killed him fairly; I thought of that and how I was worthy of my
name now that Fiommar and father were revenged. And I had my axe. When I
was lonely I sang songs or pretended you were there. Lerrys, would you
have been frightened?”
Lerrys shivered, even at the thought: “I would. They’d have got me in a
place like that. It’s bad enough here.”
“Not still?”
“Worse.” And Lerrys told his friend of the last haunting, the light on
the sea, the dead hares, and how always when he slept, always, the
Shining One hunted him!
“We’ll have to do something about it,” said Meromic, and thought for a
moment. “Have you told Dith?”
“No; it’s nothing to him.”
“But they’re his Gods, more than they’re mine; he could advise us. He
won’t tell me, but you’ve been kind to him; wake him and ask.”
Dith was waking already, from hearing his own name said; he listened
gravely to the Colchian; he had heard such stories of the Gods before.
At the end he said, “It’s time you did something; the Shining One has
held his hand long; he may strike any day now. To-morrow you should
sacrifice, once to him and once to your own Gods. I’ll find a place.”
So the next morning when their master had gone off on duty, they met to
discuss their business, Lerrys heavy-eyed from a sleepless night; he
asked if it should be a hare.
“No, no!” said the Briton; “anything else would be better. What do your
own Gods want?”
Lerrys frowned, trying to think back to the days he had last sacrificed:
“It used to be wine and corn. And peacocks: I remember how they screamed
and flapped their wings at the altar. But we’ll have to make shift with
what we can get.”
Dith stood still, swinging the stew-pot, and considered; abruptly he
said: “For the Shining One it ought to be a man. But I suppose you can’t
manage that. We ought each to have something.”
Lerrys was the only one who had any money; he said he would see what he
could find. They went off to their work, and spoke no more of it until
evening.
There was not much choice in the way of animals to be sacrificed; Lerrys
had bought three cocks, a black, a red, and a white; they each took one
and slipped out past the horse-lines into the dark wood where they would
call upon the Gods. Dith went on ahead, steadily, as if he knew the way
by heart; the others followed, whispering and dodging the branches. Both
of them were thinking “What if this is too small a sacrifice to turn the
wrath of the God?” and both of them looked at the Briton: they could say
he had run away.... If Titus Barrus got to know? He would not get to
know; the woods were secret. But still--“The cocks must go first,” said
Meromic, “then, if there is no answer ... we might.” He had his axe;
Dith’s head would be as easy to split as Gandoc’s. They came at last to
a clearing with oak-trees growing round it; perhaps once there had been
a house there; now there was nothing but grass and old dead stalks of
willow-herb.
They laid the cocks down on the grass with their wings tied; Dith pulled
up a turf in the middle of the place and cleared the earth from
underneath it till there was a hole the depth of a man’s hand up to the
wrist. The others stood by watching him. He gathered up a handful of
acorns from under the trees, and three acorns he dropped into the hole,
and the rest he put round in a circle; he took a stick and he scraped it
along the grass so that there was a track from the hole right into the
wood, and he bade the others be careful not to tread over that track.
Then each of them took one of the cocks and they came to the ring Dith
had made and they knelt down, and Dith said, “You be praying to your
own Gods now.” And they prayed. But Meromic could think of nothing but a
sacrifice they had made at home once when he and Fiommar were little and
both of them had thought it was very good and beautiful, but afterwards
they had seen their uncle quarrelling with another Druid till they came
to blows and pulled off each other’s wreaths, and Fiommar had cried. And
Lerrys could not make his Gods come real in this Northern wood; he knew
they would never hear his prayers.
After a little Dith said, “Now!” and each of them pulled the head off
his cock and threw it down into the hole, and the blood steamed in the
moonlight; and Dith cried out “Oh Shining One, oh Friend of sun and
moon, let this blood be payment for a broken oath and take your anger
from the head of the oath-breaker! Answer our prayers, oh Gods!” They
waited, huddled together, touching one another, but no answer came; an
owl hooted twice; the Briton whispered, “He has not taken it,” and
Lerrys shook from head to foot. But then, when Meromic was pulling the
axe out of his belt, they heard a little noise in the wood, coming
nearer. They hid their faces; but when they looked up there was a man
standing in front of them, a long, thin man with a cloak wrapped about
him, and he made a sign with his hand. At that Dith bowed to the ground
and said hurriedly to the others, “He is a High Druid: do what he says.”
The long man looked down into the hole and said, “These were given by
the oath-breaker; you must all give something.” Then Meromic tore off
with his nails the hair that was round his axe-handle and threw it in,
but Dith said, “I have nothing,” for even the clothes he wore belonged
to his master. The man said, “I will lend it you then.” And he took a
silver ring off his finger and gave it to Dith to throw in, and he said,
“If you look for your answer you will find it,” and they looked and saw
the three cocks’ heads come on to their bodies again and the cocks
crowed all together. It was like some terrible noise at the end of a
nightmare and they fell on their faces until it had died all away; and
when they looked up again the long man was gone.
They went back quickly, not speaking till they were in sight of the camp
again. Then Lerrys said, “Who was the man?” and Meromic answered him: “I
could not think in the wood, but now I remember it was the story-teller
who came once to my father’s house.” And Dith said, “Whoever he may be,
I owe him a silver ring.” They were all very tired and went to sleep as
they lay down: Lerrys slept till daybreak and he did not dream at all.