CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS

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"You may not have the chance," Eschwine suggested. "The way out of here is hard to find."
   Again Llywarch remained resolutely equable. "You are to promise, King of Essex, to forego all annoyance of her.''
   Eschwine stared, frowned, stirred angrily; then smoothed his face again, with a harsh laugh. The other Saxons echoed it more loudly.
   "Modest!" he cried. "I am to spare London, then, and its appurtenances; in fact, almost everything and everybody! Is there any more?"
   Llywarch bowed. "Nothing more, except that it is for sixty days."
   "Now, Prince Llywarch, tell me why, in your good judgment, I should do this."
   Llywarch watched intently that hard, keen, bantering face. He discerned uneasiness and growing anger, but kept a "diplomatic cheek and eye."
   "Being Arthur's counsellor, when called on," he replied, "I cannot well be Eschwine's also. Yet, consider; the bravest, if wise as brave, will not war needlessly with a power inordinately beyond him."
   "What is the meaning of that?" and Eschwine ground his heel among the pebbles.
   "I am bidden to say--and say but as I am bidden--that in case of refusal, Arthur will leave all other enemies, and bring the whole force of his armies, with London added, to utterly crush Essex. What, then,

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 have you wherewith to oppose the whole power of Britain? The Sword of Fire will be known no more among men."
   Only a part of what he uttered bore meaning to the raiders and loiterers around them. But they caught at the ending with fury. "Carve the blood eagle on him!" yelled one. Others, rising, took up the cry.
   Llywarch fronted them with kindly dignity; indeed, he stood as though they were offering some tribute of admiration to his worth, instead of the most frightful death-punishment devised by even their ingeniously cruel race.
   Their precipitancy saved him. Eschwine's countenance had been tightening murderously. But this clamor came as a travesty on his own purpose, half-formed. Moreover, some of the later accessions to his camp had troubled him within the hour by unruliness of tongue where they should only hear and obey. With a half-spring, and a snatch at his weapon, he shouted them into silence. Then he turned abruptly, and forced himself to be calm.
   "Arthur has brave men," he announced at length.
   "Many," said Llywarch. "But as to that, I have seen Eschwine also affront death very lately."
   The Saxon laughed a note or two, and took on a more genial aspect. This fearless urbanity, being new, pleased him wonderfully. Llywarch heard be-

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 hind his shoulder Caowl's sigh, as if a burden were lifted. He could not see Dynan. The marshmen were as impassive as ever, but with hopeful eyes.
   "I do not know that," said Eschwine. "We Saxons have weighty weapons, and a long reach with them."
   Llywarch looked around him. They truly surpassed the average of British massiveness and stature.
   He bowed in admission. "But it would have needed the hammer and the arm of Thor to have shattered a way through a city's walls and an army."
   "I had Constantine's pledge. You came with nothing."
   "Ah, no! With the message of one mighty warrior to another. Would any one deem that so great an honor could end in harm or loss?"
   Here even the wilder freebooters, easily shifting in mood, broke out applaudingly. Eschwine looked on with no displeasure. "I don't wonder that you witch men with your singing," he said. "Mere talk suffices. Prince Llywarch, it shall be in every way as you have spoken. And now between us, and with all these, the harp will be sooth and safe, to keep the tongue out of trouble."
   "What skill I have," said Llywarch, "is for you."
   "Bring then your harp, Wolfnoth;" and Wolfnoth brought it.
   "I cannot say how it may misbehave in British

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 hands," he said, tendering it reluctantly. He was more fanciful in apparel and eager of eye than the rest, but more indolent in motion. His manner of holding the instrument showed how he prized it. There were curiosity and interest in his face; for a master of some renown in the craft was before him, being also the prince of a bold people.
   Llywarch overcame his hesitation by minstrel free-masonry. He spoke in Saxon, making sad work, for he had studied it little; but the other understood him. "I can do nothing," said Llywarch, "without rhymes. Therefore your hero-songs would be beyond me. It is wise to keep to waters that one knows. I will give you a battle-piece of my people, put together by myself. You may like it or not; I don't know."
   Dynan had been edging near, with lively concern. "For the love of God," he protested, "not the lay of Ambrosius!"
   Eschwine watched. "What is that?" he demanded sharply.
   The little man turned pale, but looked back, eye for eye. "The tale of a death-fight!" he said simply.
   His hand was on something in his belt--a dagger, Eschwine thought, but really what had been called the fairy horn, which might never be more urgently needed.

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    "The death-fight of one who stayed the oncoming of Cerdic," added Caowl bluntly, being more mindful of the jealousies of that coast.
   "That will I have, and no other," declared Eschwine, smiting his hand on his thigh, and looking around him with a clearing brow. Alone among the chieftains of the south, great Cerdic of Wessex as yet outshone him, often drawing recruits away, so that rivalry was bitter, and envy bitterer still. "Let us have it all, full tilt; it will do my men good,"he cried gleefully.
   Now, Llywarch had a different ballad in mind, and smiled inwardly at the combining of Dynan with Eschwine to take the choice from him. Still, the general aspect was favorable, and he struck into it spiritedly; the rude harp, though poorly worthy of him, doing good service among war-loving ears, in the echoes of the woods. Danger and the strain of self-control gave his voice an unusual reckless resonance, when at length set free.
   His theme was the last charge of Aurelius Ambrosius at Netley, in his old age and snow-white armor, defending the way to that Holy House named after him (Amesbury), whence came his title, Prince of the Sanctuary.
   And this was the lay sung by Llywarch, Prince of Argoed, to the Saxon marauders in their camp by the marshes of the Lea.

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THE SONG OF LLYWARCH.

                                  White was the great steed under him,
                                  White was the gleam of mailéd limb--
                                  Swift as the warrior seraphim!

                                  White was the steed, but dashed with red,
                                  White were the locks that blew outspread,
                                  White was the sword-hilt overhead.

                                  White as the sea-wave's flower of foam!
                                  One shout for Britain, Christ, and Rome!
                                  Horseman and horse went shattering home.

                                  I saw them, as he onward sped,
                                  White horse to white horse of the dead:--
                                  Then the pale banner whirled and fled.

                                  I saw the thousands in his wake,
                                  The wingéd spears that stream and shake,
                                  I heard the crash, as thousands brake.

                                  And, borne upon the wind along,
                                  A faint far swell of chant and song,
                                  A jubilation vast and strong.

                                  Where Ambrose and his thousands fell,
                                  There rises still that holy swell,
                                  Proving their work was done right well.

                                  Where Ambrose and his thousands lie,
                                  The stars of Heaven go sweeping by,
                                  The eyes of Heaven that shall not die.

                                  Where Ambrose and his thousands are
                                  There needs no light of dawn or star,
                                  For the great glory shining far.

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                                   Glory to glory, grace on grace!
                                   Hero of Britain's ancient race,
                                   Our crowned one of the holy place!

   "It is not for me," said Eschwine, rising gravely, to offer gifts to one not less great every way than myself, and tuneful, as I am mute, in song. But I would change hunting-knives with you, if I may. I cannot spare my sword; there is a fate in it."
   "Willingly," said Llywarch; but all his companions looked uncertain. Ever since the death-feast at Wipped's-fleet, the Saxon blade and Saxon friendship had been frightful in British eyes. Yet all was done fairly, and Llywarch found a handsome Frisian haft in his hand.
   "Long ago," said Eschwine, "I took it in fight at sea."
   His men applauded also, understanding at least the rush of the lines; and that they dealt with battle. Those who had caught the names of a hostile faith cared little, for religion was no passion with them.
   Next Wolfnoth took the harp, tossed back his head, and began chanting emulously, in a wild voice, to a wilder accompaniment, one of the staves, unrhymed but alliterative, which delighted his people. The envoys, in their turn, lost many of the words, and found more stress in it than melody; but it somehow brought home to them the sense of death affronted, of shadows overwhelming and feared not, of ear-

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 nest grappling with man and fate, with gods and the hereafter.
   When they departed, Eschwine called after them, "Good luck to Arthur with Ossa Cyllalaur!"
   Now Cyllalaur was the great Saxon leader of the north.
   Llywarch bowed, but later said quietly, "In other words, he would be well content to see an enemy and a rival wear each other out."
   "There is comfort in getting off with a whole skin for any reason," observed Caowl.
   The marshman in the stern grinned appreciatively. "But we will go back another way," said he.
   "I have no fear of waylaying," declared Llywarch. "We were quite in his power."
   "It may suit him to play cat and mouse," Dynan suggested. "I vote for all prudence and caution."
   "Do you mean that he would be capable of shaking hands for good-by, with an ambuscade awaiting us by his orders?" demanded Llywarch.
   "He would. He has done worse than that," Caowl replied, darkening.
   "For my part," said Dynan airily, "I put no limits to him; he is a very 'capable' man."
   But this time there came no missile at them in crossing the pool. Nor indeed afterward, except once, far away, when a spear was cast viciously into the boat, and a dwarf, nearly naked, went scuttling

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 off where pursuit was not easy. But they judged him to be neither a Saxon nor any settled Briton, but a mere wandering waylayer, of malice toward every one; for there were always a few such about these desolate places.
   Most of the time they were in what might be called open land for that region, though the rank growth was neck-high to a standing man, where not fallen in patches with the decrepitude of the year. At last they made firm land at a ring of oak-trees, thick enough to form a screen, enclosing a clear, shallow lakelet, the very centre of which was occupied by the palisaded village of the marshmen. A platform running around the inside of this tall barrier near its top gave the defenders a great advantage. A single narrow causeway led out from shore; but the gate of this was strongly guarded, and the whole structure, down to the water-bed, could be torn away very speedily in case of need.
   Here they rested a little time, with much consideration from the villagers, who could find nothing less than magic in the successful outcome of their errand. Thence they easily reached London.
   When Arthur heard the tale, he blamed himself, even more than he praised those whom he had sent into such danger. With all his knowledge of Eschwine, he had not felt it fully. Savage demonry, beyond example, was indeed very near the great city.

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CHAPTER XI.

THE PERPLEXITY OF ARTHUR AND THE MISSION OF OISIN.

I have repented of the time that I entreated
That thou shouldst not have thy choice.
                          --LLYWARCH.

THOSE were noisy and busy days around London, preceding the coronation. There was other marshalling, too, for the good will in the air and some touch of policy had brought Vortimer forward with a late display of military zeal; and Arthur, with this aid, and from other elements, began forming a great encampment on the hills. Meantime, counselling with Osburn and Aurelia, he supplied safer men gradually to the gates and strong places which Vortimer had held.
   Cian kept his room, lest, as they quoted him, he should glower, and tear somebody. Although his hurts and later efforts might be reason enough, Arthur felt disquieted, and set himself kindly to heal the inner sore that he feared.
   Cian half rose as the Emperor entered, but Arthur waved him down, saying,--

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  "The wound always has precedence. If some one must suffer for my being here, no doubt Tigernach will stand hard enough for two. Yet I see no need, remembering that such as he have made me."
   "It is beyond mortal power to make one like our Emperor," declared Tigernach, with pleased and hot directness.
   "Why, as to that," began Arthur, laughing. "But it is true I do not owe it all to your people. When before was it ever heard that a man should wave aside the purple to the shoulders of his friend?"
   "He knew the gifts of Caradoc and the gifts of Arthur," said Cian. "The event has proved."
   "How it might have been, we cannot say. It is as it is. I am glad that he is coming to help me. They are at Caer Segeint now, with Maelgwn and the pick of his mountain men, also a very great following."
   "And the Lady Guinevere," suggested Cian, with covert brightening.
   "She also," Arthur answered quietly, and the men understood one another; but Cian conjectured even more than Arthur had in mind.
   "Lancelot takes a long road, in good company," said he.
   That was an ill return, and he felt it so. But the instinct to awaken anxiety for the one whom he did not desire was too strong for him.

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    "It is true," answered Arthur, and spoke of other things.
   When they parted, Cian's eyes were hopeful and thankful, but Arthur bore away more discomfort than should follow a kindly deed. Being only human, whatever the credulous might say, with two women and two men to think of, and no way opening that was free from harm to some one whom he loved, he found himself distressed very sorely. There was that in his heart which told him the wiser choice did not lie with the earlier claim. Yet he had long felt the bright enchantment of Guinevere, and been drawn to her in many ways of late, believing undoubtingly that her sunny love was all for him, though no binding word had been spoken.
   He knew that a halt would be made for the night, in her behalf, about midway in the forty-mile ride which was to be that day undertaken. He promised himself to meet her there in the morning.
   Meantime, chance threw him again with Aurelia.
   The yellow light was fading from the lawn; the brighter stars were just coming into vision. She stood on the lawn hearkening to Oisin, who gesticulated as he spoke. Arthur fancied, resentfully, that the passion of admonition had possessed him. But she turned her face, and he saw that it was not so. "This good man comes to me for aid," she said with grave deference.

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    Arthur looked into her eyes, a little charged with excitement, then at the anxious ones of the evangelist.
   "What aid?" he inquired.
   "It has partly to do with Eschwine," she explained.
   "By way of conversion?" with a smile.
   "No!" broke in Oisin shrilly. Then he recollected himself, hearing their laugh, and added, "If there were any hope--why, surely--even he."
   "We must admit that 'even he' has shown some motions of peace and good will," observed Arthur gently.
   "Trust him not! trust him not!" cried Oisin. "His heart is the home of hell fire. Not seven devils, I say unto you, but seventy times seven!"
   "Then I infer it is not--at present--a mission to the heathen?"
   Arthur's glance questioned both of them with puzzled gravity, although he smiled. Aurelia answered.
   "As a barrier only. Oisin will make his home with the lake-people of the great marsh. He will teach and preach to them, comforting and uplifting them in every way until death. He will take his own homeless villagers also, with such as may join them, to strengthen these hunted creatures. They will settle on firm ground near the river Lea. I have promised, with the Emperor's good will, such land and arms and other aid as may reasonably be needed. Oisin hopes with time to build up an outer and living

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 wall for London on that most open side. And the people of the marsh will no longer be crushed into mere brutishness."
   Cried Oisin: "The distortion of their belief is unspeakable, unspeakable! And as to ritual, I doubt indeed if they have any whatever." His claw-like hands went up and down as he spoke.
   "Is not this better than rainbow-chasing?" asked Aurelia, watching the Emperor's eye.
   "Nothing could be braver or grander," answered he. "I will not warn you from slow dying by marsh-poison, Oisin; you have taken counsel of One greater than I. I would ask His blessing of you, for in that name only shall we conquer."
   So Arthur Mabuter had the blessing of Oisin; and Oisin had of him whatever might be any aid and stay.
   The image of Aurelia, royal, yet not beyond archness, haunted Arthur in the early hours of the night. But he slept at length; and when he woke it was with other fancies, which drove him to the saddle a long time before the brightening of the sky.

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CHAPTER XII.

ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE.

I wanted warmth and color.
                          --TENNYSON.

ALL along the highway between London and that fair city whose ruins underlie the Silchester of later time, villages attested the westward shifting of life and traffic that followed the loss of Kent, Sussex, and the lower Thames. Of these a few were still Roman in part, though the largest had grown up on Celtic lines.
   It did not suit the gay court people to abide in any. They chose rather one of the wild spots which lay between, beloved by wandering folk and by citizens willing to take some risk with their outing. Here were you at once in both worlds; the merchant's caravan and the merry riding-party being proper to the glade, while yet the Saxon scout might prowl around its border in the dusk, or the great bear take complacently the measure of its shadow by the light of the moon.
   But there was clearly no present danger of human enemy nor of wild beast. Long before Arthur

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