William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XXXVI: The Fiery Trial of Cian lyrics

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE FIERY TRIAL OF CIAN. Arthur of anxious contention. – TALIESSIN. CIAN drew off with all his men to his own domain. He would willingly have dispersed them over his new northern conquest, for the lessening of suspicion, and to avoid the need of choosing in any dreadful strait. But this they withstood, feeling the drift of things as surely as he, and that their own best hope lay in keeping together, and in the tragedy of his soul. For into tragedy it deepened continually, while both in numbers and in hostility his gathering grew. All men had learned, with rejoicing or consternation, that they now had verily an Emperor too militantly Christian for any truce with unbelievers. Altar after altar went down where the elder British faith had made its home. Priest after priest, and proselyte after proselyte, fleeing to their one vale of refuge, brought Cian the same distressful tale. Doubtless it grew in their telling; for Arthur was not wilfully cruel, only stern to tyranny in his new growth of enthu- [Page 346] siasm and sacred duty. The sense of invincibility, too, is an evil thing, even for the grand in soul. The sufferers and also those who had been with Cian from the first began to hold him unduly supine, and wanting in spirit. Was it fear of the tyrant that withheld him? Or weakness of old comradeship unnerving a more holy fealty? And suddenly the murmurs rose all about him into a storm of denunciation, for the despoiling hand had swept over Mona. Not one priest, not one worshipper, remained there, unless hidden in some sea-cavern or woodland refuge. The priesthood strode in, haggard of face and hot of soul, where Cian stood dismally; and one spoke bitter words to hear, of the sin and shame of it, but he answered nothing. Others would have him feel the great power within his grasp; the victory surely given by the gods that loved the soil, now wailing abroad like shades of the unburied; the endless glory awaiting the strong savior of his people. He uttered no word. Then the most incensed and vehement of them – he who had led the first troop from the sacred isle, and still bore ever the sword at his side – arose, and upbraided this recreant champion, with shaking forefinger, to his face. He upbraided him as flaunter and braggart, flourishing in the rifled glory of the dead, but daring no single effort in behalf of the living. "Off with the magic vestment," [Page 347] he cried. "Let it pa** to worthy hands from hands unworthy." Then, while the others grew silent, and looked as men look when more has come about than they would plan or wish, Cian, very still of mien, beckoned a lad to lay off his mantle, and take the golden vestment from about his body, then yielded it as an offering before them, bowing lowly. Yet, as he rose erect, his breast heaved and heaved again, for he felt that he could not endure much more. At last a priest arose who spoke gently, – not their eldest, but one whom all, with reason, revered. "Prince Cian," said he, "it is a woful thing that I should live to know and feel the bitterness of our people, and that there is no help at all for them in any crying, even from a man like thee. It matters not greatly that I, old and poor, who had thought myself unharmful to any man, should be driven forth from the home where I have dwelt so long. But, Cian, I swear to you, and lie not, that a hand worse than the winged dragons of old is stretched above all Britain, and will spare no grief of heart hereafter unto any, nor leave man, woman, or child in faith and freedom; and that hand is Arthur's. There is one who sees wildly, and would have punishment follow all who have clearer eyes; and that one is Arthur. There is a man whom the gods have made strong, and the dark powers have made malign, and who [Page 348] uses his strength for the undoing of the feeble; and that man is Arthur. Also, there is a protector whom men look to, who might withstand and end all this, if but he would; and that protector is not Arthur." Then Cian groaned aloud. "Truly," said he, "I have no blame for any man thinking as ye think, and feeling as ye feel. But I hope yet. A cloud may be black as chaos, yet ever it pa**es quickly. Not otherwise I deem of the cloud on the soul of Arthur. I look to see him again the godlike hero, comrade of my earlier days, fervent in heart, yet compelling none, the bright imperial champion of our land. Not until in far greater extremity will I sin against that fealty." They heard him gravely, watching with eyes accustomed to read men, though the inner fires were distracting. But they forebore troubling him further; and one whispered, as they went their way, "Yet a little, more beating of the waves, and the chain will part altogether." Even the zealot who had demanded the golden corselet lifted it again, with his finger on the mistletoe spray. "We dare not leave the heart without that sacred enlightening," said he. "Take it again, Defender of the Mysteries, and may it so work on you that you may know which fealty is most binding and highest." [Page 349] None gainsaid the words or the gift. Cian took it again with calm obeisance. But when they had gone, he was abashed in his own eyes, because this once he had let his words outrun his vision; for the a**urance of better things indeed eluded him. He had none of that strange revealing which at times, like the bannered splendors of a winter night, gave illumination and high uplift of soul. His fond wish and the urgency of great need had spoken, but little more. A chill fell on him. He did not know; he could not say. Then revolt rose against that soul of power which once had been his demigod; not for the wrongs to the weak ones, his brethren only, but his own bitterer wrong of the heart's devotion ill-requited. He clutched his sword-hilt, with a curse on the blind bigotry that could so deform the first of men, and most of all, on the poisonous instigator, Oisin. Then the dead evangelist rose in fancy before him, as on the lawn of Constantine's now ruined villa, or leaning from the gallery of the great council-hall, or springing kestrel-like at the great Eschwine on the platform of the lake-village palisade, – bitter, dark, narrow, ecstatic, but ever well-willing toward his kind, and faithful unto d**h. And shame swept him that one so blind should yet be such a brand for burning truth into men, while he, Cian, with all the illumination of an elder day, could only doubt [Page 350] and waver in a pa**ion of torment. Yet thought with thought, and hope with dread, strove in him; and nothing was done. While in such moods he had a letter from Llywarch, warning, yet rea**uring for the time, and threaded with uneasy instinct of pleading for the great leader, as knowing him deeply in blame. Arthur, it said, had been minded to go with force against Cian; but better counsels had prevailed, all the more for the soft urgency of Guinevere, now awaiting her Emperor and the nuptial day at Camelot. Half angry with himself, half mirthful that one so eager could be justly chided for tarrying, the Emperor had flown southward, with all other wrath in abeyance. There could be no sort of danger until his return after a fitting season. Meanwhile, the writer adjured his friend to take peaceably and of free will such steps as would avoid all later harshness and clashing. Now, this menace of attack had been floating, with no clear outline, in Cian's mind; but to hear it thus from another, although his best friend and in exceeding kindness, awoke him into sudden resentment. What, then! it was no more than a chance, the petulant message of a light-loving woman, that Arthur's blade had not busied itself with his household already. Even now, what safety? – with the sword held suspended until the marriage kiss were [Page 351] given, the cheek of Guinevere the only shield between his heart and his Emperor's deadly blow! There should be no disbandment. He, Cian, was but in his right as a freeman of the hills; and among them he would make it good, with those who followed him. Facing the fighting life of the land, it might be that the all-conquering one would first learn a limit to his career. However that might be, those who looked to Cian for shelter must not be turned forth into the blast of tyranny while he could bar the door for them. Therefore he went about with a settled and resolute face among his people, taking hands with firm clasp which had long been impotently clutching. Also he sent abroad for a yet greater muster and supplies of every kind from every city within call or bidding, and in the forging of arms all artisans were kept busy.