William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter II: With the Guard of the Gate lyrics

CHAPTER II WITH THE GUARD OF THE GATE. Of manly disposition was the youth. – ANEURIN. THE two travellers pa**ed from the high ground to the causeway which pierced the strip of marsh that lay just beyond the city wall at and near the Ermine gate. The air was foul, the fog wrapping them closely. Dim forms, which might mean anything, even fancy, brushed by them. All sounds were muffled. Those ahead, though near, had seemingly grown more distant. The wall, when at last it loomed over them, was very welcome. Ascending a little, they entered a broad gateway. A light shone transversely. They saw before them the glint of crossing metal, and the two helmeted spearmen who thus barred their way. The customary challenge was given. "We are friends," answered Llywarch, "and glad enough to get in out of the corpse-breath. We are officers of Arthur the Emperor, too, no matter what we may look like in this guise." His eyes ran dismally over himself. [Page 24] "Moreover, we bear a letter from him to your city rulers," added Cian. The soldiers were opening the way, awed, yet grinning as often as their eyes met the figure of the miry Prince of Argoed; but one came forward, lantern in hand, with a light, quick step, at whose gesture the spear-points dropped again. "Your first words," he said, "would have let you through over willingly, for a British fighting man is of all men the most welcome just now. And I do not doubt you shall have the greater honor for slight delay. But this is matter of moment, it would seem, and must be referred to the captain of the guard. Call him;" and he turned to one of the men. They could see that he had a slight figure, unarmored, as though he had risen in haste to make inquiry; a young subaltern, it was plain, and of a type to hold boyishness well into riper years. Close-curling hair between red and gold, a light pointed mustache, an alert, intelligent face, a mantle of rich red stuff and tossing embroidery, a general impression of quick motion and brightness, – these made up the rest of the half-shadowed picture. All his attire ran very near a delicate foppery. A two-edged sword of the old leaf pattern hung sheathed from his side. His belt bore also a dagger and an elfin-like forester's horn. Cian looked him over, with sudden recognition. [Page 25] "I know you very well, Dynan, son of the Three Shouts; it seems, though, you do not remember me." Dynan's face lighted responsively. He stepped forward, offering his hand. "How should I know you," he answered, " without your chariot, and back yonder in the shadow. Moreover, you have thrown something around the natural golden glitter of you," as indeed the dense fog had prompted. "And this," he continued, "Llywarch of Argoed, surely! – in misfortune?" and he began to laugh. "Yes, Llywarch, who swam the Duglas with you to get at certain Saxons. He would like to swim a few more rivers just now. Known at present as Llywarch the Wallower." "We thought you had gone home," said Cian. "Rightly," answered Dynan. "But who could stay there? By the time all my neighbors had quarrelled with me because I wouldn't make fairy gold according to my lineage, and hadn't any coin of my own, I found it best to do my fighting farther away, in town-service. "And so you chose London!" suggested Llywarch disparagingly. Dynan raised his eyes with a quick movement. "Not first nor most wisely," said he. "I have eaten the bread of Caer Segeint the Beautiful. I have held [Page 26] the gates, also, of the White Town of the Wrekon, the Shining City. But this – I call it the sulking den, the cave of unreason, the hive that quarrels inwardly, unappeasably." "Don't snarl at the paymaster, lad. Never do that," announced a strong voice, nearing them. A hand was laid familiarly on Dynan's shoulder – a hand with a strong tendency to grip, and showing the knuckles over plainly; for this Osburn the Frank was a very oak of a man, everything about him giving the impression of rooted strength. He had a large forehead over keen blue eyes, and a way of thrusting out his long chin, as he uttered his curt sentences. His broad, bony face was bearded all over with stubble, in contrast to the mustachioed Britons. "I am centurion of the gate," he explained." That is all just now. Where I am put, I stay. Where I am sent, I go. And I don't growl about it. I don't, if the money comes. What, then, have you brought us?" "A letter-imperial from Arthur, our emperor," answered Llywarch formally. "It is addressed to the ruler or rulers of London, by his or their proper style or title, whosoever and whatsoever he or they – and it – may be." Osburn's face twitched with grim enjoyment. "The council is trying to find out," he replied dryly." They will scarce hear you to-night." [Page 27] "I pray you arrange for audience to-morrow then," said Cian. "The emperor will bear no trifling." "Amen!" responded Osburn. "A strong hand is needed. Dynan, see who is uppermost at the basilica. If Constantine, all will be well. Tell him. If not – the best you can. Shout, if beset. Any one of the three shouts, – your inheritance." Dynan laughed. "About all of it, except a fund of tolerance for bad jokes." Forthwith he was gone for his armor. Following Osburn, who followed Dynan, the envoys entered, through a narrow side pa**age, a lighted guard-room in a bastion-like thickening of the wall. Here all seemed in practicable order and readiness. Armor, chiefly bronze, hung on the walls with a reddening gleam. Weapons were shining where they leaned together in corners or from racks that held them. Large men of divers aspects, though sufficiently alike in attire, sat about or lounged or stood. One pair of them looked up from a board of draughts, or some such game. A soldierly set, but gathered from everywhere, for a few seemed Britons. Osburn turned to Llywarch: "Better leave your shell, it needs brightening;" and, at the word, one came forward, grimacing, to render aid. It was not possible to look at the mud-caked paladin very solemnly. He took their mirth cheerily, as usual. Presently they were ushered into what had been [Page 28] a series of cells, where, on the smallest possible scale, the Roman officers had persisted of old in their elaborate bathing system. The ornaments were mostly plastered over now, and the partitions knocked down for greater elbow room; but water was to be had very amply. Pa**ing thence to the dining-hall, they found it absurdly narrow for its length, as the conditions compelled. The mural paintings were preserved, though fading; two long processionals, which could never have been very good. On the board sundry Roman pieces of varying merit still held their ground amid spoils of raid or purchase, mementos brought from over sea, and chance findings of every kind, a very strange medley. A vase of coralline Samian ware, with hunting scenes winding over it, beside a green-ribbed Saxon goblet, translucent and tapering slenderly; a silver platen alive with racing nymphs under an acorn-shaped cup, older than the Celts, of polished Kimmeridge coal. Two other officers awaited them at supper; and soon the soldiers off guard came in, taking the lower seats. The talk began, wandered, then came to an end. All saw that Osburn was listening uneasily. At last he held up Dynan's elfin horn – transparent as the summer heaven, yet threaded with wild scrollwork of fire. [Page 29] "He has left what some call his luck," said Osburn gravely, neither denying nor affirming, as became a man who had served respectfully under many gods, and knew that strange influences were astir among men. "But we have it, and he goes on our errand," answered Llywarch. "Do you thus read the omen?" "God forbid that we should waste time in construing what a few minutes will reveal. But ask Cian, if you will. He has been to the Druids." One of the lesser officers looked at Cian with heightened interest. The other made the sign of the cross. Cian's lip twitched. "Oh, this horn is not of the devil," said he. "You know the tale." "Not certainly," said Osburn. "Then my prophecy is that Llywarch, being glib of tongue and smooth of humor, will surely tell you." Llywarch bowed low, but fell in with their wish. "Before our time," he said, "there were dwarfs and elves and powers of enchantment in the land, as all men know; and some have lingered on in hidden places, now and then showing themselves, for good or ill, to one of our race. In deep glens and forest shadows you meet them, it is said, and chiefly by the fountains that come bubbling up with the life of the under-world. [Page 30] "In such a country as this dwelt Dynan's mother's mother's mother, I know not how remote in ancestry. One day, pa**ing through the meadows to bathe, as was her custom, in a secret pool fed by undying springs under curtaining boughs, she heard a faint cavern-muffled call from before her, and was minded to return. But coming a little nearer, she found the place quite vacant, save for dipping ouzels and water-rats that went gliding away. Having waited a while, she laid aside her garments, and stepped in through the shallows. Then again out swelled the cry, but now deep-throated, vehement, exultant, and very near, seeming to heave up the water before some bodily presence. It thrilled and wrapped and all but overcame her; yet she sprang away, snatching her clothing, and wrapping it around her as she ran. And, running thus, she heard yet a third time that voice of the under-world, but now sent after her in accents of more than human despair. Yet she had seen no form at all; and the Three Shouts was the only name she could ever give, or which might be given." "But what is this to Dynan?" demanded Osburn. "Why, if the story be told truly, she must have sought that pool again – overcoming her fear, or because of it, for there are strange things in enchantment. It is thought, also, she made tryst with him otherwhere. A dimness, not human nor heavenly, was seen beside her in lonely rambles; and one starlit [Page 31] eve she had vanished quite away. Long afterward she returned, and bore a son among her own people, with a tale of wedlock in wild, lonely places, by rites unknown; and this magical token, wrought by no earthly hand, she showed as her voucher. When the right lips blow it, the voice of the Three Shouts will be sent abroad, and hosts of terrible power will come to the rescue. But they exact their price, and claim their own." Cian took the horn from Osburn's hand, poising it carefully. "Shall I blow it, for trial?" said he. "Forbear!" cried his host uneasily. Even while he yet held it, yielding, there came a far cry to them. All looked through the wall windows toward the house-lights, which glimmered across a broad open belt. "No distress in that!" exclaimed Osburn. "He is on the way." "Good," said Llywarch. "Now make Cian tell you how he saved a pack of wolves this evening from a terrible lady." "What!" "Aurelia, daughter of Constantine," explained Cian gravely. "So she fought the wolves?" queried Osburn. "Protecting her little sister." "And she hewed down well?" [Page 32] "You should have seen. But the axe wearied her." "Of course, of course!" and Osburn looked from one of his officers to another with eager appeal. "There's a woman, grand and lovely! Emperor's blood, they say. A king's daughter, at any rate! To-night will show." Some of his men looked uncertain or indifferent, but the most were evidently with him. Cian and Llywarch turned to each other in congratulation. "For how long?" suggested Cian. "There you have it. That is the worst. How long? – I don't know. I don't know my own title in this place. One day I am centurion – when the Romans, as they call themselves, are uppermost. The next, I am commander of a hundred – then the Britons, so called, rule. Once Constantine has been consul; once, tribune. Now he is to be king. And there have been chiefs and princes and governors, and what not. And the factions wrangle, and the city goes to ruin, and the Saxons draw nearer, and the wolves howl about the gates. Whatever else we need, we need – Arthur." Seeing that he longed for it, they told him then fully of Arthur the Guledig, – Arthur the Emperor, as men would say. They told what manner of man this was in camp and court and daily converse, who had risen steadily, a star of hope for all the land; [Page 33] his campaigns, how fought, and whither tending; his every hope and plan so far as made known among his following, while yet he stood there by the northern border, watchful. "Stanch men, like you," said Llywarch, "are men after his own heart." Osburn kept silence a minute. Much of this did not come newly to him; but it was a tale well told again, and they rounded hints and fragments with fuller and surer knowledge. At last he said, – "I like the wise brain; I like the strong hand – the man who can learn from Rome, live for Britain, and yet value any soldier. That leader is mine who has never yet been beaten. If they choose Constantine, and he chooses me, London is for Arthur." They looked at him with widened interest, for he spoke a**uredly. His men followed with sounds and signs of applause, but their eyes opened as at something new. "May it indeed be so!" Cian answered. "What force have you here?" "A legion – which is a half-legion – in fair shape, at the gates and the White Tower. And the citizens turn out – sometimes. And there are always spears – a few – about Caer Collin, our worst border. And the foresters will fight, but as readily against us, for Vortimer of the Andred-wood. The city is full of them now. That is Dynan's danger. What keeps him?" [Page 34] "You can't go fast through the fog." "True. But it's too long. By St. John! – too long." For Osburn was confusedly Christian in his swearing. He clenched his hand as he spoke; when another cry from Dynan brought them all to their feet together. It came from far to the right, and this time there could be no doubt at all of its exceeding urgency. In a breath each man snatched his armor, and then all went tumbling out – one on the heels of another – except the very few that Osburn's hasty word in pa**ing bade remain on guard. He restored some part of order as they ran.