William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter VI: The Home of Aurelia lyrics

CHAPTER VI. THE HOME OF AURELIA. Usual it is for maids to be lovely. – TALIESSIN. OSBURN had found Constantine enthroned in the basilica among his adherents, not very certain of anything outside, but comforting himself with their number and spirit, the insignia of royalty about him, and above all the augury of his own countenance. This trick of outline had much to do with his aspirations. The man who duplicated the world-conqueror stood pledged from birth to mighty deeds. How could fate fail him? He brightened as Osburn entered, but rather with relief than heroism. There was welcome also in the faces below, though some had looked ill-pleased over the sudden and great uplifting of this mercenary. He knew it well, and knew them also, not wholly with disapproval. For those were days when every trafficker must be something of a fighting man as well; and the mailed London merchants, with their sons and nephews and followers, made a martial array indeed. There was a sprinkling of foreign features; for the commercial [Page 58] houses of Gaul had yet some agents there of their own people, and many adventurers from abroad had taken service. Plainly this was the side of civilization, or what remained of it, militant by necessity. Osburn was soon aware of some natural disquiet among the Celtic part of the men-at-arms whenever the truculent uproar of their kin outside grew louder than usual. He took his measures promptly, being the one man of either side who knew just what to do and what he dealt with. All the forum space was cleared by trusty legionaries, and securely guarded thereafter. Another gate of the city-wall gave in its adhesion when his men appeared there. The merchants' quarter, already held for Constantine, was more strongly occupied. The governor of the White Tower had been temporizing, but Osburn ended that by a sudden movement in force; and the partisans of Arthur and Constantine in that garrison threw all open to him directly. Before morning, through management and active skirmishing, three-fifths of the city were in Roman hands. But the remainder was held in disorderly fashion by fierce men, growing more and more reckless, as they felt the tide running with greater force against them. Few had anything to lose beyond what pillage might repay. Very many were of the woods, half savage, and caring nothing for the city. Out of their exasperation arose the threat of fire; a shrill [Page 59] cry borne to Constantine in many echoes, making him his enemies' ally. For he had much at stake, and his partisans had more, – had their all. Osburn would have met the issue sternly, but Osburn was disquieting him already. Action was too instant; things went well too quickly; he had felt that it could not last. Now and here he would make a stand. So he interfered suddenly, shutting his ears to all dissuasion, and closed a truce with Vortimer. Each was to hold his ground, and a new and greater council was to settle or unsettle everything on the evening of that day. When this had been told by Llywarch in outline, Cian shook his head. "Who would hold a throne by mercy of the torch?" he said. "The head which bows will never keep that crown." Cian was breakfasting in his room after the bath, with his friend for company. "The daughter said nothing when it was told us. But – you should have seen her." "That may yet be done, and ought to be. She will think me a sluggard or a sorely crippled man." "Also, it may be well to see where you are; for night shows little." The house lay four-square over a great area, and was built casemate-fashion, one story in height and depth. A great court, which had been turned into a [Page 60 garden, filled the interior. Two lesser wings jutted out from the rear corners. One of these, by the purity of its art, may have been the original home or house-kernel, but was now overflowing with looms and fabrics, in proof that manufacture, no less than more gracious employments, went on in the villa. The other was evidently a granary; though it had been in its day a temple of Minerva, and afterward a Christian chapel, as inscriptions went to show. The front portico, long and lofty, was very beautiful in an ornate, florid way. Care had been taken to preserve it; with the utmost need, for there was no surviving power to repeat such work, as the sorry patching of the mosaic floor demonstrated all too plainly. The outer wall, enclosing the lawn and shrubbery, was recent also, the stones being uncemented. There was a stir of population. From the rear came an intermittent jangling, where the repairs of Cian's chariot were going on. Also there was much ado about harvesting, as wains, laden or empty, came and went between the granary wing and the fields. Entering the garden-court, they found quietness. Hedgerow walls and ma**es of shrubbery, with purple grape arbors and beds of autumnal flowers between them, broke it up very pleasantly. Every vista ended in rows of ornamented columns, white or veined or tinted, along some one of the inner house [Page 61] fronts, with graceful statuary niched therein, or standing where the alleys crossed. There were fountains, too, fed by conduits from a hillside rivulet – a very great one in the centre, which made the chief sound of the place. Beyond this, a little within a ring of evergreen, the only monster lay – a white sphynx with unusual attributes – of doubtful meaning. Below its impa**ive countenance a living human face looked upward, all else being hidden by the creature's bulk. The brow was broad; the outlines were manly, kind, and noble, but with intense foreseeing horror in every line. A tender and shapely feminine hand, belonging to the left forearm of that stony, crushing thing, was thrown over against the victim's cheek in a negligent caress. Just now a little child, Sylvia, who had seen it every day, was idly smoothing the dust from those lady-like fingers, and leaning her bright locks where the heart of the terror should be. Perhaps it had given a turn to her questioning; for her sister made answer with one of the subtly and wildly poetic myth-tales of the British race. Aurelia was seated in a slanting wicker chair, half under the cedar shadows. A rolled man*script, lately fallen from her hand, showed that she had been reading. Both arms were uncovered, as also her sandalled feet, but for the light straps across them, and [Page 62] the brown tresses of her hair, in ample undulations. Her scarlet robe, a color held peculiarly noble, was fastened above both shoulders by golden fibulæ, ornamented with blue enamel, the especial pride of Celtic art; for she had the life and love of her own people in her, whatever the fancied claims of Rome. A larger brooch below her neck displayed a Cupid on a dolphin, sporting over the same blue background for their sea. Her large gray eyes were at rest. She spoke leisurely, as relating what was well known. Her voice was raised a little to be heard above the falling water, wherewith it chimed very well. Cian had found her marvellous in the cloud and the twilight, in the stress of action and peril; but she belonged with even more enchantment to this perfect splendor and peace. He heard Llywarch whisper, "A royal girl indeed! And such kind eyes!" Then they both awaited, unseen, the end of her story. She continued: "So by reason of this great fault and failure, Cunebelline could not pa** into the upper world, but was held here on earth. And the dark goddess of the star-eyes felt pain at heart. In her very great love of him, she came where he was, often, at the ending of the day. But he only felt the night wind breathing, and heard, when she spoke, the faint murmur of the water; for she was of another and subtler kindred than his, from far away. He was, indeed, doubtfully aware of a presence unseen; but this grew on him as a fear, and she could not be with him any more, unless in sorrow. "Then she besought that she might come before him in such form as he could see and touch without dread, and by choice a beautiful woman; yet, if not that, at least a woman still, however wrinkled and unlovely. But even this might not be granted, except as a goddess, for love of a man, should become far less than he! That was hard measure, and for a long time beyond her; but the yearning grew until the life of the upper world was more a life of torment than any life below. "One daybreak a strange and lovely thing was found, night-black and lustrous, with silken mane, coat of satin, wistful velvet eyes, – a creature incomparable for power and beauty. And he said, 'Surely some benignity of heaven has sent me this marvel;' for no one could deem her altogether earthly. Therefore he took exceedingly great care of her, saying, 'Henceforward I will have no other steed to bear me in peace or war.' "Then came to him great continual gain in dominion and glory. For she whispered wise counsel to him when none were by, which brightened the land, keeping men kind and genial. When he would ride afield, no bird could bear him more swiftly. And the rush of them in battle was like the rush of the [Page 64] lightning. There was panting and fleeing before their aspect more than from the coming thrust or blow. "Many kings took him willingly for their emperor; his ships went afar, bringing wealth to him from the ends of the world; he was known openly for the equal friend of Rome; and every one in every land had heard of Cunebelline the golden. "All this he owed to her; for he was but a man, and no very surpa**ing man, left alone. Moreover, when the end of his life drew near, she did not leave him to die, like all others of our race, but bore him bodily away among the stars." "Oh, did she?" inquired Sylvia doubtfully. Aurelia laughed with an awakening air, having grown dreamful in the peace of that nook, with the lulling of the fountain-fall and her own voice, weaving again the fairy web of enchantment. "Why, so runs the story," she answered; "and I have thought it a pretty one. Don't you?" Sylvia looked thoughtful. "Yes," she replied hesitatingly. Then she shook her head. "I think the goddess was a fool," said she. "Hush, dear!" protested Aurelia, though not greatly horrified. "Newer gods have come and gone, and yet newer ones are here; but let us not be disrespectful to the oldest of the old." "If she were a very pretty horse," conceded Syl-[Page 65] via. "But then," with a sudden freak of judicial wisdom, "suppose she had turned out a donkey! How did she know?" Aurelia laughed again. "Oh, don't ask me to help the immortals out of that," answered she. "You may find yourself playing the donkey some day, Sylvia." But a footstep had drawn her attention, and she was rising in pleasure, with a greeting. "I feared we could not see you to-day, she said." "Oh," answered Llywarch for his friend, "it is of no manner of use to poke spears into this gnarled old campaigner. . Nothing does him any good at all." "One thing at least – the legend of the starry goddess," declared Cian, bowing. "Is this magic, or simple eavesdropping?" inquired she. "Now, my father would never listen to that tale, nor to anything against the faith of his first great namesake. As for me, I have a feeling for that excellent legionary from Mesopotamia who built over yonder a temple to 'the gods of all nations."' Cian made answer dryly, "I see a Christianity with an old British tap-root and a vast hospitality." But she understood his approval. Sylvia changed the topic by walking up with deliberation, and laying her hand experimentally on his silver mistletoe spray. Then she looked up into his [Page 66] face, considering gravely. "I am not a bit afraid of you," she observed, "if it is magic." He laughed with the others. "Thank you, my dear child," he answered simply. "Afraid – after he saved us from the wolves," exclaimed Aurelia. "I said I wasn't afraid of him," protested Sylvia, frowning defensively, yet half in mind to cry. Then, taking refuge in him, "Where did you get this pretty thing?" she inquired confidentially. "In a solemn place, very strangely lighted," he replied. "I would scarcely know how to tell any one much more, little Sylvia. But it was after combat with something invisible, whether man or ghost or demon, I do not know." "Oh, I know, I know!" cried Sylvia. "It must have been a goblin. Why, this is a nice story, like Aurelia's. Is it true?" "Pretty well for Sylvia!" laughed Llywarch. "But I am afraid you have ended it all at once, my dear." For Cian was looking absurd. "When did this happen?" inquired Aurelia, controlling her amusement. "Not very long after the return of the Druids to Mona, in the time of Ambrosius. I was hardly more than a lad. But for this," and Cian touched the golden garment, "I, too, should hold it a dream. After all, the past is dreamland." [Page 67] "What was it like?" inquired Llywarch, though he had heard before. "A room below ground, all mirrors and smoothness; a great form lying in state, and multiplied in them all around; a huge lamp on shining ebony, dazzling by reflection from every side; a sword flashing at me like a thousand, so that one could not tell the real blade from the phantasms; a sudden darkness, a form that wrestled with me therein, and fell with no sound; a deep prophetic voice going after me, as I fled with my prize up the narrow way, – and that is all." Here Tigernach appeared among them, announcing rather sourly, "The king is coming, in the Roman fashion." He added more suavely to Aurelia, "It is indeed a fine display." Yet hardly Roman so truly as a Rome-imitating medley. The purple robe of Constantine was excessive in amplitude and depth of dye. A great tuft of scarlet feathers went before him, borne aloft. A flaming banner came after him, with a gilded eagle above it. Three hundred horsemen in gay armor rode behind, the sunshine glorifying their bronze, their j**elled weapons, their ruddy, blowing scarfs, ta**elled with acorns of gold. More than a score of them had wound about their necks the golden chain of leadership. At the bridge there was a blare of music from the head of the cavalcade, answered by the population and [Page 68] the garrison of the villa with varied outcry. A faint echo came from the distant concourse about the Ermine gate. Three by three the armored horsemen rode over and on to what was now a royal palace indeed. Constantine greeted his guests with majesty, tempered by the deference due to those who came from a greater even than he. It suited him presently to put magnificence away, and walk simply with them and his daughter. But none who met them were allowed to forget that it was a monarch with whom they spoke face to face. Aurelia may have felt this unpleasantly, for there was sobriety in her enjoyment. Otherwise, her demeanor did not vary, no one finding more or less than usual of her cordial frankness and queenly charm. At the first turning, Sylvia came running to meet them, her little soul full of the wolves and their teeth; also, the fright they had put her in, the valor of Aurelia, the crashing among them of Cian and his chariot. "Oh, how they did scamper!" she cried. It was a bit of news that she had been saving up for him, after her custom, and telling to herself over and over again, with foreknowledge of its absorbing interest. What had come since was to rule her fancy later. That drama of emotion had the foreground. Constantine picked up the little thing, and clasped [Page 69] and kissed her, looking vastly more genuine than when playing at Julius Cæsar. "You won't let the wolves get me, will you?" besought she, for the mere pleasure of rea**urance, being very secure in mind just then. "No, no!" he replied. "Not wolves of any sort. Oh, we have wolves in London too, and some of them put their teeth into your champion last night. But the Saxon wolves are worst of all – those who have driven the poor people of the Stour to our shelter. Princess, there are infants lying cold in the fields where Saxon spears have tossed them. There are homes black as coal and white with ashes. There are altars toppled down where men were used to worship. There are wives, not a few, borne wofully away – lifelong thralls to the men who have slain their husbands. But you should hear Oisin, and doubtless will. We always do hear Oisin. And who can wonder?" Yet there was an accent of weariness. Aurelia explained to her guests, "They begin to call him St. Oisin now, a very zealous man. He was priest of a parish below Caer Collin. Eschwine, the East Saxon, came – his own escape was a miracle. They say that many of his people were tortured in his sight." "In the days of Rome such things could not be," observed Constantine. [Page 70] "You will find the strength and safety of Rome in our great emperor," said Llywarch, with conviction. "Of Britain also," added Cian. "God grant it!" was Constantine's reply. "But – he will want levies and supplies, and they are not in favor with our people. Many put their trust in Vran – you know the story. The head of that wonder – worker, buried in the White Hill, facing seaward, protecting London forever. Why send men to fight in distant quarrels, they say. I but repeat the talk of the town. For my own part, the Saxons have robbed me every way, in ship and caravan, and I am always very willing to have at them." Still there was a bargain in his eye, and the child had been set down. "A chapman in soul!" thought Cian resentfully. "It would be insufferable," declared Aurelia, "to wrap ourselves in a magic cloak of safety, and leave all others to their fate." She spoke with deprecation, if not shame. "Yes," replied her father; "and nothing is too bad for the Saxons. Why, it was but last year that King Aesc of West Kent, after I had duly bought the monopoly of the wool-trade from him, let three ships of my neighbor go by full laden, so that the price fell to very little. When I complained, he burnished up some old charge against me, and held my [Page 71] next convoy for double tribute. Oh, the Saxon is the ruin of the British exporter!" "We ought not to submit to any tribute," said Aurelia, darkening. "The Thames should be as free as the Severn," added Cian. "True," admitted Constantine; "but we count ourselves fortunate when it is half-way open on any terms. Perhaps the emperor may help, and the council. But I fear you will see a bear-baiting, as usual – with Constantine as the bear," he added ruefully. And now they are coming for us."