William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XXIV: From Loidis to Legiolum lyrics

CHAPTER XXIV. FROM LOIDIS TO LEGIOLUM. I was truly in the enchantment. – TALIESSIN. THERE was some knowledge of the Saxon invasion at Loidis before them, but nothing worse than they knew. This freed Llywarch of a dread which was troubling his new happiness. With fair speed he need no longer fear any evil thing as a result of his lingering by the Scaur. Neither his mother nor his sister would have any truce with such self-punishment. Had he not told them, when first he came, that the Emperor was warned and watchful? Moreover, in fact, the Saxons had not yet moved their way, nor any way, so far as the wisest wood-rangers knew. Sanawg found herself invested with the halo of many welcomes. People came wonderingly from far to look on the daughter of Gwydion, the one who had spoken face to face daily with Edyrn of the olden time, a hero long lost to men, the bride of the hollow cliffs, the bride of mystery, the bride of Argoed. They bore away the memory of a face, lovely indeed, [Page 242] but with a strange loveliness, not elsewhere known, yet marvellously contented already. Tales were told beside the fire-leaping in rough cabins on the woodland fringes, of just such gracious beings, who chose willingly for a time a mortal home, too often vanishing. Nevertheless, they had no fears of her, but loved her from the beginning; and the ladies who so long had ruled them loved her, after the first astonishment of her presence, best of all. To Llywarch's mother, who held her own memories of far years, and had known Isurium, she was as a messenger from an earlier and a brighter world. Of Edyrn the good dame questioned often – young Edyrn, the hope of the North, most head-strong, most splendid, most indomitable of princes! Gwydion, too, she bore in mind, whose unpretending wisdom and sanctity might well have won the power to work miracles, as men still uncouthly made claim for him; and this was the very daughter of Gwydion! Was ever a dowager princess of the hills and memories blessed like her in a daughter-in-law? The news of a half-century came to her all at once by her only son's more than lovely bride. Sanawg was most willing to tell, and tell again, whatsoever she knew, if only the time left to her and to Llywarch before their parting were not so very meagre. For, little as he dared delay, he dared still less take [Page 243] her with him across the path of the raging heathen. From Argoed, should they turn that way, there was always retreat open down the stream to the river Dee and its goodly Roman-walled city. Dynan, unlike himself, had made a plea for lingering. Surely, said he, it would be wise to send forth scouts who should ascertain the enemy's purpose, distance, and true course through the wood. Then there would be surer news to carry. Llywarch scarcely made answer, being perturbed and ready for anger with every such echo of his own inner tempting voices; and it was so very evident that haste was the supreme need! But the fact lingered in his mind, as having to do with Dynan's words in the starlight before the cavern, and with a coldness toward Freur at which Sanawg had hinted. For already the cave-queen had read her sister of the open air, – the pleased expectancy in that pensive face when the fairy's son drew near, the hurt disappointment which followed, the observant, staidly smiling kindness to herself, as from one under government of will and pride, seeking other companionship than that withheld, and doing the offices of friendship justly and fondly, yet troubled, uncomprehending. Nor did any of them comprehend him then; but later came to know him for a truly loving man, strained against his love and against his will, daring not (in mercy) to seek her further favor, yet [Page 244] hardly able to leave her so, and with the shadow of an unknown terror awaiting him. As the two men rode away together, Llywarch puzzled over him displeasedly. But the stir of motion made his own heart more lenient and hopeful. It was hardly in nature for a genial, comrade-loving man, crowned so supremely with what is best in life, to continue thinking ill of a tried friend whose mirth was failing sadly. Moreover, those remembered words had a spectral sound in after musing; and surely that face beside him was haunted. What could it mean, save matter to be dealt with by masters of mystery? If only he had thought of Gwydion! But there was Cian yet, and at the worst there was Merlin. Yet his pulse thrilled as he espied those eyes again with friendly furtiveness, wondering what they might have seen. It was at their first night halt, well over the eastern rim of Argoed. Dynan had been jesting excitedly, though pitifully enough to one who thought he knew; then broke off in sullen failure. Llywarch found him alone, out under the racing clouds, in the chill, staring toward a woodland wall whence came unearthly murmurings. His face had something of expectation, desperately defiant. He turned, at the touch of Llywarch's hand on his shoulder, with a wild anger in his eye. "Not me!" Llywarch protested gently. "For-[Page 245] give me if I have let evil come to you unaided. Tell me about it, Dynan." Then the slight figure turned again from him, shook, and broke, sobbing, with bowed head. Llywarch stood silent awhile, pitying; then urged again kindly, "Tell me, dear friend." So Dynan gathered himself, and said, "What more shall I tell? And what must you think of me? Is it not all like – lunacy?" "Most things in this life seem so at one time or another," answered Llywarch. "I have had little experience in things out of it. But what is there, Dynan, that a man cannot face?" The fairy's son smiled ruefully. "How should I know?" said he. "But I have `faced,' as you call it, far more than I had any longing to. Oh, I thought I could bear all – till I came again to Argoed. And you, too, so happy! Ah, Llywarch, you haven't seen!" "Let me see, then." "How can you? Can the mountain bird see the forms that come about the dweller in the depths?" "Am I a vulture, then? And are you a whale?" Dynan was tempted into smiling, but his face grew sombre gain. "You cannot," he repeated slowly. "I have seen when you were by." Then Llywarch shuddered; and the thought came to him dismally that eternal parting were most mer- [Page 246] ciful for Freur, at any cost of heartbreak. A bridegroom with the gift of seeing too many about the altar! Scoffers visible to him, guessed by her, mowing and menacing in the bridal chamber. That were a ghastly wedding surely! Even in fancy he found it all too grisly, and would eagerly be back at the camp-fire. But his first thought was for his friend. "So," said he, "you gave up my sister? Showed her chill indifference, too, rather than horror. Thank you, Dynan." The sufferer's face warmed at the tone. "You understand me!" he cried. "Then we are so far of one race still. I will try to tell you. Yet with what hope? You, so human! there is no mist in your kindly blood: I, an echo out of some past that men have willingly let go by, a link to forms of gleam and shadow, coming out of deep places, watchful, sinister, lurking, hovering!" "Yet," said Llywarch sturdily, "I had thought your token might command them;" and he pointed to the horn by Dynan's side. "I also trusted it," answered the child of faery. "Until lately I have felt toward the unseen as a most mighty friend. But now – I cannot say. It would be a summoning, a signal, – but for what to follow? Be sure I shall not blow my horn, except in extreme need to more than me.' [Page 247] "If indeed I can comprehend, or you can bear to tell, no more," said Llywarch; "let us return." But Dynan hesitated. "Wait," he said; "it began like this." Then, with many breaks and much doleful grimacing, as of one halfminded to jeer or pretend to jeer at himself, he told a story of strange and growing visitation, indescribable for lack of clear outline and certain utterance, shifting from form to form, from tone to tone, but ever threatful or insistent, ever taunting, darkening, and behind all unfailingly the phantom green of the lady of the hollow hill. His friend listened solemnly. "It pa**es my sk**," he said. "We will try wiser folk when we may. Let us hope that, in the mean time, the Saxons and your thronging tormentors may have a set-to at each other, and make havoc of both." "I had thought of that. They shall have a fair field right willingly – to make final havoc of me." He spoke no more of ghostly beleaguering, and went back to the light with readiness. Not long after he fell quietly asleep. By night of the next day they were with Arthur.