CHAPTER XI.
THE PRIEST'S DEMAND.
"So the time has come at last," said Ambiorix; "at last the yoke is brokenfrom off the neck of Britain. Blessed be the day that saw the legions ofthe oppressor depart!"
"Yes," replied Martianus, "but will they not return? They have gonebefore; but have they not come back? I take it these Romans get too muchout of us to let us go willingly."
"I have no fear of their return. If Honorius can make terms with thisConstantine and his army, he will never send them back here; he wants themtoo much at home. He has got King Alaric to reckon with, and he has beenlong since drawing every soldier that he can from the provinces intoItaly. No, depend upon it, at last Britain is free."
"Free; yes, if it has not forgotten how to move."
"We haven't all learnt to play the slave," said Ambiorix fiercely, as hestarted from his seat. "There are some who have not sold their birthrightfor the delights of the bath and the banquet, and who are too proud to apethe manners of their masters."
"Peace, my son," interposed the aged priest; "Martianus is not the lessable to help the cause of our country because he seems to be the friend ofthose who oppress it."
"These are but the wild words of youth, father," said Martianus. "By awise man they are forgotten as soon as they are heard. But let us hearwhat Ambiorix has to tell us about the force which we can bring into thefield."
The young chief entered into details which it is impossible to reproduce.Preparations had been made over nearly the whole of Britain, though themore northerly parts, owing to the perpetual attacks of their neighboursthe Picts, had little to contribute in the way of help. Ambiorix knew howmany men could be relied upon in every district; he was acquainted withthe disposition of the representatives of the chief British families; heknew what each would want for himself, to whom he would be prepared toyield precedence, from whom he would claim precedence for himself. All hisviews and calculations were those of a sanguine temper; but he certainlycould show--on paper at least, as we should say--a very respectable amountof strength. When he had finished his account of the resources of Britain,Martianus, who, whatever his faults, had at least a genuine admiration forability, held out his hand--
"This is wonderful!" he said. "You have a true genius for rule. That youshould keep the threads of so complicated a business all so distinct issimply wonderful. You certainly give me hopes that I never had before."
"I never doubted for a moment," returned the young man, "but that whenthis Roman incubus was removed all would go well. Besides, who is there toattack us? We have no enemies."
"No enemies!" replied the other, in a tone of surprise. "Do you forget theSaxons by sea and the Picts by land."
"I believe that neither will trouble us. They are not our enemies, but theenemies of Rome. They have harassed--they were quite right in harassing--theoppressors of the world: they will respect, I am sure, the liberties of afree people. When Britain is as independent as they are we shall befriends."
Martianus could not help smiling sarcastically. "That is very fine. Onewould think that you had been a pupil in one of the schools of rhetoricwhich you so much despise. The most famous of our declaimers could nothave put it better. But I am afraid that there will be some difficulty inexplaining all this to them."
"In any case, we can defend ourselves," returned the young chief, "thoughI do not think that the need will occur."
"Let us hope not," said Martianus, but his tone was not confident orcheerful.
There were, it may easily be supposed, not a few other subjects fordiscussion, and the conversation lasted for a long time, the young chiefshowing throughout such a mastery of details as greatly impressed hiscompanions. When he had finished a brief silence followed. It was brokenby the priest. There was a special solemnity in his tone, which seemed toclaim an authority for his utterances, quite different from the positionthat he had taken up while politics or military matters were beingdiscussed.
"My children," he said, "this is a grave matter. The weal or woe ofBritain for many generations is at stake. If we fail, we may well beundone for ever. You cannot enter on so great an enterprise without thefavour of the gods, and the favour of the gods is not easily to be won.For many years they have lacked the sacrifice which they most prize. Imyself, though I have completed my threescore years and ten, have but onceonly been privileged so to honour them. The time has come for thissacrifice to be offered once more. Have I your consent, my children? Butindeed I need not ask. This is a matter in which I cannot be mistaken, andfrom which I cannot go back."
The young chief nodded assent, but said nothing. He was evidentlydisturbed.
"What do you mean, father?" he said.
"The sacrifice which the gods most prize," answered the old man, "is alsothat which is most prized by men. The most perfect offering which we canpresent to them is the most perfect creature they themselves have made.Sheep and oxen may suffice for common needs; but at such a time as this,when Britain itself is at stake, we must appease the gods with the bloodof MAN."
Martianus grew pale. "It is not possible," he stammered.
"Not only possible, but necessary," calmly returned the priest. "Ourfathers were commonly content to offer those who had offended against thelaws; but in times of special necessity they chose the noblest victims.Even our kings have given up their sons and their daughters. So it must benow."
All this was absolutely horrible to Martianus. He did not believe indeedin Christianity, but it had influenced him as it had influenced all theworld. Whether he was at heart much the better may be doubted. But he wassofter, more refined; he shrank from visible horrors, from opencruelty--though he could be cruelly selfish on occasion--and from bloodshed,though he would not stretch out a finger to save a neighbour's life. Andwhat the priest said was as new and unexpected to him as it was hideous.He had no idea that this savage faith had survived in Britain.
"Father," he said, "such a thing would ruin us. Such a deed would raisethe whole country against us. A human sacrifice! It is monstrous!"
"You are right so far," returned the priest, "the country must not knowit. Britain is utterly corrupted by this new faith, a superstition fitonly for women, and children, and slaves; and I don't doubt but that itwould lift up its hands in horror at this holy solemnity. But there is noneed that it should know it. It must be done secretly--so much I concede."
"And the victim?"
"Well, the days are passed when a Druid could lay his command on Britain'snoblest, and be obeyed without a murmur. The victim must be taken byforce, and secretly."
"And have you any such victim in your thoughts?"
The priest hesitated for a moment; but it was only for a moment. Heresumed in a low voice, which it evidently cost him an effort to keepsteady--
"I have not forgotten the necessity of a choice; indeed for months past ithas been without ceasing in my mind, and now the choice is made. Thevictim whom the gods should have is a maiden, beautiful and pure. She isof noble descent, though her father was compelled, by poverty and theoppression of the Roman tyrants, to follow a humble occupation. Thus sheis worthy to be offered. And yet no true Briton will regret her fate, forshe has deserted the faith of her ancestors for the base superstition ofthe Cross."
"And her name, father?" said both of the conspirators together.
Again the priest hesitated; a close observer might even have seen a traceof agitation in that stern countenance.
"It is Carna," he said, after a pause, which raised the suspense of hishearers almost to agony. "It is Carna, adopted daughter of Count AElius."
And he looked steadfastly at his companions' faces, as if he would havesaid, "I dare you to challenge my decision."
The two started simultaneously to their feet. Not long before, youngAmbiorix, who was then not yet possessed by the fanatical patriotism whichnow mastered him, had admired her beauty and sweetness of manner, and hadhad day-dreams of her as the go
ddess of his own hearth. Then a strongerlove had come in the place of the old. It was not of woman, but of Britainfree among the nations, as she had been before the restless eagles of theSouth had found her, that he thought day and night. Still, he could notcalmly hear her doomed to a horrible death, and for a moment he was readyto rebel against the sentence of the priest.
The older man was terribly agitated. He had been for many years on thefriendliest footing with the Count, a frequent guest at his table, almostan intimate of the house. And Carna was an especial favourite with him.Her sweetness, her simplicity, and a pathetic resemblance that she bore toa dead daughter of his own, touched him on the best side of his nature.
"Priest," he thundered, "it shall not be. I would sooner the whole schemecame to ruin; I would sooner die. A curse on your hideous worship!"
The priest had now crushed down the risings of human feelings which histraining had not sufficed to eradicate.
"You have sworn by the gods," he said, "and you cannot go back. If you donot hesitate to betray Britain, at least you will not dare to betrayyourself. You know the power I can command. Go back from your promise tofollow my leading, and you are a dead man. You are faithful?" he went on,turning to Ambiorix. "You do not draw back?"
The young chief returned a muttered assent.
The older man, meanwhile, was in a miserable condition of indecision andterror. Unbeliever as he was, having long since given up the faith of hisfathers, and never accepted the doctrine of the church but with theemptiest formality, he had not put from his breast the superstitious fearthat commonly lingers when belief is gone. And he knew that the priest'sthreatened vengeance on himself was no empty boast. The strength ofDruidism had passed, but it still had fanatics at its command, whosedaggers would find their way sooner or later to his heart. The cold,cynical look with which he had entered on the conference had given placeto mingled looks of rage, remorse, and fear.
"You must have your own way," he muttered, sullenly.
"My son," said the priest, in a tone which he made studiously cautious,"what is one life in comparison with the happiness and glory of ournation? You, I know, would shrink from no sacrifice, and, believe me," headded in a lower voice, for he had to play off the two rivals against eachother, "believe me, whatever sacrifice you make shall not miss itsreward."