Part 1 (2/2)

Meanwhile the Britons had vigorously prepared themselves for the great struggle. Over the heathery wastes of the hills--into what are now the counties of Lancas.h.i.+re, Yorks.h.i.+re, and Derbys.h.i.+re--through the thick forests where the wolves, bears, and other wild beasts of prey lurked--went the war message of Edas the chief, rallying the warriors to battle. For once the tribal jealousies were forgotten, feuds vanished in face of the common danger, and Brigantines joined with Cornavii to offer a united front to the common enemy. For days succeeding the arrival of the Roman herald there was a great ma.s.sing of warriors, fleet-footed graceful men from the Ches.h.i.+re plains, big wild men from the mountains which lie to the north and east of Longdendale. Day and night the forest altars and the stone circles of the Druids, which stood amid the heather on the summit of the Coombs, were constantly the scenes of sacrifices and other savage rites of Druid wors.h.i.+p. Young men and maidens were slain by the golden knife of the Arch Druid, and their spirits pa.s.sed, with the strains of weird singing, to intercede with G.o.d for the cause of Britain. All day the bards sang the songs of old, and at night the ghosts of buried heroes sailed past on the wings of the wind. Thus were the hearts of the British warriors strengthened for the battle which was to come.

Night fell, and the forests of Longdendale were full of the white, fierce warriors, who moved silently yet swiftly in the direction of the Coombs. It was the last night of peace; on the morrow the songs of war would arise, and brave men would die. Also, it was the night of sacrifices, and the Druid altar--that strange group of stones now known as the Robin Hood's Picking Rods--would witness the supreme sacrifice--the offering to the G.o.ds of that which was most dear to the hearts of the Britons. That day, just before the setting of the sun, Arwary, the fleet-footed, had bounded into the camp with the lightness of the deer, bringing tidings of the Roman advance. The legions would attack on the morrow, and so that night must be a night of sacrifice--the greatest sacrifice of all. Caledon, the ancient Druid, had summoned the Druid priests to the sacred groves of oak, and the warriors were bidden to gather about the altar shortly before the rising of the moon.

In the wood, near the dwelling of Edas, stood the chief. By his side was a maid--Nesta the fair--the beloved of Edas, son of Atli. Soon, if the G.o.ds willed, she would become his bride. Meanwhile she was the fairest maid in all Britain, and even the voluptuous Romans sang her praises about the camp fires at night.

Edas, son of Atli, spoke of love, and Nesta the fair drew close to his breast. Her arms were about his neck, and the lovers kissed. Edas, son of Atli, and Nesta the Fair, were happy.

Presently a voice was heard, and the maiden started. It was the voice of Caledon, ancient Druid and he called for Nesta the Fair.

”The G.o.ds have need of thee,” he cried. ”They have sent to me their message, and they ask as a sacrifice the beloved of Edas--the bride of the chief.”

The voice of the Druid was stern and terrible. Edas the chief stood like one bereft of reason. Only Nesta the Fair remained calm.

”It is the will of the All-Giver,” she said, and sighed. ”Yet--I had dreamed of happiness and love.”

Again the voice of Caledon cried--

”What greater happiness can a maiden have than to be the chosen of the G.o.ds?”

But Edas flung his arms about the maid.

”She is too young, too fair to die,” said he, his voice breaking with agony. ”Druid, it shall not be.”

For a moment the priest stood silent. Then the words fell from his lips in an angry torrent.

”Art thou a coward, Edas, son of Atli? Must the daughters of the poor be offered for sacrifices, and shall the mighty ones of the earth escape? Shall the G.o.ds ask the consent of Edas before they select themselves a holy bride?”

”And thou, Nesta, art thou not a daughter of a race of kings? Is not the blood of Hu the Mighty in thy veins, the blood of heroes who feared nought, death least of all. Maiden, I tell thee the G.o.ds demand it. Only by thy death can the Romans be overthrown, and Britain remain free. And behold the moon is even now in the sky, the hour of sacrifice is come.”

Nesta the Fair flung her arms about her lover and kissed him.

”Farewell, my heart,” she cried. ”The G.o.ds prosper thee, and give thee a hero's death at last.”

In another moment she was gone, and Edas, who knew the power of the Druids, fell on the ground and sobbed.

The wild warriors hurried on, and gathered in silence about the altar of sacrifice. There, between the upright stones, was bound the form of Nesta the Fair. About her were the white-robed Druids, and Caledon, the priest, stood near her on the altar.

The voice of Caledon rose, and the mult.i.tude drew their breaths to listen.

”To thee, Dread All Giver, Master of Life, and Death, we offer now the fairest maid in all the Isle of Britain. We give to thee our best beloved. Better far is it that she should become Thy bride than fall into the power of Roman ravishers. Deign to accept her blood as the price of British victory. May our spears be dyed in the blood of the Eagles, and may the Roman legions be swept away before the rush of our warriors, even as the leaves scatter before the wind.”

So he chanted, and then, as the moonlight fell in a slanting beam upon the snow-white b.r.e.a.s.t.s of Nesta the Fair, he raised the golden knife, plunged it deep in the maiden's heart, and the spirit of the bride of Edas pa.s.sed beyond the mountains to the Land of Rest.

Then Caledon turned to the warriors.

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