Arthurian Chronicles: Roman de Brut / Wace, 110-1174

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Title: Arthurian Chronicles: Roman de Brut

Author: Wace

Release Date: December 16, 2003 [EBook #10472]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO Latin-1

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ARTHURIAN CHRONICLES: ROMAN DE BRUT

by

WACE


TRANSLATED BY EUGENE MASON




INTRODUCTION

    "... In the chronicle of wasted time
    I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
    And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
    In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights."

    SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet cvi.


I.--WACE

In the long line of Arthurian chroniclers Geoffrey of Monmouth
deservedly occupies the first place. The most gifted and the most
original of their number, by his skilful treatment of the Arthurian
story in his _Historia Regum Britanniae_, he succeeded in uniting
scattered legends attached to Arthur's name, and in definitely
establishing their place in chronicle history in a form that persisted
throughout the later British historical annals. His theme and his
manner of presenting it were both peculiarly adapted to win the favour
of his public, and his work attained a popularity that was almost
unprecedented in an age that knew no printed books. Not only was it
accepted as an authority by British historians, but French chroniclers
also used it for their own purposes.

About the year 1150, five years before the death of Geoffrey, an
Anglo-Norman, Geoffrey Gaimar, wrote the first French metrical chronicle.
It consisted of two parts, the _Estorie des Bretons_ and the _Estorie des
Engles_, of which only the latter is extant, but the former is known to
have been a rhymed translation of the _Historia_ of Geoffrey of Monmouth.
Gaimar's work might possibly have had a longer life if it had not been
cast into the shade by another chronicle in verse, the _Roman de Brut_,
by a Norman poet, Wace, which fills an important and interesting place
among our Arthurian sources, not merely because of the author's qualities
as a poet and his treatment of the Arthurian story, but also because of
the type of composition that he produced. For the metrical chronicle
occupies an intermediate position between the prose chronicle, one of the
favourite forms of mediaeval monastic production throughout Europe, and
the metrical romance, which budded and blossomed most richly in France,
where, during the last half of the twelfth century, it received its
greatest impulse from Crestien de Troies, the most distinguished of the
_trouveres_. The metrical romances were written for court circles, and
were used as a vehicle for recounting adventures of love and chivalry,
and for setting forth the code of behaviour which governed the courtly
life of France at that period. Wace's poem, though based upon chronicle
history, is addressed to a public whose taste was turning toward chivalric
narrative, and it foreshadows those qualities that characterised the verse
romances, for which no more fitting themes could be found than those
supplied by the stories of Arthurian heroes, whose prowess teaches us that
we should be valiant and courteous. Wace saw the greater part of the
twelfth century. We cannot be certain of the exact year of his birth or
of his death, but we know that he lived approximately from 1100 to 1175.
Practically all our information about his life is what he himself tells
us in his _Roman de Rou_:--

"If anybody asks who said this, who put this history into the Romance
language, I say and I will say to him that I am Wace of the isle of
Jersey, which lies in the sea, toward the west, and is a part of the
fief of Normandy. In the isle of Jersey I was born, and to Caen I
was taken as a little lad; there I was put at the study of letters;
afterward I studied long in France.[1] When I came back from France, I
dwelt long at Caen. I busied myself with making books in Romance; many
of them I wrote and many of them I made."

Before 1135 he was a _clerc lisant_ (reading clerk), and at length,
he says, his writings won for him from Henry II. preferment to the
position of canon at Bayeux. He was more author, however, than
prebendary, and he gave his first effort and interest to his writings.
He composed a number of saints' lives, which are still extant, but his
two most important works were his historical poems, the _Roman de Brut_
and the _Roman de Rou_ (i.e. Rollo), a chronicle history of the Dukes of
Normandy. This latter was Wace's last production, and beside having a
literary and historic importance, it has a rather pathetic interest.
He had begun it in 1160, in obedience to a command of Henry II, but
for some unknown reason Henry later transferred the honour to another
poet. Wace laid aside his pen, left his work incomplete, and probably
soon after died.

"Since the king has asked him to do this work, I must leave it and I
must say no more. Of old the king did me many a favour; much he gave
me, more he promised me, and if he had given all that he promised me,
it had been better for me. Here ends the book of Master Wace; let him
continue it who will." [2]

Some twenty years earlier, in 1155, Wace had completed the _Roman de
Brut_. He himself called it the _Geste des Bretons_ ("History of the
Britons"), but it is best known under the title that appears in the
manuscripts, the _Roman de Brut_, given to it by scribes because of its
connection with Brutus, the founder of the British race. The Brut is a
reproduction in verse of Geoffrey's _Historia_. To call it a translation
is almost to give it a misnomer, for although Wace follows exactly
the order and substance of the _Historia_, he was more than a mere
translator, and was too much of a poet not to impress his own
individuality upon his work. He makes some few additions to
Geoffrey's Arthurian history, but his real contribution to the legend
is the new spirit that he put into it. In the first place his vehicle
is the swift-moving French octo-syllabic couplet, which alone gives
an entirely different tone to the narrative from that of Geoffrey's
high-sounding Latin prose. Wace, moreover, was Norman born and Norman
bred, and he inherited the possessions of his race--a love of fact,
the power of clear thought, the appreciation of simplicity, the
command of elegance in form. Such a spirit indeed was his as in a
finer type had already expressed itself in Caen in the two noble
abbeys, under whose shadow he passed the greater part of his life,
the dignified and sternly simple Abbaye-aux-Hommes of William the
Conqueror and the graceful, richly ornamented Abbaye-aux-Dames of
Queen Matilda. Sincerity and truth Wace ever aims at, but he
embellishes his narrative with countless imaginative details. As a
narrator he has the tendency to garrulity, which few mediaeval poets
altogether escaped, but he is by no means without conversational
charm, and in brief sentences abounding in colloquial turns, he leads
us easily on with seldom flagging interest even through those pages
where he is most inclined to be prolix. He is a systematic person with
accurate mental habits, and is keenly alive to the limitations of his
own knowledge. He doubtless often had to bid his common sense console
him with the reflections with which he begins his _Life of St.
Nicholas_:--"Nobody can know everything, or hear everything, or see
everything ... God distributes different gifts to different people.
Each man should show his worth in that which God has given him."

He is extremely careful to give his authorities for his statements,
and has all the shyness of an antiquarian toward facts for which he
has not full proof. Through Breton tales, for example, he heard of the
fairy fountain of Barenton in the forest of Broceliande, where fays
and many another marvel were to be seen, and he determined to visit
it in order to find out how true these stories were. "I went there
to look for marvels. I saw the forest and I saw the land; I sought
marvels, but I found none. A fool I came back, a fool I went; a fool I
went, a fool I came back; foolishness I sought, a fool I hold myself."
[3] The wonders related of Arthur, he tells us, have been recounted so
often that they have become fables. "Not all lies, nor all true, all
foolishness, nor all sense; so much have the storytellers told, and so
much have the makers of fables fabled to embellish their stories that
they have made all seem fable." [4] He omits the prophecies of Merlin
from his narrative, because he does not understand them. "I am not
willing to translate his book, because I do not know how to interpret
it. I would say nothing that was not exactly as I said." [5] To this
scrupulous regard for the truth, absolutely foreign to the ingenious
Geoffrey, Wace adds an unusual power of visualising. He sees clearly
everything that he describes, and decorates his narrative with almost
such minute details of any scene as a seventeenth-century Dutch
painter loved to put upon his canvas. The most famous instance of
this power is his description of Arthur's embarkation for the
Roman campaign. Geoffrey, after saying simply that Arthur went to
Southampton, where the wind was fair, passes at once to the dream that
came to the king on his voyage across the Channel. But Wace paints
a complete word-picture of the scene. Here you may see the crews
gathering, there the ships preparing, yonder friends exchanging
parting words, on this side commanders calling orders, on that,
sailors manning the vessels, and then the fleet speeding over the
waves.[6] Another spirited example of this same characteristic is
found in the _Roman de Rou_ [7] in the stirring account of the advance of
the Normans under William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings:--

"Taillefer, who sang right well, mounted on a charger that went
swiftly, rode before the duke singing of Charlemagne and of Roland,
and of Oliver and the vassals who died at Roncesval. When they had
ridden until they came close to the English, 'Sire,' said Taillefer,
'a grace! I have served you long; for all my service, you owe me a
debt. To-day, an it please you, repay it me. For all my guerdon I beg
you and fervently I pray you, grant me to deal the first blow in the
battle!' The duke replied, 'I grant it.' And Taillefer pricked on
at full gallop, on before all the others he pressed. He struck an
Englishman and killed him; beneath the breast, clean through the body
he thrust his lance; he felled him down full length on the ground;
then he drew his sword, he struck another; then he cried, 'On, on!
What do ye? Strike, strike!' Then the English surrounded him at the
second blow that he dealt. Hark to the noise raised and the cries!"

Apart from matters of style, Wace made other changes from Geoffrey's
narrative that are more important for Arthurian romance. He wrote the
_Brut_ under the patronage of Henry II, and, if we may trust Layamon's
statement, he dedicated it to Queen Eleanor, who was the ardent
propagator in England of the courtly ideals of southern France.
Accordingly Wace, perhaps partly because of his own milieu, partly
because of his royal patroness, wove into Geoffrey's narrative more
pronouncedly chivalric material. The lack of the courtly virtue of
mesure (moderation) that is noticeable in Geoffrey's Arthur, Wace is
careful to conceal; he gives, furthermore, a place to the descriptions
of love, which fill so many lines in the later romances, but which are
absent from Geoffrey's pages. Gawain, for instance, who is "valiant
and of very great moderation," declares that jesting and the delights
of love are good, and that for the sake of his lady a young knight
performs deeds of chivalry.[8] In addition to these changes, which
are to be attributed to his personal bent and surroundings, Wace also
makes it clear that he was conversant with stories of Arthur quite
independent of the _Historia_. Fables about Arthur he himself says that
he had heard, as we have seen, and from these he adds to Geoffrey's
narrative two that bear unmistakable signs of a Celtic origin, and
that were destined to become important elements in later romance; for
he gives us the first literary record of the famous Round Table, [9]
and the first definite mention in literature of the "hope of Britain." [10]

Wace is not to be regarded as one of the great contributors to our
knowledge of Arthurian legend, but without a familiarity with his
work, later French romance can scarcely be appreciated, so important
is his place as a delicate transformer of the story, the harsher
elements of which he veiled with the courtliness familiar to him,
while he diffused throughout it the indefinable spirit of French
romance; and this he did with the naive simplicity and grace that were
his by birth and temperament.




II.--LAYAMON


To Wace we owe still another debt, for the _Roman de Brut_ served as
the direct source for one of the greatest members of the Arthurian
literature of any period. This is the _Brut_, written in the first half
of the thirteenth century, after the year 1204, by Layamon, an English
priest of the country parish of Lower Arnley in Worcestershire.

"There was a priest in the land, who was named Layamon; he was son of
Leovenath--may the Lord be gracious to him!--he dwelt at Ernley, at a
noble church upon Severn's bank,--good it there seemed to him--near
Radestone, where he books read. It came to him in mind, and in his
chief thought, that he would tell the noble deeds of the English; what
they were named, and whence they came, who first possessed the English
land, after the flood that came from the Lord.... Layamon began to
journey wide over this land, and procured the noble books which he
took for pattern. He took the English book that Saint Bede made;
another he took in Latin, that Saint Albin made, and the fair Austin,
who brought baptism in hither; the third book he took, and laid there
in the midst, that a French clerk made, who was named Wace, who well
could write; and he gave it to the noble Eleanor, who was the high
King Henry's queen. Layamon laid before him these books, and turned
over the leaves; lovingly he beheld them--may the Lord be merciful to
him!--pen he took with fingers, and wrote on book-skin, and the true
words set together, and the three books compressed into one. Now
prayeth Layamon, for love of the Almighty God, each good man that
shall read this book and learn this counsel, that he say together
these soothfast words, for his father's soul, who brought him forth,
and for his mother's soul, who bore him to be man, and for his own
soul, that it be the better. Amen!" [11]

With these words Layamon introduces us to his book and to himself; in
fact they contain the sum total of our information about his life. But
they put us at once into sympathy with the earnest, sincere student,
who wrote, not like Geoffrey and Wace, for the favour of a high-born
patron, but for the love of England and of good men and his few
hardly-won and treasured books. Of these books Wace's _Brut_ received
the lion's share of his attention, and he made little or no use of the
others that lay before him.

He followed Wace's poem in outline, but he succeeded in extending its
15,300 verses to 32,241, by giving a free rein to his fancy, which he
often allowed to set the pace for his pen. For Layamon in his retired
parish, performing the monotonous and far from engrossing duties of a
reading clerk,[12] lived in reality a stirring life of the imagination.
Back in the Saxon past of England his thoughts moved, and his mind
dwelt on her national epic heroes. Not only in his language, which
belongs to the period of transition from Anglo-Saxon to Middle
English, but in his verse [13] and phraseology, he shows the
influence of earlier Anglo-Saxon literature. The sound of the _Ode on
Athelstane's Victory_ and of _Beowulf_ is in our ears as we read his
intense, stirring lines. Wars and battles, the stern career of a Saxon
leader, the life of the woods and fields attracted him far more than
the refinements of a Norman court, and by emphasising the elements
that were most congenial to himself he developed an entirely different
picture from that presented by either Geoffrey or Wace. Writing with
intense interest, he lives and moves and has his being among the
events that he is narrating, and is far too deeply absorbed in his
story to limit himself to the page that he has before him. Given a
dramatic situation, the actors become living personalities to him, and
he hears impassioned words falling from their lips in terse phrases
such as he never found in the lines of Wace. Uther Pendragon, in a
deadly battle against the Irish invaders under Gillomar and Pascent,
slays Gillomar, then overtakes Pascent:--

"And said these words Uther the Good: 'Pascent, thou shalt abide; here
cometh Uther riding!' He smote him upon the head, so that he fell
down, and the sword put in his mouth--such meat to him was strange--so
that the point of the sword went in the earth. Then said Uther,
'Pascent, lie now there; now thou hast Britain all won to thy hand! So
is now hap to thee; therein thou art dead; dwell ye shall here, thou,
and Gillomar thy companion, and possess well Britain! For now I
deliver it to you in hand, so that ye may presently dwell with us
here; ye need not ever dread who you shall feed.'" [14]

Arthur leads his men close to the hosts of Colgrim, the leader of the
Saxon invaders:--

"Thus said Arthur, noblest of kings: 'See ye, my Britons, here beside
us, our full foes,--Christ destroy them!--Colgrim the strong, out of
Saxonland? His kin in this land killed our ancestors; but now is the
day come, that the Lord hath appointed that he shall lose the life,
and lose his friends, or else we shall be dead; we may not see him
alive!....' Up caught Arthur his shield, before his breast, and he gan
to rush as the howling wolf, when he cometh from the wood, behung
with snow, and thinketh to bite such beasts as he liketh. Arthur then
called to his dear knights: 'Advance we quickly, brave thanes! all
together towards them; we all shall do well, and they forth fly, as
the high wood, when the furious wind heaveth it with strength.' Flew
over the [fields] thirty thousand shields, and smote on Colgrim's
knights, so that the earth shook again. Brake the broad spears,
shivered shields; the Saxish men fell to the ground.... Some they
gan wander as the wild crane doth in the moor-fen, when his flight is
impaired, and swift hawks pursue after him, and hounds with mischief
meet him in the reeds; then is neither good to him nor the land nor
the flood; the hawks him smite, the hounds him bite, then is the royal
fowl at his death-time." [15]

Layamon lets his imagination display itself not merely in the dramatic
speeches that he puts into the mouths of his actors; he occasionally
composes a long incident, as in the story of the coronation of
Constans,[16] of the announcement to Arthur of Mordred's treachery,[17]
and in the very striking account of Arthur's election to the throne of
Britain and his reception of the messengers who come for him. "Arthur
sate full still; one while he was wan, and in hue exceeding pale; one
while he was red, and was moved in heart. When it all brake forth, it
was good that he spake; thus said he then, forthright, Arthur, the
noble knight: 'Lord Christ, God's Son, be to us now in aid, that I may
in life hold God's laws.'" [18] But in general Layamon's expansions
of Wace are merely slight additions or modifications, sufficient in
number, however, to go far in doubling the size of the volume. His
great change is that which I have already mentioned, the spirit in
which the story is conceived, and this is best illustrated, perhaps,
in the person of Arthur himself. For Arthur is no knight-errant, but
a grim, stern, ferocious Saxon warrior, loved by his subjects, yet
dreaded by them as well as by his foes. "Was never ere such king, so
doughty through all things." He stands in the cold glare of monarchy
and conquest, and save in the story of his birth and of his final
battle he is seldom, if ever, seen through the softer light of
romance. But Layamon is the only source for the story of which we hear
nothing in the later romances, and which is generally attributed to a
Teutonic origin, that elves came to Arthur's cradle and gave him good
gifts--to be the best of knights, a rich king, long lived, abounding
in "virtues most good." Layamon, too, gives a truly Celtic version
of Arthur's disappearance from earth. Two fairy maidens bear the wounded
king in a boat from the battle-field over the sea to Argante, the queen
of Avalon, who will make him whole again. "And the Britons ever expect
when Arthur shall return." This story, and also Layamon's very important
account of the establishment of the Round Table, which is vastly more
complete than Wace's, bear unmistakable marks of a Celtic origin. Layamon,
in fact, living as he did near the Welsh border, naturally shows
familiarity with current Welsh tradition. His work has a high value in
the vexed question of the origin and growth of Arthurian romance; for
it proves the existence of genuine Welsh tradition about Arthur, and
makes untenable the position of those critics who maintain that the
Arthurian legend had an independent development only on the continent.

Layamon's contributions to our knowledge of the Arthurian material
are, however, comparatively small, since he augmented his original in
the main by passages inspired by his own imagination.[19] His additions
may be called poetic rather than legendary. Partly because of its
Saxon character his _Brut_ never attained wide popularity, and it had
little effect upon the cycle; but it remains one of the most truly
great literary achievements in the field of both Arthurian chronicle
and romance.

Our three most important Arthurian chroniclers, Geoffrey, Wace, and
Layamon, were all men of marked individuality and ability; each lives
for us with as distinct a personality as if we had far more than our
very imperfect knowledge of the details of his life. Geoffrey, a
clever combiner, a highly gifted narrator and scholar, born at a happy
hour, gave the Arthurian legend a definite literary form, brought
permanently together independent elements of tradition, and
contributed enormously to the popularity of the cycle. Wace, the
professional author, the scrupulous antiquarian and naive poet,
carefully refined the material of Geoffrey, and dressed it in the
French costume of courtly life. Layamon, the intense and imaginative
English priest, transformed it by the Saxon spirit, and divesting it
of its courtly elegance, filled it with greater simplicity and force.




EXCURSUS I.--ARTHUR'S MAGIC POSSESSIONS


Arthur's magic possessions form a prominent element in Welsh
tradition, and their appearance in the early chronicles is an
important testimony to the diffusion of Welsh legend. _Kilhwch and
Olwen_  contains a list of his belongings, all of which there is
reason to believe, from record or from logical inference, were of
otherworld origin. Each has its significant proper name, which in most
cases conveys the idea of brilliant whiteness, a characteristic of
Celtic fairy objects. His ship, for example, is named White Form,
his shield "Night Gainsayer," his dagger "White Haft." The _Dream of
Rhonabwy_ [20] describes his carpet (or mantle), "White," which had the
property of retaining no colour but its own, and of making whoever
was on it (or wrapped in it) invisible, and also his sword,
"Hard-breacher," graven with two serpents from whose jaws two flames
of fire seemed to burst when it was unsheathed, "and then so wonderful
was the sword that it was hard for any one to look upon it." This
sword (Caletvwlch, Caliburn, Excalibur) is a Pan-Celtic marvellous
object, and is one of Arthur's most famous possessions. The deadly
blows attributed by Nennius to him in the Battle of Mount Badon
without doubt traditionally were dealt by Caliburn. Geoffrey of
Monmouth recognised it as a fairy sword, and says that it was made in
Avalon, namely, the Celtic otherworld. We may also feel confident that
the full panoply of armour with which Geoffrey equips Arthur (ix. 4)
consisted of magic objects, although Geoffrey, who in general, as an
historian, rationalises the supernatural, merely describes them as
amazingly efficacious. The shield he calls by the name of Arthur's
ship in Welsh sources, Pridwen (evidently a fairy boat, limitless in
capacity), either from some confusion in tradition, or because, being
enchanted, Pridwen might, of course, serve as either ship or shield.

Layamon adds further information about Arthur's weapons. His burny,
he says (vs. 21133-34) "was named Wygar" (Anglo-Saxon _wigheard_),
"Battle-hard," "which Witeze wrought," Witeze being a corrupted form
for Widia, the Anglo-Saxon name of the son of Weland, the Teutonic
Vulcan, a famous maker of magic weapons in romance, with whom his son
might easily become identified in legend.

This is the explanation given by Professor G.L. Kittredge of the above
lines, as a correction of Sir Frederic Madden's translation: "he
[namely, the smith who made the burny] was named Wygar, the witty
wight." Layamon says (v. 21147) that Arthur's helmet was called
Goswhit, a name that is evidently a translation of some Welsh term
meaning "goosewhite," which at once classes the helmet with Arthur's
dazzlingly bright fairy belongings. Moreover, Layamon says (vs. 21158,
23779 ff.) that his spear Ron (a Welsh common noun, meaning "spear")
was made by a smith called Griffin, whose name may be the result of an
English substitution of the familiar word _griffin_ for the unfamiliar
_Gofan_, the name of the Celtic smith-god. These facts are mainly
important as testimony to the Celtic element in Arthurian romance, and
especially to Layamon's use of current Welsh Arthurian tradition. The
large variety of magical possessions assigned to Arthur is also a
notable indication of the great emphasis that Welsh legend laid
upon his mythological attributes and his character as otherworld
adventurer.

[The above facts have been established and discussed by Professor
A.C.L. Brown in his article on the Round Table (p. 199, note 1) cited
below in Excursus II.; also in _Iwain_, Boston, 1903, p. 79, note
1; _Modern Philology_, I., 5-8; _Publications of the Modern Language
Association of America_, XXV., 25 ff. See also the notes on the lines
cited from Layamon in Sir Frederic Madden's edition of the _Brut_. For
other magic possessions of Arthur, see below, Excursus II.]




EXCURSUS II.--THE ROUND TABLE

(Wace, _Brut_, vs. 9994 ff., 10555, 13675; Layamon, vs. 22736 ff.)


Our earliest authority for the story of the Round Table is Wace. He
and Layamon agree in calling it a tale of the Britons, and in saying
that Arthur had it made to prevent rivalry as to place among his
vassals when they sat at meat. Layamon, however, expands the few lines
that Wace devotes to the subject into one of his longest additions to
his source, by introducing the story of a savage fight for precedence
at a court feast, which was the immediate cause for fashioning the
Round Table, a magical object. Ancient sources prove that the Celts
had a grievous habit of quarrelling about precedence at banquets,
probably because it was their custom to bestow the largest portion of
meat upon the bravest warrior. It was also their practice to banquet
seated in a circle with the most valiant chieftain of the company
placed in the middle, possibly owing to the circular form of their
huts, possibly for the sake of avoiding the disputes that so commonly
disturbed their feastings. The Round Table, accordingly, is to be
regarded as a Pan-Celtic institution of early date, and as one of the
belongings that would naturally be attributed by popular tradition
to any peculiarly distinguished leader. Layamon's version so closely
parallels early Celtic stories of banquet fights, and has so barbaric
a tone, as to make it evident that he is here recounting a folk-tale
of pure Celtic origin, which must have been connected with Arthur
before his time, and probably before that of Wace; for this story was
undoubtedly one of those "many fables" which Wace says the Britons
told about the Round Table, but which he does not incorporate into his
narrative.

[See A.C.L. Brown, _The Round Table before Wace in Studies and Notes
in Philology and Literature_, VII. (Boston, 1900), 183 ff.; L.F. Mott,
_Publications of the Modern Language Association of America_, XX, 231
ff.; J.L. Weston, as above (p. xv.), pp. 883 ft.]




EXCURSUS III.--THE HOPE OF BRITAIN

(Wace, _Brut_, 13681 ff.; Layamon, 23080 ff., 28610 ff.)


The belief that Arthur would return to earth, which was firmly
established among the Britons by the beginning of the twelfth
century, does not in early records appear clothed in any definite
narrative form. In later sources it assumes several phases,
the most common of which is that recorded by Layamon that Arthur had
been taken by fays from his final battle-field to Avalon, the Celtic
otherworld, whence after the healing of his mortal wound he would
return to earth. Layamon's story conforms essentially to an early type
of Celtic fairy-mistress story, according to which a valorous hero, in
response to the summons of a fay who has set her love upon him, under
the guidance of a fairy messenger sails over seas to the otherworld,
where he remains for an indefinite time in happiness, oblivious of
earth. It is easy to see that the belief that Arthur was still living,
though not in this world, might gradually take shape in such a form as
this, and that his absence from his country might be interpreted as
his prolonged sojourn in the distant land of a fairy queen, who was
proffering him, not the delights of her love, but healing for his
wounds, in order that when he was made whole again he might return "to
help the Britons." Historic, mythical, and romantic tradition have
combined to produce the version that Layamon records. Geoffrey of
Monmouth (xi. 2), writing in the mock role of serious historian and
with a tendency to rationalisation, says not a word of the wounded
king's possible return to earth. Wace, with characteristic caution,
affirms that he will not commit himself as to whether the Britons, who
say that Arthur is still in Avalon, speak the truth or not. Here, as
in the story of the Round Table, it is Layamon who has preserved for
us what was undoubtedly the form that the belief had already assumed
in Celtic story, through whatever medium it may have passed before it
reached his hands.

In the _Vita Merlini_,[21] a Latin poem attributed by some scholars to
Geoffrey of Monmouth, a curious version of Arthur's stay in Avalon is
given. The wounded king is taken after the battle of Camlan to the
Isle of Apples (for such was understood to be the meaning of the
name _Avalon_), which is the domain of a supernatural maiden, wise and
beautiful, Morgen by name, who understands the healing art, and who
promises the king that he shall be made whole again if he abides long
with her. This is the first mention in literature of Morgan la Fee,
the most powerful fay of French romance, and regularly the traditional
healer of Arthur's wounds in Avalon.

The Argante of Layamon's version is doubtless the same being as
Morgana, for whose name, which in any of its current spellings had
the appearance of a masculine proper name, Layamon either may have
substituted a more familiar Welsh name, Argante, as I have already
shown he might easily have done (_Studies in the Fairy Mythology of
Arthurian Romance_, Boston, 1903, pp. 26-28), or, as Professor J.L.
Bruce, with equal plausibility, has recently suggested, he may have
used a corruption of one form of the fay's name, Morgant (_Modern
Language Notes_, March, 1911, pp. 65-68).

[I have discussed the various versions of Arthur's stay in Avalon in
_Studies in Fairy Mythology_, chapter III. On Avalon, see _id._, p. 40,
note 2. On the early belief in Arthur's return to earth, see Geoffrey
of Monmouth (_Everyman's Library_), Introduction, p. 10.]




NOTES:

[1] i.e., Paris, in the Ile de France. Vs. 10440 ff.

[2] Vs. 16530 ff.

[3] _Roman de Rou_, vs. 6415 ff.

[4] _Roman de Brut_, vs. 10038 ff.

[5] _Id._, vs. 7733 ff.

[6] _Id._, vs. 11472 ff. Cf. for other examples: Arthur's
conquest of Denmark, _Historia_, ix. 11; _Brut_, vs. 10123 ff.; Arthur's
return to Britain from France, _Historia_, ix. 11; _Brut_, vs. 10427 ff.;
Arthur's coronation, _Historia_, ix. 12 ff.; _Brut_, vs. 10610 ff.

[7] Vs. 13149 ff.

[8] See _Excursus II_.

[9] Vs. 11048 ff.

[10] See _Excursus III_.

[11] Vs. 1 ff.

[12] Layamon's statement that he "read books" at Arnley is
interpreted to mean that he read the services in the church.

[13] The poem is written in part in alliterative lines on the
Anglo-Saxon system, in part in rhymed couplets of unequal length.

[14] Vs. 18086 ff.

[15] Vs. 20110 ff. More famous speeches still are Arthur's
comparison of Childric the Dane to a fox (vs. 20827 ff.) and his taunt
over his fallen foes, Baldulf and Colgrim (vs. 31431 ff.).

[16] Vs. 12972 ff.

[17] Vs. 27992 ff.

[18] Vs. 19887 ff.

[19] discussion of this point see J.L. Weston, in _Melanges de
philologie romane offerts a M. Wilmotte_, Paris, 1910, pp. 801, 802.

[20] See _Mabinogion_, translated by Lady Charlotte Guest,
London, 1849.

[21] Ed. Michel and Wright, Paris, 1837.




BIBLIOGRAPHY


GENERAL WORKS OF REFERENCE FOR THE CHRONICLES

R.H. FLETCHER, _The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles (Studies and
Notes in Philology and Literature, X)_, Boston, 1906.

W. LEWIS JONES, King Arthur in History and Legend, London, 1911.

M.W. MACCALLUM, _Tennyson's Idylls of the King_, Glasgow, 1894.

H. MAYNADIER, _The Arthur of the English Poets_, Boston and New York,
1907.

G. PARIS, _Histoire litteraire de la France_, Paris, 1888.

J. RHYS, _Studies in the Arthurian Legend_, Oxford, 1891.

W.H. SCHOFIELD, _English Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer_,
New York and London, 1906.

B. TEN BRINK, _Geschichte der Englischen Literatur_, and ed., A Brandl,
Strassburg, 1899. Translated into English, 1st ed, I., H.M. Kennedy,
New York, 1888, II., i., W.C. Robinson, 1893, II., ii., L.D. Schmidt,
1896.


AUTHORS AND WORKS

GEOFFREY GAIMAR, _L'Estorie des Engles_, ed. T.D. Hardy and T.C. Marten
(Rolls Series), 1888-1889.

GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, _Historia Regum Britanniae_, ed. San Marte (A.
Schulz) Halle, 1854. Translated, J.A. Giles, _Six Old English Chronicles_,
London, 1896; S. Evans, London, 1903.

LAYAMON, _Brut_, ed. with translation, Sir F. Madden, 3 vols, London,
1847. WORKS ON LAYAMON--Introduction, Madden's ed. of _Brut_. H. Morley,
English Writers, London, 1888-1890, III, 206-231. L. Stephen and S. Lee,
_Dictionary of National Biography_, London, 1885-1904, under Layamon.
For a further bibliography, see Fletcher (as above), p. 148, note 1.

WACE, _Roman de Brut_, ed. Le Roux de Lucy, 2 vols, Rouen, 1836-1838.
_Roman de Rou_, ed. F. Pluquet, 2 vols, Rouen, 1827, H. Andresen, 2 vols,
Heilbronn, 1877-1879, translated by E. Taylor (_Chronicle of the Norman
Conquest_), London, 1837. WORKS ON WACE--E. Du Meril, _La vie et les
ouvrages de Wace_, in _Jahrbuch fuer romanische u. englische Literatur, I,
i ff.; also in his _Etudes sur quelques points d'Archeologie_, Paris and
Leipzig, 1862. Grober, _Grundriss der romanischen Philologie_, Strassburg,
1888-1902, II, i, 635 ff. H. Morley, _English Writers_, III, 55. G. Paris,
_Romania_, IX, 592 ff. L. Stephens and S. Lee, _Dictionary National
Biography_, under Wace. A Ulbrich, _Romanische Forschungen_, XXVI, 181 ff.
For further bibliography, see Fletcher (as above), p. 128, note 1.




WACE'S ROMAN DE BRUT


Constantine came to Totnes, and many a stout knight with him--there
was not one but was worthy of the kingship. The host set forth towards
London, and sent messages in every part, bidding the Britons to their
aid, for as yet they were too fearful to come from their secret
places. When the Britons heard these tidings they drew, thick as rain,
from the woodlands and the mountain, and came before the host in
troops and companies. To make short a long matter, these marched so
far and wrought such deeds that in the end they altogether discomfited
those evil men who had done such sore mischief to the land. After
these things they held a great council at Cirencester, commanding
thereto all the lords and barons of the realm. In that place they
chose Constantine as their king, with no long tarrying, none being so
bold as to say him nay. So when they had ordained him king, they set
the crown on his head with marvellous joy, and owned themselves as his
men. Afterwards, by their counsel, Constantine took to wife a dame who
was come of gentle Roman blood. On this lady he begat three sons. The
eldest--whom the king named Constant--he caused to be nourished at
Winchester, and there he made him to be vowed a monk. The second son
was called Aurelius, and his surname Ambrosius. Lastly was born Uther,
and it was he whose days were longest in the land. These two varlets
were held in ward by Gosselyn, the archbishop.

So long as Constantine lived the realm had rest and peace; but he died
before his time had come, for he reigned but twelve short years. There
was a certain Pict of his household, a traitor, a foul felon, who for
a great while had been about his person. I cannot tell the reason why
he bore the king so mortal a grudge. This Pict took the king aside
privily in an orchard, as though he would speak to him of some hidden
matter. The king had no thought to keep himself from this false felon,
who whilst he made seeming to speak in his master's ear, drew forth a
knife and smote him therewith so shrewdly that he died. Then he fled
forth from the garden. But many a time have I heard tell that it was
Vortigern who caused Constantine to be slain. Great was the sorrow the
lords and all honest people made above their king, for the realm had
now no prince, save only those children of so tender an age. They laid
him in his tomb, but in no wise put him from remembrance. The whole
realm assembled together that they might make to themselves a king.
They doubted sorely which of the two young children they should
choose, for of them they knew neither good nor ill, seeing they were
but small and frail, and yet in their warden's charge. As to Constant,
the eldest son, who was of more fitting years, they dared not to pluck
the habit from his back, since all men deemed it shame and folly to
hale him forth from his abbey. The council would have ordained one of
the two children to be king had it not been for Vortigern, who arose
before them all. This Vortigern came from Wales, and was earl in his
own land. He was a strong knight of his body, exceeding rich in goods
and kin. Very courteous was he of speech; right prudent in counsel;
and long since had made straight the road that he coveted to tread.
"What reason is here," said he, "for doubtfulness? There is naught
else to do but to make this monk, Constant, our king. He is the
rightful heir; his brothers are not long from the breast; neither is
it fitting that the crown should be placed upon a stranger's head. Let
us strip the gown boldly from his shoulders. I charge the sin upon my
own soul. My hand alone shall draw him from the abbey, and set him
before you as your king." But all the lords of the council kept
silence, for a horrible thing it seemed in their eyes that a monk
should wear the mantle of a king. Vortigern, purposing evil in his
heart, took horse, and rode swiftly to Winchester. He sought Constant
at the abbey, praying the prior of his courtesy that he might speak
with him in the parlour. "Constant," said he, "thy father is dead, and
men seek to bestow his throne upon thy brothers. Such honour is not
seemly, for thine is the crown and seat. If thou bearest me love and
affiance, and for thy part wilt promise to make richer all the riches
that are mine, on my part I will free thee from these sullen rags and
array thee in the purple and ermine of a king. Choose now between
this monastery and the heritage that is thine own." Very desirous was
Constant of the lordship, and little love had he for his abbey. Right
weary was he of choir and psalter, and lightly and easily he made him
ready to be gone. He pledged oath and faith to all that Vortigern
required, and after he had so done Vortigern took him with a strong
hand from the monastery, none daring to gainsay his deed. When
Vortigern was assured of his fealty, he caused Constant to put off the
monk's serge, and clothe him in furs and rich raiment. He carried him
to London, and sat him in his father's chair, though not with the
voice and welcome of the people. The archbishop who should have
anointed the king with oil was dead, neither was any bishop found to
give him unction, or to put his hand to the business. It was Vortigern
alone who took the crown and set it on his head. This king had no
unction nor blessing, save from the hand of Vortigern alone.

Constant reigned in his father's stead. He who had betrayed the
commandment of God, was not one to hold his realm in surety; and thus
he came to an evil end. Sorrow not thereat. The man who sells his
master with a kiss may not hope to spend the wages of his sin.
Vortigern held Constant and his senarchy in the hollow of his hand.
The king did all according to his pleasure, and granted freely to
his every need. Very quickly, by reason of divers matters, Vortigern
perceived that the king knew but little of the world, since he was
nourished in a cloister. He remembered that the two princes were of
tender age. He saw that the mighty lords of the realm were dead, that
the people were in sore trouble and unrest, and judged that the place
and time were come. Mark now the cunning craft with which he set about
to take his seisin of the realm. "Sire," said he, "I have learned and
would bring to your knowledge that the sea folk are gathered together
from Norway, and from the country of the Danes. Since our knights are
few in number, and because of the weakness of the land, they purpose
to descend upon the kingdom, and ravish and spoil your cities. Draw
now together thy men, to guard the realm and thee. Set food within the
strong places, and keep well thy towers. Above all, have such fear of
traitors that thy castles are held of none save those true men who
will hold them to the death. If you act not after this counsel right
speedily there must reign another king." "I have granted," answered
Constant, "everything to thy hand, and have done all according to thy
will. Take now this fresh burthen upon thee, for thou art wiser than
I. I give you all the realm to thy keeping, so that none shall ravage
it or burn. Cities and manors; goods and treasure; they are thine as
constable. Thy will is my pleasure. Do swiftly that which it is seemly
should be done." Vortigern was very subtle. None knew better how
to hide away his greed. After he had taken the strong towers, the
treasure, and the riches to himself, he went again before the king.
"Sire," said he, "if it seem good to the king, my counsel would be
that he should send to the Picts of Scotland to seek of them horsemen
and sergeants to have with him about his household. In that place
where the battle is perilous we can call them to our aid. Through
these Picts and their kindred we shall hear the talk of the outland
men. They will parley between us and these Danes, and serve as embassy
between us and our foes." "Do," replied the king, "at thy pleasure.
Bring of these Picts as many as you wish. Grant them as guerdon what
you deem befits. Do all which it is seemly should be done."

When Vortigern had taken to himself the walled cities, and gathered
together the treasure, he sent such messages to the Picts as he
desired, so that they came according to his will. Vortigern received
them with much honour, giving them greatly to drink, so that they
lived in mirth and in solace, altogether drunken and content. Of his
bounty Vortigern granted such wages, and spoke so sweetly in the ear
of each, that there was not one amongst them who did not cry loudly
in the hearing of any who would hearken, that Vortigern was more
courteous and of higher valiance than the king--yea, that he was
worthy to sit upon the king's throne, or in a richer chair than his.
Vortigern rejoiced greatly at these words. He made much of his Picts,
and honoured them more sweetly than ever before. On a day when they
had sat long at their cups, and all were well drunken, Vortigern came
amongst them in the hall. He saluted them sadly, showing the semblance
of a woeful man. "Right dear are you to my heart;" said he, "very
willingly have I served you, and right gladly would I serve you still,
if but the wealth were mine. But this realm belongs altogether to the
king. Naught can I bestow, nothing is mine to spend, save only that I
render him account of every doit. So little revenue is mine of this
land, that it becomes me to seek my fortune beyond the sea. I have set
my whole intent to serve my king to the utmost of my might, and for
recompense have of him such estate that I can maintain scarce forty
sergeants to my household. If all goes well with me we may meet again,
for I commend me to your goodwill. This weighs heavily upon me that
I must leave you now. But, beggar as I am, I can do no other; only I
entreat you this, that if you hear my business has come to a fair end,
you will of a surety seek my love again." For all his piteous speech
Vortigern was false, and had falsely spoken, but those who had well
drunken gave faith to his words. They held for gospel truth what this
vile traitor had told them. They murmured together amongst themselves:
"What then shall become of us, since we lose so generous a lord! Let
us rather slay this mad king, this shaveling, and raise Vortigern to
his seat. Worthy is he of crown and kingdom; so on him we will cast
the lot. Too long already have we suffered this renegade monk, whom
now we serve." Forthwith they entered in the king's chamber, and
laying hands upon him, slew him where he stood. They smote the head
from off his shoulders, and bare it to Vortigern in his lodging,
crying, "Look now, and see by what bands we bind you to this realm.
The king is dead, and we forbid you to go from amongst us. Take now
the crown, and become our king." Vortigern knew again the head of his
lord. He made semblance of bitter sorrow, but rejoiced privily in his
heart, though of his cunning he hid his gladness from the eyes of
men. To cover his falseness the deeper, Vortigern called the Romans
together in council. He struck the heads from off those traitors,
leaving not one to escape alive. But many a citizen was persuaded, and
some said openly, that these murderers would not have laid hands
upon the king, neither looked evilly upon him, nor thought to do him
mischief, had not Vortigern required of them such deed.

When the death of the king was told to them who held the two brothers
in ordinance, they were assured that he who slew the king would not
scruple to serve the princes in the self-same fashion. For fear of
Vortigern they took Aurelius and Uther, and fled beyond the sea to
Little Britain, commending themselves to the pity of Budes, the king.
Since they were of his kin King Budes welcomed them right courteously.
He received them to his table with great honour, and bestowed upon
them many rich gifts. Now having taken to himself the strong places,
the castles, and the cities of the kingdom, Vortigern proclaimed him
to be king with marvellous pride. His joy was the less because the
realm was harassed by the Picts, who would avenge their kindred, whom
he had slain with the sword. Moreover he was sorely troubled, since
it was noised abroad that the two princes were gathering a company
together, purposing in a short space to return to their own land. The
rumour ran that the barons were resolved to join this great host, and
to own the brothers as their lords, so that in a while Vortigern would
be utterly destroyed. Many there were who told of such things.

Whilst men talked thus, there came to a haven in Kent three galleys,
bearing a strange people to the land. These folk were fair of face and
comely of person. They owned as lords Hengist and Horsa, two brethren
of mighty stature, and of outland speech. The tidings came to
Vortigern at Canterbury, where he abode that day, that a foreign folk
from a far country had drawn to the realm in ships. The king sent
messages of peace and goodwill to these strangers, praying that be
they whom they might, they would come quickly and speak with him in
his palace, and return swiftly to their own place. When they received
his commandment they sought him with the more surety. They came into
the king's presence and did reverence, with a proud bearing. Vortigern
looked closely upon the brethren. Shapely were they of body, bright of
visage, taller and more comely than any youth he knew. "From what land
have you come," inquired the king, "and on what errand? Tell me now
the place of your birth." The elder and the mightier of the brethren,
called Hengist, made answer in the name of all his fellows. "We be of
a country called Saxony," said he, "there were we born and there we
abode. If thou wilt learn the chance we seek upon the sea, I will
answer truly, if so it be according to thy will." "Say on," said the
king, "and hide nothing. No harm shall come to thee of this." "Fair
king," answered Hengist, "gentle sire, I know not if I can make it
plain. Our race is of a fertile stock, more quick and abounding than
any other you may know, or whereof you have heard speak. Our folk are
marvellously fruitful, and the tale of the children is beyond measure.
Women and men are more in number than the sand, for the greater sorrow
of those amongst us who are here. When our people are so many that the
land may not sustain nor suffice them, then the princes who rule the
realm assemble before them all the young men of the age of fifteen
years and upwards, for such is our use and custom. From out of these
they choose the most valiant and the most strong, and, casting lots,
send them forth from the country, so that they may travel into divers
lands, seeking fiefs and houses of their own. Go out they must, since
the earth cannot contain them; for the children came more thickly than
the beasts which pasture in the fields. Because of the lot that fell
upon us we have bidden farewell to our homes, and putting our trust in
Mercury, the god has led us to your realm." When the king heard the
name of Mercury as the god of their governance, be inquired what
manner of men these were, and of the god in whom they believed. "We
have," answered Hengist, "gods a many, to whom it is our bounden duty
to raise altars. These gods have to name Phoebus and Saturn, Jupiter
and Mercury. Many another god we worship, according to the wont of our
country, and as our fathers have told us. But above all gods we keep
in chiefest honour Mercury, who in our own tongue is called Woden. Our
fathers held this god in such reverence that they devoted the fourth
day of the week to his service. Because of their hope in Woden they
called his feast Wednesday, and yet it bears his name. By the side of
this god of whom I have spoken, we set our goddess Freya, who is
held in worship of us all. To show forth their love, our fathers
consecrated the sixth day to her service, and on the high authority of
the past we call Friday by Freya's name." "Ill is your faith," replied
the king, "and in an evil god you put your trust. This thing is
grievous to me, but nevertheless I welcome your coming right gladly.
You are valiant men, as I deem, accustomed to harness, and so you will
be my servants, very willingly will I make you of my household, and of
wealth you shall find no lack. Certain thieves from Scotland torment
me grievously at this time, burning my land and preying on my cities.
So it be God's pleasure, your coming may turn to my rich profit, for
by His aid and yours, I look to destroy these same Picts and Scots.
For from that land come and return these thieves who so harass and
damage my realm. You shall find me no grudging master, and when I am
avenged upon them, you will have no complaint to find with bounty or
wages or gifts." In this manner the Saxons came from out their ships,
and the king's court was strengthened by a mighty company. Now in no
long time afterwards the Picts entered the king's realm, with a great
host, burning, wasting, and pilling at their will. When they would
have passed the Humber, the king, who was told thereof, hastened to
meet them with his lords, the Britons, and these Saxons. The hosts
came together, and the battle was grim and lasting, for many were
discomfited to death that day. The Picts, doubting nothing but
that they would gain the victory as they had done before, carried
themselves hardily, and struck fiercely with the sword. They fought
thus stoutly, and endured so painfully, since they were shamed to do
less than was their wont. But their evil custom was broken, for the
Saxons gained possession of the field. Since by these Saxons, and
their aid, Vortigern was delivered of this peril, he gave them their
wages, and added thereto of his bounty. On Hengist he bestowed fair
manors, and goods, and great riches, so that love lasted between them
for a long space.

When Hengist saw that the king might in no wise pass him by, he sought
to turn this to his own profit, as was his undoubted right. He knew
well how to flatter the king to his own advantage by specious words.
On a day when the king's heart was merry, Hengist opened out what was
in his mind. "Thou hast given me many honours," said he, "and bestowed
on me plenteously of thy wealth. I am not ungrateful, but am thy
servant and will remain thy servant, striving to serve thee better in
the future even than I have striven in the past. But the longer I am
about the king's person, and the more closely I know his court, the
more clearly I see and hear and am assured that thou hast not the love
of one only baron of thy realm. Each bears thee hate, each nurses his
own grudge. I cannot speak, since nothing I know, of those children
who have stolen away the love of thine own house. They are the lawful
lords of thy barons, and these are but loyal to the sons of their
king. Within a little they will come from over sea, and spoil thee of
this realm. Not one of thy men but purposes to do thee a mischief.
Evil they wish thee, and evil they hope will be thine end. Horribly
art thou abhorred; horribly art thou menaced; for evil is on thy
track, and evil purposes shortly to pull thee down. I have considered
how best I may help thee in this peril. If it pleases the king to
bring my wife and children and all that is mine from my own land,
the sweeter hostages will be his, and the more faithful will be my
service. So diligently will I keep my trust that no foe, however bold,
shall spoil thee of one foot of thy heritage Moreover, sire, it is now
a great while since I became thy servant, and many bear malice against
me by reason of thy love. Because of their wrath I dare not tarry at
night outside my house, nor go beyond the walls. For this cause, sire,
so it may please thee, it would become thy honour to grant me some
town or tower or strong place, where I may lie in peace of nights,
when I am weaned in the king's quarrels. When thy enemies mark the
generosity of the king, they will cease to annoy so large a lord." "As
to the folk of thine house," made answer the king, "send thou at
thy pleasure, and receive them with all worship. The cost of their
sustenance shall be mine. For the rest thou art not of the faith.
Pagan thou art, and no Christian man Men, therefore, will deem that I
do very wrongfully should I grant thee the other gift you require."
"Sire," replied Hengist, "I would of thy bounty a certain manor. I
pray thee of thy courtesy to add thereto so much land--I seek no
more--as I may cover with a hide, and as may be compassed therewith.
It will be but the hide of a bull, but for the gift's sake I shall go
the more surely." Vortigern granted the boon, and Hengist thanked his
master. He made ready his messenger, and sent for his kindred from
oversea. He took the hide of a bull, and cutting it as small as he
might, made one thong of the whole skin. With this thong he compassed
a great spoil of land, and gathering good masons together, built
thereon a fair castle. In his own tongue he called this place
Vancaster, which being interpreted means Thong Castle, forasmuch as
the place was compassed by a thong. Now it is hight by many Lancaster,
and of these there are few who remember why it was first called after
this name.

When Vancaster was well builded there drew near eighteen war galleys,
bearing to land Hengist's kindred, together with knights and footmen.
With these came Hengist's daughter, Rowena by name, a maiden yet
unwed, and most marvellously fair. After all things were made ready
Hengist prayed the king to lodge with him awhile, that he might
delight himself with meat and drink, and view the new folk of his
household, and the castle that he had builded. And the king was
pleased to hearken unto his prayer. The king rode to Vancaster with
a mean company, since he would not have it noised about the land. He
marked the castle and its towers, which were both strong and fair, and
much he praised the work. The knights who were freshly come from sea
he took to his service, and gave of his bounty. At the feast that day
men ate and drank so greatly that for the most part they were drunken.
Then came forth from her chamber Rowena, Hengist's daughter, sweetly
arrayed and right dainty to see, bearing in her hand a brimming cup
of wine. She kneeled before Vortigern very simply, and saluted him
courteously after the fashion of her land, saying, "Washael, lord
king." The king, who knew nothing of her language, sought the meaning
of the maiden's words. This was made plain to him by Redic, the
Breton, a fair scholar, who--as it is related--was the first to become
apt in the Saxon tongue. He answered swiftly, "The maiden saluted thee
courteously, calling thee lord. It is the wont of her people, sire,
that when friend drinks with friend, he who proffers the cup cries,
'Washael,' and that he who receives answers in turn, 'Drinkhael'. Then
drinks he the half of this loving cup, and for joy and for friendship
of him who set it in his hand, kisses the giver with all fair
fellowship." When he had learned this thing, the king said
"Drinkhael," and smiled upon the damsel. Rowena tasted of the cup, and
placed it in the king's hand, and in taking it from the maiden the
king kissed her sweetly. By the Saxon were we first taught in
this land to greet, saying, "Washael," and afterwards to answer,
"Drinkhael," to drain the cup in full measure, or to share it with
one other, to kiss together when the cup was passed. The custom was
commenced as I have shown you, and we observe this ritual yet, as well
I know, in the rich feasts of our country.

Now the maiden was gracious of body, and passing fair of face, dainty
and tall, and plump of her person. She stood before the king in a web
of fine raiment, and ravished his eyes beyond measure. She filled the
king's cup willingly, and was altogether according to his wish. So
merry was the king, so well had he drunken, that he desired the
damsel in his heart. The devil, who has led many a man astray, snared
Vortigern with such sorcery, that he became mad with love to possess
Hengist's daughter. He was so fast in the devil's net that he saw
neither shame nor sin in this love. He denied not his hope, though the
maid was of pagans born. Vortigern prayed Hengist that he would grant
him the maid in marriage, and Hengist accorded her with goodwill. But
first he took counsel with his brother and his friends. These praised
the marriage, but counselled Hengist to give the damsel only on such
covenant that the king should deliver him Kent as her dowry. The king
coveted the maiden so greatly, he doted so dearly, that he made her
his queen. She was a pagan woman, and became his wife according to
the rites of the paynim. No priest blessed that marriage, there was
neither Mass nor prayer. So hot was the king's love that he espoused
her the same evening, and bestowed on Hengist Kent as her dowry.

Hengist went into Kent, and seized all the country into his hand.
He drove forth Garagon, the governor, who had heard no word of the
business. Vortigern showed more credence and love to the heathen
than to christened men, so that these gave him again his malice, and
abandoned his counsel. His own sons held him in hatred, forsaking his
fellowship because of the pagans. For this Vortigern had married
a wife, who long was dead and at peace. On this first wife he had
begotten three sons, these only. The first was named Vortimer, the
second Passent, and the third Vortiger. Hated was this king by all the
barons of his realm, and of all his neighbours. His very kindred held
him in abhorrence. He came to an evil end, for he died in his shame,
and the pagans he befriended with him. "Sire," said Hengist to the
king, "men hold thee in hatred by reason of me, and because of thy
love they bear me malice also. I am thy father, and thou my son, since
thou wert pleased to ask my daughter for thy wife. It is my privilege
to counsel my king, and he should hearken to my counsel, and aid me to
his power. If thou wilt make sure thy throne, and grieve those who use
thee despitefully, send now for Octa my son, and for my cousin Ebissa.
There are not two more cunning captains than these, nor two champions
to excel them in battle. Give these captains of thy land towards
Scotland, for from thence comes all the mischief. They will deal with
thy foes in such fashion that never more shall they take of thy
realm, but for the rest of thy days we shall live in peace beyond the
Humber." Then answered the king, "Do what you will, and send messages
for such men as it is good for us to have." At the king's word Hengist
sent messages to his son and nephew, who hastened to his help with a
fleet of three hundred galleys. There was not a knight of their land,
who would serve for guerdon, but they carried him across the water.
After these captains were come, in their turn, from day to day, came
many another, this one with four vessels, this other with five, or
six, or seven, or eight, or nine, or ten. So thickly did the heathen
wend, and so closely did they mingle with the Christians, that you
might scarcely know who was a christened man and who was not. The
Britons were sorely troubled at this matter, and prayed the king
not to put such affiance in the outland folk, for they wrought much
mischief. They complained that already were too many pagans in the
land, working great shame and villainy to the people. "Separate
thyself from amongst them," they said, "at whatever cost, and send
all, or as many as may be, from the realm." Vortigern made answer that
he might not do this thing. He had entreated the Saxons to the land,
and they served him as true men. So when the barons hearkened to his
words they went their way to Vortimer.

The Britons assembled themselves together, and taking the road to
London, chose Vortimer--the eldest of the king's three sons--to be
their lord. The king, who was assotted on his wife, clave to her
kindred, and would not forsake the heathen. Vortimer defied the
Saxons, and drove them from the walled cities, chasing and tormenting
them very grievously. He was a skilful captain, and the strife was
right sore between Vortimer and the Britons, against his father and
the Saxons. Four times the hosts met together, and four times Vortimer
vanquished his foe. The first battle was fought upon the banks of the
Darent. The second time the hosts strove together was upon the ford
near Aylesford. In this place Vortiger, the king's son, and Horsa the
Saxon, contended so fiercely in combat, body to body, that each did
the other to death, according to his desire. The other battle was
arrayed on the sea shore in Kent. Passing grim was this third battle,
for the ships fought together upon the water. The Saxons withdrew
before the Britons, so that from beyond the Humber even to Kent they
were deceived in their hope. The heathen fled in their galleys to an
islet called Thanet. The Britons assailed them in this fastness, and
so long as it was day, harassed them with arrows and quarrels, with
ships and with barges. They rejoiced loudly, for the pagans were
caught in a corner, and those not slain by the sword were fain to die
of hunger. For this reason, the Britons raised a mighty tumult and
shouting, when they trapped their enemy in the Isle of Thanet. When
the Saxons were assured that worse would befall them, save they
departed from the realm, they prayed Vortigern to go in embassy to
Vortimer his son, persuading him to give them safe conduct from the
land, and not to do them further mischief. Vortigern, who was in their
company and would in no wise depart from their fellowship, went to his
son to procure such truce as the Saxons required. Whilst he was about
this business the Saxons entered in their galleys, and with sail and
oar put out to sea as swiftly as they were able. Such was their haste
to escape that they left their wives and sons with the Britons,
returning to their own country in exceeding fear. After the Saxons
had all forsaken the realm, and the Britons were assumed of peace,
Vortimer gave again to every man that of which the heathen had spoiled
him. To build anew the churches, and to declare the law of God, which
had fallen into disuse amongst the people because of Hengist and his
heathendom, St. Germanus came to Britain, sent by St. Romanus, the
Apostle of Rome. With him came St. Louis of Troyes. These two fair
bishops, Germanus of Auxerre and Louis of Troyes, crossed the sea
to prepare the way of the Lord. By them were the tables of the law
redelivered, and men converted again to the faith. They brought many a
man to salvation; many a miracle, many a virtue, did God show in their
persons, and many a country was the sweeter for their lives. When the
law of God was restored, and Britain made again a Christian land,
hearken now what foul work was done by treason and by envy. Rowena,
that evil stepmother, caused Vortimer, her husband's son, to be
poisoned, by reason of the hatred she bore him, since he chased
Hengist from the realm. After Vortimer was certified that he must die,
and that no physician might cure him of his hurt, he called together
all his barons, and delivered unto them the treasure which he
had greatly gathered. Listen well to that he prayed his friends.
"Knights," said he, "take into your service warriors not a few, and
grudge not the sergeant his wages. Hold one to another, and maintain
the land against these Saxons. That my work may not be wasted, and
avenged upon those who live, do this thing for their terror. Take my
body, and bury it upon the shore. Raise above me such a tomb, so large
and lasting, that it may be seen from far by all who voyage on the
sea. To that coast where my body is buried, living or dead, they shall
not dare to come." Having spoken in this fashion the gentle king died,
finishing his course. His body was borne to London, and in London he
was lain to his rest. The barons raised no barrow upon the shore, as
with his dying speech he had bidden them.

After Vortimer's death, the Britons made Vortigern their king, even
as he had been in days before. At the entreaties of his wife he sent
messages to his father-in-law, Hengist. Him he prayed to return to the
kingdom, but with a small company, so that the Britons should not give
heed to the matter; for since Vortimer his son was dead, there was
no need of a host. Hengist took ship gladly, but with him he carried
three hundred thousand men in mail. For dread of the Britons, he made
him ready as never he had done before. When the king learned that
Hengist drew to land with so mighty a host, he was altogether fearful,
and knew no word to say. The Britons assembled together in great
wrath, promising amongst themselves that they would join them in
battle, and throw the heathen from the realm. Hengist was cunning and
felon of heart. He sent false messages to the king, praying for a
truce and love-day to be granted, that they might speak together as
friend with friend. Peace above all he desired; peace he ensued; peace
was his love, and he sought her with tears. Nothing was further from
his wish than war, and he would rather be banished from the realm than
remain by force of arms. It was for the Britons to elect those whom
they willed to stay, and for the others they would return whence they
came. The Britons granted the love-day, and the two peoples took
pledges, one of the other; but who can trust the oath of a liar? A
time was appointed when this council should be holden. The king sent
messages to Hengist that he must come with few companions; and Hengist
plighted troth right willingly. Moreover, it was commanded that none
should bear weapons at the council, for fear that men should pass
from words to blows. The two parties met together near the Abbey of
Ambresbury, on the great Salisbury plain. The day was the kalends of
May. Hengist had taught his comrades, and warned them privily, that
they should come each with a sharp, two-edged knife hidden in his
hose. He bade them to sit in this Parliament, and hearken to the talk;
but when he cried, "Nimad covre seax" (which being interpreted means
"Pluck forth your knives," and would not be understanded of the
Britons), they were to snatch out their daggers and make each a dead
man of his neighbour. Now when the council was met, and men were
mingled together, the naked Briton near by the false heathen, Hengist
cried loudly, "Nimad covre seax." The Saxons, at his word, drew forth
the knives from their hose, and slew that man sitting at their side.
Hengist was seated very close the king. He held the king fast by his
mantle, so that this murder passed him by. But those who gripped the
knives thrust the keen blades through cloak and mantle, breast and
bowels, till there lay upon back or belly in that place nigh upon four
hundred and sixty men of the richest and most valiant lords of the
kingdom. Yet some won out and escaped with their lives, though they
had naught to defend their bodies save the stones.

Eldof, Earl of Gloucester, got a great club in his right hand, which
he found lying at his feet, though little he recked who had carried it
to the council. He defended his body stoutly with this mighty staff,
striking and smiting down, till he had slain fully sixty and ten of
the pagan. A mighty champion was he, and of rich worth. He clave a
path through the press, without taking a wound; for all the knives
which were flung at his body he escaped with not a hurt to the flesh.
He won at the end to his horse, which was right strong and speedy,
and riding swiftly to Gloucester, shut himself fast in his city and
victualled tower. As to Vortigern, the Saxons would have slain him
with his barons, but Hengist stood between them, crying, "Harm not the
king, for nothing but good have I received at his hand, and much has
he toiled for my profit. How then shall I suffer my daughter's lord to
die such a death! Rather let us hold him to ransom, and take freely
of his cities and walled places, in return for his life." They,
therefore, slew not the king but binding him fast with fetters of
iron, kept him close in bonds for so long a space that he swore to
render them all that they would. In quittance of his ransom, and to
come forth from prison, Vortigern granted Sussex, Essex, and Middlesex
to Hengist as his fief, besides that earldom of Kent which he had held
before. To remember this foul treason, knives were long hight seax
amongst the English, but names alter as the world moves on, and men
recall no more the meaning of the past. In the beginning the word was
used to rebuke the treason that was done. When the story of the seax
was forgotten, men spoke again of their knives, and gave no further
thought to the shame of their forefathers.

When Vortigern was a naked man he fled beyond the Severn, and passing
deeply into Wales, dwelt there, taking counsel with his friends. He
caused his wise clerks and magicians to be summoned, inquiring of them
in what fashion he should maintain his right, and what they would
counsel him to do, were he assailed of a mightier than himself. This
he asked because he feared greatly the two brothers of Constant, who
were yet living, and knew not how to keep him from their hate. These
sorcerers bade him to build so mighty a tower, that never at any time
might it be taken by force, nor beaten down by any engine devised by
the wit of man. When this strong castle was furnished and made ready,
he should shut himself within, and abide secure from the malice of his
foes. This pleased the king, who searched throughout the land to make
choice of a fitting place to raise so strong a keep. Such a place he
met, altogether according to his mind, on mount Erir. [1] He brought
masons together, the best that might be found, and set them to the
work as quickly as they were able. The masons began to build, getting
stones ready and making them fast with mortar, but all the work that
the builders raised by day, adown it fell to the ground by night.
They laboured therefore with the more diligence, but the higher they
builded the tower the greater was its fall, to the very foundations
they had digged. So it chanced for many days, till not one stone
remained upon another. When the king knew this marvel, and perceived
that his travail came in nowise to an end, he took counsel of his
wizards. "By my faith," said he, "I wonder sorely what may be amiss
with my tower, since the earth will not endure it. Search and inquire
the reason of this thing; and how these foundations shall be made
sure."

[Footnote 1: Snowdon]

Then the magicians by their lots and divinations--though, for that
matter, it may well be that they lied--devised that the king should
seek a man born of no earthly father, him he must slay, and taking of
his blood, slake and temper therewith the mortar of the work, so that
the foundations should be made fast, and the castle might endure.
Thereat the king sent messengers throughout all the land to seek such
a man, and commanded that immediately he were found he should be
carried to the court. These messengers went two by two upon their
errand. They passed to and fro about the realm, and entered into
divers countries, inquiring of all people, at the king's bidding,
where he might be hid. But for all their labour and diligence they
learned nothing. Now it came to pass that two of the king's embassy
went their road until they came together to the town called
Caermerdin.[1] A great company of youths and children was gathered
before the gate at the entrance to the city, and the messengers stayed
awhile to mark their play. Amongst those who disported themselves at
this gate were two varlets, named Merlin and Dinabus. Presently the
two youths began to chide and jangle, and were passing wroth the one
with the other. One of the twain spake ill of his fellow, reproaching
him because of his birth. "Hold thy peace, Merlin", said Dinabus, "it
becomes you not to strive with me, whose race is so much better than
thine own. Be heedful, for I know of such an evil matter that it were
well not to tempt me beyond my power. Speak then no more against my
lineage. For my part I am come from earls and kings, but if you set
out to tell over your kindred, you could not name even your father's
name. You know it not, nor shall learn it ever; for how may a son tell
his father's name when a father he has never had?" Now the king's
messengers, who were in quest of such a sireless man, when they heard
this bitter jibe of the varlet, asked of those around concerning the
youth who had never seen his sire. The neighbours answered that the
lad's father was known of none, yea, that the very mother who had
borne him in her womb, knew nothing of the husbandman who had sown the
seed. But if his father was hidden, all the world knew of the mother
who nourished him. Daughter was she to that King of Dimetia, now gone
from Wales. Nun she was of her state, a gentlewoman of right holy
life, and lodged in a convent within the walls of their city.

[Footnote 1: Carmarthen.]

When the messengers heard these tidings, they went swiftly to the
warden of the city, adjuring him, by the king's will, to lay hands
upon Merlin--that sireless man--and carry him straightway to the king,
together with the lady, his mother. The warden durst not deny their
commandment. He delivered Merlin and his mother to the embassy, who
led them before the king. The king welcomed the twain with much
honour, and spoke kindly unto them. "Lady," said he, "answer me truly.
By none, save by thee, can I know who was the father of Merlin, thy
son." The nun bowed her head. After she had pondered for a little, she
made reply, "So God have me in His keeping, as I know nothing and saw
nothing of him who begat this varlet upon me. Never have I heard,
never may I tell, if he were verily man by whom I had my child. But
this I know for truth, and to its truth will I pledge my oath. At that
time when I was a maid growing tall, I cannot tell whether it was a
ghostly man, but something came often to my chamber, and kissed me
very close. By night and by day this presence sought me, ever alone,
but always in such fashion as not to be perceived. As a man he spake
soft words in my ear; as a man he dealt with me. But though many a
time he had speech with me, ever he kept himself close. He came so
often about me, so long were his kisses on my mouth, that he had his
way, and I conceived, but whether he were man in no wise have I known.
I had of him this varlet; but more I know not, and more I will not
say."

Now the king had a certain clerk, named Malgantius, whom he held for
very wise. He sent for this learned clerk, and told over to him the
whole matter, that he might be assured whether things could chance as
this woman had said. The clerk made answer, "In books I have found it
written that a certain order of spirit ranges between the moon and our
earth. If you seek to learn of the nature of these spirits, they are
of the nature partly of man, and partly of a loftier being. These
demons are called incubi. Their home and region is the air, but this
warm world is their resort. It is not in their power to deal man great
evil, and they can do little more mischief than to trick and to annoy.
However they know well how to clothe themselves in human shape, for
their nature lends itself marvellously to the deceit. Many a maid has
been their sport, and in this guise has been deceived. It may well be
that Merlin was begotten by such a being, and perchance is of a demon
born." "King." cried Merlin suddenly, "you brought me here; tell me
now what you would, and wherefore you have sent after me." "Merlin,"
answered the king, "know it you shall. Hearken diligently, so shall
you learn of all. I commenced to build a high tower, and got mortar
together, and masons to set one stone upon another, but all the work
that the builders raised by day, adown it fell to the ground, and was
swallowed up of night. I know not if you have heard tell thereof.
The day has not so many hours to labour, as the night has hours to
destroy; and greatly has my substance been wasted in this toil. My
councillors tell me that my tower may never stand tall, unless its
stones and lime are slaked with thy blood--the blood of a fatherless
man." "Lord God," cried Merlin, "believe not that my blood will bind
your tower together. I hold them for liars who told over such a gab.
Bring these prophets before me who prophesy so glibly of my blood, and
liars as they are, liars I will prove them to be." The king sent for
his sorcerers, and set them before Merlin. After Merlin had regarded
them curiously, one by one, "Masters," said he, "and mighty magicians,
tell us now I pray you the reason why the king's work faileth and may
not stand. If you may not show me why the tower is swallowed up of
the earth, how can your divinations declare to you that my blood will
cause it to endure! Make plain to us now what troubles the foundation,
so that the walls tumble so often to the ground, and when you have
certified this thing, show to us clearly how the mischief may be
cured. If you are not willing to declare who labours secretly to make
the house to fall, how shall it be credited that my blood will bind
the stones fast? Point out this troubler to the king, and then cry the
remedy." But all the wizards kept silence, and answered Merlin never a
word. When Merlin saw them abashed before him, he spake to the king,
and said, "Sire, give ear to me. Beneath the foundations of your tower
there lies a pool, both great and deep, and by reason of this water
your building faileth to the ground. Right easily may this be assured.
Bid your men to delve. You will then see why the tower was swallowed
up, and the truth will be proven." The king bade therefore that the
earth should be digged, and the pool was revealed as Merlin had
established. "Masters and great magicians," cried Merlin, "hearken
once more. You who sought to mix your mortar with my blood, say what
is hidden in this pond." But all the enchanters kept silence and were
dumb; yea, for good or ill they made answer never a word. Merlin
turned him again to the king. He beckoned with his hand to the king's
servants, saying, "Dig now trenches, to draw off the water from this
pool. At the bottom shall be found two hollow stones, and two dragons
sleeping in the stones. One of these dragons is white, and his fellow,
crimson as blood." Thereat the king marvelled greatly, and the
trenches were digged as Merlin had commanded. When the water was
carried about the fields, and stood low in the pool, two dragons got
them on their feet, and envisaged each the other very proudly. Passing
eager was their contention, and they strove together right grievously.
Well might be seen the foam within their mouths, and the flames that
issued from their jaws. The king seated himself upon the bank of the
pool. He prayed Merlin to show him the interpretation of these dragons
which met together so furiously. Merlin told the king what these
matters betokened, as you have oft-times heard. These dragons
prophesied of kings to come, who would yet hold the realm in their
charge. I say no more, for I fear to translate Merlin's Prophecies,
when I cannot be sure of the interpretation thereof. It is good to
keep my lips from speech, since the issue of events may make my gloss
a lie.

The king praised Merlin greatly, and esteemed him for a true prophet.
He inquired of the youth in what hour he should die, and by what means
he would come to his end. For this king was marvellously fearful of
death. "Beware," said Merlin, "beware of the sons of Constantine. By
them you shall taste of death. Already have they left Armorica with
high hearts, and even now are upon the sea. Be certified of this, that
their fleet of fourteen galleys comes to land on the morrow. Much evil
hast thou done to them; much evil will they do to thee, and avenge
them of their wrongs. In an ill day you betrayed their brother to his
death: in an ill day you set the crown on your head; in an ill day, to
your own most bitter loss, you entreated this Saxon heathenry to your
help. You are as a man against whom arrows are loosed, both this side
and that; and I know not whether your shield should be arrayed to left
or to right. On the one road the Saxon host draws near, eager to do
you a mischief. Along this other comes the rightful heirs, to pluck
the realm from your hand, the crown from your head, and to exact the
price of their brother's blood. If you yet may flee, escape quickly;
for the brethren approach, and that speedily. Of these brethren
Aurelius shall first be king, but shall also die the first, by poison.
Uther Pendragon, his brother, will sit within his chair. He will hold
the realm in peace; but he, too, will fall sick before his time, and
die, by reason of the brewage of his friends. Then Arthur of Cornwall,
his son, like to a boar grim in battle, will utterly devour these
false traitors, and destroy thy kinsfolk from the land. A right
valiant knight, and a courteous, shall he be, and all his enemies
shall he set beneath his feet." When Merlin had come to an end, he
departed from Vortigern, and went his way. On the morrow, with no
longer tarrying, the navy of the brethren arrived at Totnes, and
therein a great host of knights in their harness. The Britons
assembled themselves together, and joined them to the host. They came
forth from the lurking places whence they had fled, at that time
Hengist harried them by mount and by dale, after he had slain the
lords by felony, and destroyed their castles. At a great council the
Britons did homage to Aurelius as their king. These tidings came to
Vortigern in Wales, and he prepared to set his house in order. He
fled to a strong castle, called Generth,[1] and there made him ready,
taking with him the most valiant of his men. This tower was on the
banks of a fair running water, called by the folk of that country the
Wye. It stood high upon Mount Droac, in the land of Hergin, as testify
the people of these parts. Vortigern furnished his fortress with a
plenteous store of arms and engines, of food and sergeants. To keep
himself the surer from his foes, he garnished the tower with all that
wit might devise. The lords of the country, having joined themselves
to the brethren, sought so diligently for King Vortigern, that in the
end they arrayed them before the castle where he lay. They cast stones
from their engines, and were ever about the gates, paining themselves
grievously to take it, for they hated him beyond measure. Much cause
had the brethren to nurse so bitter a grudge against Vortigern,
since by guile and treason he had slain their brother Constant, and
Constantine, their father, before him, as all men held to be the
truth. Eldof, Earl of Gloucester, had done homage to Aurelius, and was
with him in the host. Much he knew of this land of Wales. "Eldof,"
said Aurelius, "hast thou forgotten my father who cherished thee, and
gave his faith to thee, and dost thou remember no more my brother who
held thee so dear! These both honoured thee right willingly, with love
and with reverence in their day. They were foully slain by the device
of this tyrant, this cozener with oaths, this paymaster with a knife.
We who are yet alive must bestir ourselves that we perish not by the
same means. Let us think upon the dead, and take bitter vengeance on
Vortigern for these wrongs."

[Footnote 1: In Hereford.]

Aurelius and Eldof laced them in their mail. They made the wild fire
ready and caused men to cast timber in the moat, till the deep fosse
was filled. When this was done they flung wild fire from their engines
upon the castle. The fire laid hold upon the castle, it spread to the
tower, and to all the houses that stood about. The castle flared like
a torch; the flames leaped in the sky; the houses tumbled to the
ground. In that place the king was burned with fire, and all his
household who fled to Generth with him. Neither dame nor damsel got
her living from that pyre; and on the same day perished the king's
wife, who was so marvellously fair.

When the new king had brought the realm into subjection to himself,
he devised to seek the pagans, that he might deliver the country from
their hand. Right fearful was Hengist to hear these tidings, and at
once set forth for Scotland. He abandoned all his fiefs, and fled
straightway beyond the Humber. He purposed to crave such aid and
succour from the Scots as would help him in his need, and made haste
to get him to Scotland with all the speed he might. The king pursued
him swiftly with his host, making forced marches day by day. On the
road his power was increased by a great company of Britons; till with
him was a multitude which no man could number, being innumerable as
the sand of the sea. The king looked upon his realm, and saw it gnawed
to the bone. None drave the plough, nor cast seed in the furrow. The
castles and the walled cities were breached and ruined. He marked the
villages blackened by fire, and the houses of God stripped bare as a
peasant's hovel. The heathen pilled and wasted, but gathered neither
corn into barns nor cattle within the byre. He testified that this
should not endure, so he returned in safety from the battle.

When Hengist knew that the king followed closely after, and that fight
he must, he strove to put heart and hardihood into the breasts of
his fellows. "Comrades," said he, "be not dismayed by reason of this
rabble. We know well enough what these Britons are, since they never
stand before us. If but a handful go against them, not one will stay
to fight. Many a time, with but a mean company, have I vanquished and
destroyed them. If they be in number as the sand, the more honour is
yours. A multitude such as this counts nothing. A host like theirs,
led by a weak and foolish captain, what is it worth? These are a
trembling folk, without a chief, and of them we should have little
fear. The shepherd of these sheep is a child, who is yet too young to
bear a spear, or carry harness on his back. For our part we are heroes
and champions, proven in many a stour, fighting for our very lives,
since for us there will be no other ransom. Now be confident and bold.
Let our bodies serve us for castles and for wall. Be brave and strong,
I say, for otherwise we are but dead men." When Hengist ceased
heartening his comrades, the knights arrayed them for the battle. They
moved against the Britons as speedily as their horses might bear
them, for they hoped to find them naked and unready, and to take them
unawares. The Britons so misdoubted their adversary that they watched
in their armour, both day and night. As soon as the king knew that the
heathen advanced to give battle, he ordered his host in a plain that
seemed good for his purpose. He supported the spearmen with three
thousand horsemen, clothed in mail, his own trusty vassals, who had
come with him from Armorica. The Welsh he made into two companies. The
one part he set upon the hills, so that the Paynim might not climb
there if they would. The other part he hid within the wood, to stay
them if they sought shelter in the forest. For the rest he put every
man into the plain, that it should be the more strongly held
and defended. Now when he had arrayed the battle, and given his
commandment to the captains, the king placed himself amidst the chosen
men of his own household, those whom he deemed the most loyal to his
person. He spoke apart with his friends concerning the battle. Earl
Eldof was near the king's side that day, together with many another
baron. "God," said Eldof, "what joy will be mine that hour when
Hengist and I meet face to face, with none between us. I cannot forget
the kalends of May, and that murder at Ambresbury, when he slew all
the flower of our chivalry. Right narrowly escaped I from his net"

Whilst Eldof spake these reproachful words, making complaint of
Hengist, the Saxons drew near the field, and sought to take it. With
no long tarrying the battle was joined. What time the two hosts looked
on each other they hastened together. There you might see the vassals
striving, hand to hand. They fought body to body, those assailing,
these defending. Mighty blows with the sword were given and received
among them. Many a champion lay stark upon the ground, and the living
passed over the bodies of the dead. Shields were hewn asunder; spears
snapped like reeds; the wounded were trampled beneath men's feet, and
many a warrior died that day. The Christians called on Christ, and
the heathen answered, clamouring on their gods of clay. Like men the
pagans bore them, but the Christians like heroes. The companies of
the heathen flinched, giving ground on the field. The Britons
pressed about them, redoubling their blows, so that the Saxons were
discomfited, and turning their backs, strove no more.

When Hengist saw his champions turn their backs, like children, to
the stroke, he fled to the town called Caerconan,[1] where he was
persuaded of shelter. The king followed fast after him, crying to the
hunters, "On, on." Hengist heard the noise of the pursuit, and had no
care to be trapped in his castle. Better to fight in the open at the
risk of his body, than to starve behind walls, with none to bring
succour. Hengist checked the rout, and rallying the host, set it again
in order of battle. The combat was passing sharp and grievous, for the
pagans advanced once more in rank and by companies. Each heartened
his fellow, so that great damage and loss were sustained by the
Christians. The host fell in disarray, and began to give back before
the onset of the foe. All would have been lost were it not for those
three thousand horsemen, who rode upon the Saxon in one mighty troop,
bringing succour and help to the footmen when they were overborne. The
pagans fought starkly and grimly. Well they knew not one would escape
with his life, if they did not keep them in this peril. In the press,
Eldof the Earl lighted on Hengist. Hatred gave him eyes, and he knew
him again because of the malice he owed him. He deemed that the time
and the means were come to satisfy his lust. Eldof ran in upon his
foe, striking him mightily with his sword. Hengist was a stout
champion, or he had fallen at the stroke. The two closed together,
with naked brands and lifted shields, smiting and guarding. Men forgot
to fight, and stared upon them, watching the great blows fall and the
gleaming swords.

Whilst the heroes strove, Gorlois, Earl of Cornwall, came hastening
like a paladin to the battle. Eldof saw him come, and being assured of
the end, arrayed himself against his adversary yet more proudly. He
sprang upon Hengist, and seizing him by the nasal of his helmet,
dragged him, with fallen head, amongst the Britons. "Knights," he
cried, "thanks be to God Who has given me my desire. He is vanquished
and taken who has caused such trouble to the land."

[Footnote 1: Conisburg in Yorkshire.]

Eldof showed the captive to his company, who demanded that he should
be slain with the sword. "A short shrift for the mad dog," they
clamoured, "who knows neither mercy nor pity. This is the source of
the war. This is the shedder of blood. Smite the head from his body,
and the victory is in your hands." Eldof made answer that Hengist
should have the law, good law and just. He bound him fast in fetters,
and delivered him to King Aurelius. The king chained him, hands and
feet, and set him in a strong prison to await judgment.

Now Octa, Hengist's son, and Ebissa, his cousin, who were in the
field, hardly escaped from the battle, and fleeing, entered into York.
They strengthened the city, and made all ready, till men might come to
their aid. As for the others they hid in divers places, in the woods
and valleys, in caves and in the hills. But the power of the paynim
was broken, for many were dead, and of the living most were taken, and
in bonds, or held as thralls. The king made merry over his victory,
and gave the glory to God. He abode three full days at Caerconan to
heal the wounded of their hurt, and to give a little leisure to the
weary. At that place he called a council of his captains, to know what
it were good to do with the traitor Hengist; whether he should be
held in prison or slain outright. Eldad got him to his feet. A right
learned clerk was he, a bishop of his orders, and brother by blood to
that Earl Eldof, of whom you have heard. "My counsel to the king,"
said the bishop, "is to do to the traitor Hengist--our earthly
adversary--that which holy Samuel did in old days to King Agag, when
he was made captive. Agag was a prince, passing proud, the right
glorious king of the people of Amalek. He set a quarrel upon the Jews,
that he might work them a mischief, since he sought to do them evil.
He seized their lands; he burned their goods with fire, and very often
he slew them for his pleasure. Then on a day this King Agag was taken
at a battle, the more to his sorrow. He was led before Saul, whom
these Jews so greatly desired for their king. Whilst Saul was
considering what it were well should be done with Agag, who was
delivered into his hand, Samuel stood upon his feet. This Samuel was a
holy prophet of Israel; a saint of God of the utmost sanctity; never
has there lived his like amongst the sons of men. This holy Samuel
seized on Agag, the proud king. He hewed him in many pieces, dividing
him limb from limb, and his members he sent throughout the realm.
Hearken and learn what Samuel said whilst he was hewing Agag small.
'Agag, many a man hast thou tormented for thy pleasure; many a fair
youth hast thou spoiled and slain. Thou hast drawn out many a soul
from its body, and made many a mother troubled for her son. Many a
babe hast thou rendered fatherless; but, O Agag, things evil and good
come to the like end. Now your mother presently will I make barren,
and from thy body shall the soul of thee be wrung.' Mete therefore to
your captive, O king, the measure which Samuel counted out to his."
Eldof, Earl of Gloucester, was moved by the example furnished by the
bishop. He rose in the council, and laying hands on Hengist led him
without the city. There Eldof struck the head from Hengist with his
own sword. The king caused the head to be set again on the shoulders,
and gave Hengist's body seemly burial, according to the rite and
fashion of those who observe the law of the paynim.

The king made no long stay at Caerconan, but followed eagerly after
his enemies. He came to York with a great host, and sat himself down
before the city. Octa, the son of Hengist, was within, and some of his
kindred with him. When Octa was persuaded that none might win to his
aid, he considered within himself whether he should render him to the
king's mercy. If he took his fate in his hand, and humbly besought
pity of the king, so mercy were given him all would be well, but if
his prayer was scorned, then he would defend himself to the death.
Octa did as he devised, and as his kinsfolk approved. He came forth
from the gate of the city with a company of all his barons. Octa
wore a chain of iron upon his wrists, and walking at the head of his
companions, came first to the king. "Sire," said he, "I beseech you
for mercy and pity. The gods in whom we put our trust have failed us
at need. Your gods are mightier than they. They have wrought wonders,
and set strength upon you, since we are stricken to the dust. I am
vanquished, and own myself thy servant. Behold the chain of thy
bondman! Do with me now according to thy will, to me, and these my
men. Life and limb, yea, all that we have, are at thy pleasure. But
if it seem good to the king to keep us about his person, we will
toil early and late in his service. We will serve him loyally in his
quarrels, and become his liege men."

The king was a devout man, very piteous of heart. He looked around
him to learn what his barons thought of this matter and what would be
their counsel. Eldad, the fair bishop, spake first as a wise elder.
"Good it is, and was, and ever shall be, to show mercy on him who
requires mercy to be shown. He who forgives not another his trespass,
how may he hope that God will pardon him his sin? These cry loudly
upon thee for mercy, mercy they implore, and mercy they must have.
Britain is a great realm, long and wide, and in many a place is
inhabited of none, save the beast. Grant them enough thereof that they
may dig and plant, and live of the increase. But take first of them
such hostages, that they will serve thee loyally, and loyally content
them in their lot. We learn from Holy Writ that the children of Gibeon
sought life and league from the Jew when the Israelites held them in
their power. Peace they prayed, peace they received; and life and
covenant were given in answer to their cry. A Christian man should not
be harder than the Jew proved himself to be in his hour. Mercy they
crave, mercy they should have; so let not death deceive them in their
hope."

The king granted land to the Saxons, according to the counsel of Eldad
The lot was appointed them in Scotland, and they set out speedily
to the place where they must dwell. But first they gave to the king
hostages of the children of their proudest blood and race. After the
king was fifteen days in the city, he sent messages commanding his
people to attend him in council. Baron and clerk, abbot and bishop, he
summoned to his court. At this council the rights of the heir and the
privileges of the orders were re-affirmed. He bade and assured that
the houses of religion, destroyed by the Romans, should be rebuilt. He
dismissed his soldiers to their homes, making viscounts and provosts
to keep his fiefs in peace, and to ensure his revenues and rent. He
sought masons and carpenters and built anew the churches. Such chapels
in his realm as were hurt or damaged in the wars, the king restored to
their former estate, for the fairer service and honour of God. After
the council was done the king set forth towards London, where his
presence was greatly desired of the citizens. He found the city but
the shadow of its former splendour, for the streets were emptied of
people, and houses and churches were alike fallen or decayed. Right
grievously the king lamented the damage done to his fair city. He
founded anew the churches, and bade clerks and burgesses to attend the
service of God, as was of wont and right. From thence the king went to
Ambresbury, that he might kneel beside the graves of those who were
foully slain at Hengist's love-day, near the abbey. He called together
a great company of masons, carpenters, and cunning artificers; for it
was in his mind to raise to their worship a monument of stone that
would endure to the world's end.

Thereat spake to the king a certain wise man, Tremonius, Archbishop of
Caerleon, praying him to send for Merlin, and build according to his
bidding, since there was none so skilled in counsel or labour, more
truthful of word or apter in divination. The king desired greatly to
behold Merlin, and to judge by hearing of his worth. At that time
Merlin abode near the Well of Labenes. This fountain springs in a
hidden place, very deep in Wales, but I know not where, since I have
never been. Merlin came straightway to the king, even as he was
bidden. The king welcomed him with marvellous joy, honouring him right
gladly. He cherished him richly, and was ever about him with prayers
and entreaties that he would show him somewhat of things that were yet
to come, for these he was on itch to hear. "Sire," replied Merlin,
"this I may not do. I dare not open my lips to speak of such awful
matters, which are too high for me, save only when needs speak I must.
Should my tongue be unloosed by greed or lightness, should I be puffed
up by vanity, then my familiar spirit--that being by whom I know
that which I know--would withdraw his inspiration from my breath. My
knowledge would depart from me, and the words I speak would be no
weightier than the idle words on every gossip's lips. Let the future
take care of itself. Consider rather the concerns of to-day. If thou
art desirous to make a fair work and a lasting, of which men will brag
till the end of time, cause to be brought hither the carol that a
giant wrought in Ireland. This giant laboured greatly in the building
of a mighty circle of stones. He shaped his carol, setting the stones
one upon another. The stones are so many, and of such a kind; they are
so huge and so weighty; that the strength of man--as men are in these
times--might not endure to lift the least of his pebbles" The king
laughed loudly. "Merlin," said he, "since these stones are of such
heaviness that it passes the strength of the strong to move them, who
shall carry them to my masons? Have we not in this realm stones mighty
enough, and to spare?" "King," answered Merlin, "knowest thou not that
wit is more than strength! Muscle is good, but craft is better. Skill
devises means when strength fails. Cunning and engines bring many
matters to a good end, that strength would not venture even to begin.
Engines can move these stones, and by the use of engines we may make
them our own. King, these stones were carried from Africa: there they
were first shapen. The giant who ravished them to Ireland, set up his
carol to his own content. Very serviceable were these stones, and
right profitable to the sick. It was the custom of the surgeons of
that land to wash these stones with fair water. This water they would
make hot in baths, and set therein those who had suffered hurt, or
were grieved by any infirmity. They washed in this water, and were
healed of their sickness. However sore their wound, however grievous
their trouble, other medicine needed they none." When the king and his
Britons heard of the virtue residing in the stones, they all desired
them very greatly. Not one but would gladly have ventured on the quest
for these stones, of which Merlin told such marvels. They devised
therefore to pass the sea with fifteen thousand men to make war upon
the Irish, and to ease them of the stones. Uther, at his own desire,
was chosen as their captain. Merlin also went with them to furnish
engines for their toil. So Uther and his company crossed to Ireland on
such quest. When the King of Ireland, that men called Guillomer,
heard tell that strangers were arrayed in his land, he assembled his
household and the Irish, and menaced them proudly, seeking to chase
them from the realm. After they had learned the reason of this
quarrel, and that for stones the Britons were come, they mocked them
loudly, making them their mirth and their song. For mad it seemed in
the eyes of these Irish that men should pain themselves so grievously
by land and sea to gain a treasure of naked stones. "Never a stone,"
said these, "shall they have; not one shall they carry with them to
their homes." Very lightly you may scorn your enemy in your heart, but
at your peril you seek to do him mischief with your hands. The Irish
mocked and menaced the stranger, and sought him until they found. The
combat was joined directly the hosts met together, but the Irish
were men of peace, unclad in mail, and not accustomed to battle. The
Britons were their jest, but they were also their victors. The King of
Ireland fled from the battle discomfited. He went from town to town,
with no long tarrying in any place, so that the Britons might not make
him their captive.

After the Britons had laid aside their armour, and taken rest from the
battle, they were brought by Merlin, their companion, into a mountain
where the carol was builded. This high place was called Hilomar,[1] by
the folk whom they had vanquished, and the carol was upon the summit
of the mount. The Britons stared upon the stones.

[Footnote 1: Kildare.]

They went about them, saying each to his fellow that none had seen so
mighty a building. They marvelled how these stones were set one upon
another, and how they should be got across the sea. "Comrades," said
Merlin, "you are strong champions. Strive now if of your strength you
may move these stones, and carry them from their seat." The young men
therefore encompassed the stones before, behind, and on every side,
but heave and tug as mightily as they could, the stones for all their
travail would not budge one single inch. "Bestir yourselves," cried
Merlin, "on, friends, on. But if by strength you can do no more, then
you shall see that skill and knowledge are of richer worth than thews
and fleshly force." Having spoken these words Merlin kept silence, and
entered within the carol. He walked warily around the stones. His lips
moved without stay, as those of a man about his orisons, though I
cannot tell whether or no he prayed. At length Merlin beckoned to the
Britons. "Enter boldly," cried he; "there is nought to harm. Now you
may lift these pebbles from their seat, and bear and charge them on
your ships." So at his word and bidding they wrought as Merlin showed
them. They took the stones and carrying them to the ships, bestowed
them thereon. Afterwards the mariners hoisted their sails, and set out
for Britain. When they were safely come to their own land, they bore
the stones to Ambresbury, and placed them on the mountain near by
the burying ground. The king rode to Ambresbury to Keep the Feast of
Pentecost. Bishops, abbots, and barons, he had bidden them all to
observe the Feast. A great company of folk, both rich and poor,
gathered themselves together, and at this fair festival the king set
the crown upon his head. Three days they observed the rite, and made
merry. On the fourth--because of his exceeding reverence--he gave
pastoral crosses to two prelates. Holy Dubricius became Bishop of
Caerleon, and York he bestowed upon holy Sampson. Both these fair
prelates were great churchmen, and priests of devout and spotless
life. At the same time Merlin ranged the stones in due order, building
them side by side. This circle of stones was called by the Britons in
their own tongue The Giant's Carol, but in English it bears the name
of Stonehenge.

When the rich feast was come to its appointed end, the court departed,
each man unto his own place. Now Passent, that was a son of Vortigern,
had fled from Wales and Britain, for fear of Aurelius and his brother
Uther. He sought refuge in Germany, and there purchased to himself
ships, and men who would serve him for guerdon; but of these he had no
great company. This Passent arrived in the north country and ravaged
it, burning the towns and spoiling the land. He dared make no long
stay, for the king hastened to the north to give him battle, and this
he might not endure. Passent took again to his ships, and fearing to
return whence he came, fared so far with sail and oar that in the end
he cast anchor off the coast of Ireland. Passent sought speech of the
king of that realm. He told over his birth and state, and showed him
his bitter need. Passent prayed the king so urgently; the twain took
such deep counsel together; that it was devised between them to pass
the sea, and offer battle to the Britons. This covenant was made of
Passent that he might avenge his father's death, and dispute his
heritage with Aurelius; but of the King of Ireland to avenge him upon
the Britons, who had vanquished him in battle, robbed his folk, and
taken to themselves the carol with a strong hand. Thus they plighted
faith to satisfy each the other for these wrongs. Guillomer and
Passent made ready as many soldiers as they might. They ordained their
ships, and with a fair wind crossed the sea, and came safely to Wales.
The host entered in Menevia, that city so praised of the Welsh, and
now called of men, Saint David. It befell that King Aurelius lay sick
at Winchester. His infirmity was sore upon him, for the trouble was
long and grievous, and the surgeons knew not whether he would mend or
die. When Aurelius learned that Passent and the King of Ireland were
come together in Wales to make sorrow in the land, he sent for Uther
his brother. He grieved beyond measure that he could not get him from
his bed. He charged Uther to hasten into Wales, and drive them from
the realm. Uther sent messages to the barons, and summoned the knights
to the war. He set out from Winchester; but partly by reason of the
long journey, and partly to increase the number of his power, he
tarried for a great while upon the road. Very long it was before he
arrived in Wales. Whilst he dallied in this fashion a certain pagan
named Appas, a man born in Saxony, craved speech of Passent. This
Appas was meetly schooled, and apt in parts. He spoke to many people
in their own tongues; he was wise in all that concerned medicine and
surgery; but he was felon and kept bad faith. "Passent," said Appas
privily, "thou hast hated this King Aurelius for long. What should
be mine if I were to slay him?" "Ease and riches I will give thee,"
answered Passent. "Never a day but I will stand thy friend, so only
thy word be fulfilled, and the king taste death at thy hand" "May your
word," said Appas, "be true as mine" So the covenant was ordained
between them that Passent should count out one thousand livres, what
time Appas had done to death the king Appas was very cunning, and
right greedy and covetous of wealth. He put upon him a habit of
religion; he shaved his crown, and caused his hair to be polled close
to his head. Like a monk he was shaven, like a monk he seemed; in gown
and hood he went vested as a monk. In this guise and semblance Appas
took his way to the royal court. Being a liar he gave out that he was
a good physician, and thus won to the king's bed. Him he promised to
make whole very speedily, if he would trust himself to his hand. He
counted the pulse, and sought for the trouble "Well I know," said he,
"the cause of this evil. I have such a medicine as will soon give
you ease." Who could misdoubt so sweet a physician? The gentle king
desired greatly to be healed of his hurt, as would any of you in
a like case. Having no thought of treason, he put himself in this
traitor's care. Appas made ready a potion, laced with venom, and gave
the king to drink. He then wrapped the king warmly in a rich coverlet,
and bade him lie in peace and sleep. After the king was heated, and
the poison had lain hold upon his body, ah, God, the anguish, there
was nothing for him but death. When Aurelius knew that he must die, he
took oath of his household, that so truly as they loved him they would
carry his body to Stonehenge, and bury him within the stones that
he had builded. Thus died the king and was buried; but the traitor,
Appas, escaped and fled with his life.

Uther entered in Wales with his host, and found the folk of Ireland
abiding yet at Menevia. At that time appeared a star, which was seen
of many. This star was hight Comet, and according to the clerks it
signified death and the passing of kings. This star shone marvellously
clear, and cast a beam that was brighter than the sun. At the end
of this beam was a dragon's head, and from the dragon's mighty jaws
issued two rays. One of these rays stretched over France, and went
from France even to the Mount of St. Bernard. The other ray went
towards Ireland, and divided into seven beams. Each of these seven
beams shone bright and clear, alike on water and on land. By reason of
this star which was seen of all, the peoples were sorely moved.
Uther marvelled greatly what it might mean, and marvellously was he
troubled. He prayed Merlin that he would read him the sign, and the
interpretation thereof. Merlin answered not a word. Sorrow had him by
the heart, and he wept bitterly. When speech returned to his mouth he
lamented with many words and sighed often. "Ah, God," said he, "sorrow
and trouble and grief have fallen on Britain this day. The realm has
lost its great captain. The king is dead--that stout champion who has
delivered the land from such evil and shame, and plucked his spoil
from the pagan."

When Uther was certified that his brother and good lord had finished
his course, he was right heavy, and much was he dismayed. But Merlin
comforted him as he might. "Uther," said he, "be not altogether cast
down, since from Death there is no return. Bring to an end this
business of the war. Give battle to thine enemies, for to-morrow shall
see Passent and the King of Ireland vanquished. Fight boldly on the
morrow; so shalt thou conquer, and be crowned King of Britain. Hearken
to the interpretation of the sign. The dragon at the end of the beam
betokens thee thyself, who art a stout and hardy knight. One of the
two rays signifies a son born of thy body, who shall become a puissant
prince, conquering France, and beyond the borders of France. The other
ray which parted from its fellow, betokens a daughter who shall be
Queen of Scotland. Many a fair heir shall she give to her lord, and
mighty champions shall they prove both on land and sea." Uther lent
his ear to the counsel of Merlin. He caused his folk to rest them the
night, and in the morning arm them for the battle. He thought to take
the city by assault, but when the Irish saw him approach their walls,
they put on their harness, and setting them in companies, issued forth
to fight without the gates. The Irish fought valiantly, but right soon
were discomfited, for on that day the Britons slew Passent, and the
King of Ireland, his friend. Those who escaped from the field fled
towards the sea, but Uther following swiftly after, harried them to
the death. Such as reached the water climbed wildly upon their ships,
and with sail and oar set out to sea, that Uther should work them no
more mischief.

When Uther had brought his business to a good end, he took his way
towards Winchester, and the flower of his chivalry with him. On his
road a messenger met him who told him of a surety the king was dead,
and as to the manner of his death. He related how the bishops had laid
Aurelius to rest with great pomp in the Giant's Carol, even as he had
required of his sergeants and barons whilst he was yet alive. At these
tidings Uther pressed on to Winchester, sparing not the spur. The
people came before him on his passage clamouring shrilly. "Uther,
sire," cried the common folk, "since he is dead who maintained the
poor, and did nought but good to his people, we have none to defend
us, save thee. Take then the crown, as thine by heritage and right.
Fair sire, we thy poor commons pray this thing, who desire nothing but
thy worship and thy gain." Uther rejoiced greatly at their words. He
saw clearly where his profit lay, and that no advancement is possible
to a king. He hastened, therefore, to do as the folk entreated. He
took the crown, and becoming king, loved well his people, and guarded
the honour of the realm. In remembrance of the dragon, and of the
hardy knight who should be king and a father of kings, which it
betokened, Uther wrought two golden dragons, by the counsel of his
barons. One of these dragons he caused to be borne before him when he
went into battle. The other he sent to Winchester to be set up in the
church of the bishop. For this reason he was ever after called Uther
Pendragon. Pendragon was his name in the Britons' tongue, but Dragon's
head in that of Rome.

Uther was a mighty lord, who had confidence in his power. His sacring
at Winchester he held for proof and token that he was a king who would
beget puissant princes, by whom great deeds should be done. This faith
in his destiny gave him increase of strength. He determined in his
heart that he would accomplish all that was foretold of him, and that
through good report and ill, never would he turn back. He knew and was
persuaded that whatever the task he took in hand, he must in fulness
of time bring it to a good end. Merlin was a true prophet; and since
no lying spirit was in his mouth, it was impossible to doubt that very
swiftly all these things would come to pass.

Now Octa, the son of Hengist, had received from Aurelius broad lands
and fair manors for him and his companions. When Octa knew that the
mighty captain was dead, he kept neither loyalty nor faith with a king
whom he despised in his heart. He called together a great company of
his friends and kinsmen, and amongst them Ossa, his cousin. Octa and
Ossa were hardy champions, and they were the lords of the host. With
them moreover were such folk as had escaped from Uther at the slaying
of Passent. These Octa had taken to himself, so that his fellowship
was passing strong. This host overran the realm from Humber to
Scotland, and subdued it in every part. Octa then came before York,
and would have seized it by violence, but the burgesses of the city
held it stoutly against him, so that the pagans might not enter within
the walls. He sat down, therefore, before the gates, and invested the
city straitly, by reason of the numbers of his host. Uther had no
thought but to succour his city, and to rescue his friends who were
shut within. He marched hot foot to York, calling his men together
from every part. Being resolved at all cost to force the heathen to
give over the siege, Uther offered them battle without delay. The
Melly was right sharp and grievous. Many a soul was parted from the
body. The heathen played their parts as men, and contended boldly with
the sword. The Britons could do them no mischief. They might not force
their way into the city, neither could those within prevail to issue
forth. The Batons might endure the battle no longer. They gave back in
the press, and as they fled, the pursuing Saxons did them marvellous
damage. The pursuit lasted until the Britons took refuge in a fastness
of those parts, and the night parted the adverseness one from the
other. This mountain was named Damen. The peak was very sharp. About
its flanks were rocks and precipices, whilst close at hand stood a
thicket of hazel trees. Upon this mountain the Britons climbed. By
this way and that, they ascended the height, until they sought safety
on the summit. There the heathen shut them fast, for they sat beneath
them in the plain, whilst all about them stretched the mountain.

The king was very fearful, and not for himself alone. He was in sore
straits and perplexity as to what he should do to get his spearmen
from the trap. Now Gorlois, Earl of Cornwall, was with the king. This
lord was very valiant and courteous, though stricken in years, and was
esteemed of all as a right prudent councillor. To him the king went,
and unravelled all the coil. Uther prayed Gorlois to counsel him as
became his honour, for he knew well that the earl regarded honour
beyond the loss of life or limb. "You ask me my counsel," said
Gorlois. "My counsel--so it be according to your will--is that we
should arm ourselves forthwith, and get down from this hill amongst
our foes. They are assuredly sleeping at this hour, for they despise
us overmuch to deem that we shall challenge them again to battle. In
the morning they will come to seek us--so we await them in the trap.
Let us take our fate in our hands like men, and fall upon them
suddenly. The foe will then be confused and bewildered, for we must
come upon them silently, without battle cry or blowing of trumpets.
Before they are awakened from sleep, we shall have slain so many in
our onset, that those who escape from our swords will not dare to
rally against us in their flight. Only this thing first. Let every man
have penitence for that he has done amiss. Let us ask God's pardon for
the sins that we have wrought, and promise faithfully to amend our
lives. Let us turn from the wickedness wherein we have walked all
these days; praying the Saviour to hold us in His hand, and grant us
strength against those who fear not His name, and make war upon His
Christians. If we do these things God will sustain our quarrel; and if
God be with us who then can do us wrong?"

This counsel seemed good to the king and his captains. They did as
Gorlois said, and humbled themselves before God with a contrite heart,
promising to put away the evil from their lives. After they had made
an end of prayer, they took their arms, and stole down the hillside to
the valley. The Britons came amongst the pagans lying naked upon the
ground, and fast in sleep. The swordplay was right merry, for the
slaughter was very great. The Britons thrust their glaives deep in the
breasts of the foe. They lopped heads and feet and wrists from their
bodies. The Britons ranged like lions amongst their enemies. They were
as lions a-hungered for their prey, killing ewes and lambs, and all
the sheep of the flock, whether small or great. Thus the Britons
did, for they spared neither spearman nor captain. The heathen were
altogether dismayed. They were yet heavy with sleep, and could neither
get to their harness, nor flee from the field. No mercy was shown them
for all their nakedness. Armed or naked the sword was thrust through
their breast or heart or bowels. In that place the heathen perished
from the land, since the Christians destroyed them utterly. Octa and
Ossa, the lords of their host--these troublers of Britain--were taken
alive. They were led to London, and set fast in a strong prison, bound
in iron. If any of their fellows escaped from the battle, it was only
by reason of the blackness of the night. He who was able to flee, ran
from the field. He tarried not to succour his own familiar friend. But
many more were slam in that surprise than got safely away.

When Uther parted from York he passed throughout Northumberland. From
Northumberland he entered into Scotland, having many ships and a great
host with him. He went about the length and breadth of the land, and
purged it throughly in every part. Such folk as were oppressed of
their neighbours he confirmed in their rights. Never before had the
realm such rest and peace as in the days of Uther the king. After
Uther had brought his business in the north to an end, he set forth
to London, where he purposed to take the crown on Easter Day. Uther
desired the feast to be very rich and great. He summoned therefore
dukes, earls, and wardens, yea, all his baronage from near and far,
by brief and message, to come with their wedded dames and privy
households to London for his feast. So all the lords came at the
king's commandment, bringing their wives as they were bidden. Very
richly the feast was holden. After the Mass was sung, that fair
company went in hall to meat. The king sat at the head of his hall,
upon a dais. The lord