The Count of the Saxon Shore; or The Villa in Vectis.<br />A Tale of the Departure of the Romans fro by Church and Putnam (electric book reader .TXT) 📖

Martianus grew pale. “It is not possible,” he stammered.

“Not only possible, but necessary,” calmly returned the priest. “Our fathers were commonly content to offer those who had offended against the laws; but in times of special necessity they chose the noblest victims. Even our kings have given up their sons and their daughters. So it must be now.”

All this was absolutely horrible to Martianus. He did not believe indeed in Christianity, but it had influenced him as it had influenced all the world. Whether he was at heart much the better may be doubted. But he was softer, more refined; he shrank from visible horrors, from open cruelty—though he could be cruelly selfish on occasion—and from blood[pg 120]shed, though he would not stretch out a finger to save a neighbour’s life. And what the priest said was as new and unexpected to him as it was hideous. He had no idea that this savage faith had survived in Britain.

“Father,” he said, “such a thing would ruin us. Such a deed would raise the whole country against us. A human sacrifice! It is monstrous!”

“You are right so far,” returned the priest, “the country must not know it. Britain is utterly corrupted by this new faith, a superstition fit only for women, and children, and slaves; and I don’t doubt but that it would lift up its hands in horror at this holy solemnity. But there is no need that it should know it. It must be done secretly—so much I concede.”

“And the victim?”

“Well, the days are passed when a Druid could lay his command on Britain’s noblest, and be obeyed without a murmur. The victim must be taken by force, and secretly.”

“And have you any such victim in your thoughts?”

The priest hesitated for a moment; but it was only for a moment. He resumed in a low voice, which it evidently cost him an effort to keep steady—

“I have not forgotten the necessity of a choice; indeed for months past it has been without ceasing in my mind, and now the choice is made. The victim [pg 121]whom the gods should have is a maiden, beautiful and pure. She is of noble descent, though her father was compelled, by poverty and the oppression of the Roman tyrants, to follow a humble occupation. Thus she is worthy to be offered. And yet no true Briton will regret her fate, for she has deserted the faith of her ancestors for the base superstition of the Cross.”

“And her name, father?” said both of the conspirators together.

Again the priest hesitated; a close observer might even have seen a trace of agitation in that stern countenance.

“It is Carna,” he said, after a pause, which raised the suspense of his hearers almost to agony. “It is Carna, adopted daughter of Count Ælius.”

And he looked steadfastly at his companions’ faces, as if he would have said, “I dare you to challenge my decision.”

The two started simultaneously to their feet. Not long before, young Ambiorix, who was then not yet possessed by the fanatical patriotism which now mastered him, had admired her beauty and sweetness of manner, and had had day-dreams of her as the goddess of his own hearth. Then a stronger love had come in the place of the old. It was not of woman, but of Britain free among the nations, as she had been before the restless eagles of the South [pg 122]had found her, that he thought day and night. Still, he could not calmly hear her doomed to a horrible death, and for a moment he was ready to rebel against the sentence of the priest.

The older man was terribly agitated. He had been for many years on the friendliest footing with the Count, a frequent guest at his table, almost an intimate of the house. And Carna was an especial favourite with him. Her sweetness, her simplicity, and a pathetic resemblance that she bore to a dead daughter of his own, touched him on the best side of his nature.

“Priest,” he thundered, “it shall not be. I would sooner the whole scheme came to ruin; I would sooner die. A curse on your hideous worship!”

The priest had now crushed down the risings of human feelings which his training had not sufficed to eradicate.

“You have sworn by the gods,” he said, “and you cannot go back. If you do not hesitate to betray Britain, at least you will not dare to betray yourself. You know the power I can command. Go back from your promise to follow my leading, and you are a dead man. You are faithful?” he went on, turning to Ambiorix. “You do not draw back?”

The young chief returned a muttered assent.

The older man, meanwhile, was in a miserable condition of indecision and terror. Unbeliever as he was, [pg 123]having long since given up the faith of his fathers, and never accepted the doctrine of the church but with the emptiest formality, he had not put from his breast the superstitious fear that commonly lingers when belief is gone. And he knew that the priest’s threatened vengeance on himself was no empty boast. The strength of Druidism had passed, but it still had fanatics at its command, whose daggers would find their way sooner or later to his heart. The cold, cynical look with which he had entered on the conference had given place to mingled looks of rage, remorse, and fear.