CHAPTER II.

THE BRETON CHIEF.

The home of Morvan, the husbandman, who was chosen Chief of the Chiefs of Brittany, was located about the middle of the valley of Lokfern, and nestled among the last spurs of the Black Mountains. A strong system of palisades, constructed of tough trunks of oak fastened together by means of stout cross-beams, and raised on the near side of deep ditches, defended the approaches of the farm-house. Outside of the fortified enclosure, a forest of centenarian oaks extended to the north and east; to the south, green meadows sloped gently towards the windings of a swift running river that was bordered with beeches and alders.

The house of Morvan, its contiguous barns, kennels and stables, had the rough exterior of the Gallic structures of olden days. A sort of rustic porch shaded the main entrance to the house. Under this porch, and enjoying the close of the delightful summer day, were Noblede, the spouse of Morvan, and Josseline, the young wife of Vortigern. The latter, a radiant woman of smiling beauty, was suckling her latest born, with her other two children, Ewrag and Rosneven, respectively four and five years of age, at her side. Caswallan, a Christian druid, an aged man of venerable appearance, whose beard vied in whiteness with his long robe, smiled tenderly upon little Ewrag, whom he held on his knees. Noblede, Morvan's wife and sister of Vortigern, now about thirty years of age, was a woman of rare comeliness, although her features bore the stamp of a rooted sadness. Ten years a wife, Noblede had not yet tasted the sweets of motherhood. Her grave aspect and her high stature recalled those matrons, who, in the days of Gaul's independence, sat loyally by the side of their husbands at the supreme councils of the nation.[C] Noblede and Josseline were spinning, while the other women and daughters of Morvan's household busied themselves with the preparations for the evening meal, or in the other domestic occupations, such as replenishing with forage the stalls that the cattle were to find ready upon their return from the fields. The Christian druid Caswallan, with Ewrag, the second child of the blonde Josseline, on his knees, had just finished making the boy recite his lesson in religion under the following symbolic forms:

"White child of the druid, answer me, what shall I tell you?"

"Tell me the parts of the number three," the child would answer, "make them known to me, that I may learn them to-day."

"There are three parts of the world--three beginnings and three ends to man as to the oak--three celestial kingdoms, fruits of gold, brilliant flowers and little children who laugh. These three kingdoms, where the fruits of gold, the brilliant flowers and the children who laugh are found, my little Ewrag, are the worlds in which those, who in this world have performed pure and celestial acts, will be successively born again and will continue to live with ever increasing happiness. Now, what must we be in order to perform such acts?"

"We must be wise, good and just," the child would reply. "Furthermore death must not be feared, because we are born again and again, from world to world with an ever renewed body. We must love Brittany like a tender mother--and bravely defend her against her enemies."

"Yes, my child," broke in Noblede, drawing her brother's child to herself. "Always remember those sacred words: 'To love and defend Brittany';" and Morvan's wife tenderly embraced Ewrag.

"Mother! mother!" cried up little Rosneven, joyfully clapping his hands and rushing out of the porch followed by his brother Ewrag: "Here is father!"

Caswallan, Noblede and Josseline rose at the gladsome cries of the child and walked out towards two large wagons heavily laden with golden sheaves, and drawn by a yoke of oxen.

Morvan and Vortigern were seated in front of one of the wagons surrounded by a considerable number of men and lads belonging to the household, or to the tribe of the Chief of the Chiefs, carrying in their hands the sickles, the forks and the rakes used by the harvesters. At a little distance behind them came the shepherds with their flocks whose bells were heard clinking from the distance. Morvan, in the vigor of life, robust and thick-set, like most of the inhabitants of the Black Mountains, wore their rustic garb--wide breeches of coarse white material, and a linen shirt that exposed his sunburnt chest and neck. His long hair, auburn like his thick beard, framed his manly face. His forehead was high; his eyes intrepid and piercing. As to Vortigern, the maturer gravity of manhood, of husband and father, had succeeded the flower of youth. His looks were expressive of sweet delight at the sight of the two boys who had ran out to meet him. He jumped down from the wagon and embraced them affectionately while he looked for his wife and sister, who, accompanied by Caswallan, were not long in joining him.

"Dear wife, the harvest will be plentiful," said Morvan to Noblede, and pointing to the overloaded wagons, he added: "Have you ever seen more beautiful wheat, or more golden sheaves? Look at them and wonder!"

"Morvan," put in Josseline, "you are this year harvesting earlier than customary. We, of the region of Karnak would leave our wheat to ripen on the stalk fully two weeks longer. Not so, Vortigern?"

"No, my sweet Josseline," answered her husband, "I shall follow Morvan's example. We shall return home to-morrow, so as to start taking in the harvest as soon as possible."

"I am going to furnish you with still more matter for astonishment," Morvan proceeded. "Instead of leaving the sheaves in the barn that the grain may ripen, this wheat that you see there, and that was cropped only to-day, will be threshed this very night. Vortigern and myself will not be the only ones to ply the flails on the threshing-floor of the barn. So, then, Noblede, let us have supper early, and then to work!"

"What, Morvan!" exclaimed Josseline, "after this tiring day's work, spent in gathering in the crop, do you and Vortigern mean to spend the night at work, and threshing, at that?"

"It will be a cheerful night, my Josseline," put in Vortigern. "While we shall be threshing the wheat, you will sing us some songs, Caswallan will recite to us some old legend, and we shall stave in a barrel of hydromel to cheer the laborers who have come to join us. Work goes hand in hand with pleasure."

"Vortigern," the Christian druid said, smiling, "do you, perchance, think that my arms are so much enfeebled by old age that I could no longer wield a flail? I mean to help you at work."

"And we?" put in Josseline, laughing merrily, "we, the daughters and wives of the field-laborers, did we, perchance, lose the skill of carrying the wheat to the threshing-floor, or of bagging the grain?"

"And we?" Ewrag and his brother Rosneven cried in turn, "could not we also carry a stalk, six stalks, twenty stalks?"

"Oh! you are brave boys, my little ones," exclaimed Vortigern, embracing his children, while Morvan said to his wife:

"Noblede, do not forget to have the guest's chamber in order and supplied with food."

"Do you expect any guests, Morvan?" inquired Josseline, with great curiosity. "They will be welcome; they will assist us at the threshing to-night."

"My beloved Josseline," answered the Chief of the Chiefs, smiling, "the guests whom I expect eat the choicest of wheat, but never take the trouble of either sowing or harvesting. They belong to a class of people who live on the fat of the land."

"The guest's chamber is always ready," replied Noblede; "the floor is strewn with fresh leaves. Alack! No one occupied it since it was last occupied by Amael."

"Worthy grandfather!" exclaimed Vortigern with a sigh.

"He came to us only to languish a few weeks and pass away."

"May his memory be blessed, as was his life," said Josseline. "I knew him only a very short while, but I loved and venerated him like my father."

The family of Morvan, together with the rest of his tribe who cultivated his lands in common with himself, men, women and children, about thirty in all, presently sat down to a long table, placed in a large hall that served at once for kitchen, refectory and a place of assembly during the long nights of the winter. From the walls hung weapons of war and of the hunt, fishing nets, bridles and horse saddles. Although it was midsummer, such was the coolness of that region of woods and mountains, that the heat of the hearth, before which the meats for the supper were broiled, felt decidedly comfortable to the harvesters. Its flamboyant light mingled with that cast by the torches of resinous wood, that were fastened in iron clamps along the four walls. After the industrious group had finished their repast, Morvan was the first to rise.

"And now, my boys, to work! The night is clear, we shall thresh the wheat on the outside floor. Two or three torches planted between the stones on the edge of the well will give us light until the moon rises. We shall be through with our task by one o'clock in the morning, we shall sleep until daybreak, and we shall then return to the fields and finish taking in the crop."

The torches, placed at Morvan's orders around the edge of the well, cast their bright light upon a portion of the yard and buildings that were within the fortified enclosure. Several men, the women and the children, took a hand in unloading the wagons, while those who were to do the threshing, Morvan, Vortigern and the old Caswallan among them, stood waiting for the grain to be brought to them, their flails in their hands, having for the sake of comfort, stripped themselves of all their superfluous clothing and keeping only their breeches and shirts on. The first bundles of grain were placed in the center of the floor, whereupon the rapid rhythm of the flails, vigorously wielded by robust and experienced arms, resounded through the air. Apprehending a speedy war, the Bretons were hastening to take in their crops and place them under cover in order to save them from the ravages of the enemy, as well as to deprive these of food. The grains were to be concealed in underground caves covered with earth. Morvan, whose forehead began to be moistened with perspiration, said, while rapidly handling the flail:

"Caswallan, you promised us a song. Take a little rest and sing. It will inspire us in our work."

The Christian druid sang "Lez-Breiz," an old national song that ever sounded sweet on the ears of the Bretons. It began thus:

"Between a Frankish warrior and Lez-Breiz A combat was arranged; It was arranged with due formalities.-- May God give the victory to the Breton, And gladsome tidings to his county.-- That day Lez-Breiz said to his young attendant: Rise, furbish up my handsome casque; my lance and my sword; I mean to redden them in the blood of the Franks.-- I shall make them jump this day!"

"Old Caswallan," said one of the laborers when the druid had finished the long and inspiring strain that warmed the blood of his hearers with martial ardor, "let the accursed Franks come again, and we shall say, like Lez-Breiz: 'With the aid of our two arms, let us make them jump again to-day'--"

A furious barking of the shepherd dogs, that for some little time had been emitting low and intermittent growls, interrupted at this moment the remarks of the laborers, and all turned their eyes towards the gate of the enclosure, whither the dogs had precipitated themselves furiously.