CHAPTER VI.
THE EVE OF BATTLE.
It was the eve of the battle of Vannes; the battle of Vannes which,waged on land and sea, was to decide the fate of Brittany, and,consequently, of all Gaul, whether for liberty or enslavement. On thismemorable evening, in the presence of all the members of our familyunited in the Gallic camp, except my brother Albinik, who had joined theGallic fleet in the bay of Morbihan, my father Joel, the brenn of thetribe of Karnak, addressed me, his eldest born, Guilhern the laborer,who now writes this account. He said to me:
"To-morrow, my son, is the day of battle. We shall fight hard. I amold--you are young. The angel of death will doubtless carry me hencefirst; perhaps to-morrow I shall meet in the other life my sainteddaughter Hena. Here, now, is what I ask of you, in the face of themisfortunes which menace our country, for to-morrow the fortunes of warmay go with the Romans. My desire is that as long as our stock shalllast, the love of old Gaul and sacred memories of our fathers shall beever kept fresh in our family. If our children should remain free men,the love of country, the reverence for the memory of their ancestors,will all the more endear their liberty to them. If they must live anddie slaves, these holy memories will remind them, from generation togeneration, that there was a time when, faithful to their gods, valiantin war, independent and happy, masters of the soil which they had wonfrom nature by severe toil, careless of death, whose secret they held,the Gallic race lived, feared by the whole world, yet withal hospitableto peoples who extended to them a friendly hand. These memories, keptalive from age to age, will make slavery more horrible to our children,and some day give them the strength to overthrow it. In order that thesememories may be thus transmitted from century to century, you mustpromise by Hesus, my son, to be faithful to our old Gallic custom. Youmust tenderly guard this collection of relics which I am going toentrust you with; you must add to it; you must make your son Sylvestswear to increase it in his turn, so that the children of yourgrandchildren may imitate their fore-fathers, and may themselves beimitated by their posterity. Here is the collection. The first rollcontains the story of all that has chanced to our family up to theanniversary of my dear Hena's birthday, that day which also saw her die.This other roll I received this evening about sunset from my son Albinikthe mariner. It contains the story of his journey across the burntterritory, to the camp of Caesar. This account throws honor on thecourage of the Gaul, it throws honor on your brother and his wife,faithful as they were, almost excessively so, to that maxim of ourfathers: 'Never did Breton commit treason.' These writings I confide toyou. You will return them to me after to-morrow's conflict if I survive.If not, do you preserve them, or in lack of you, your brothers. Do youinscribe the principal events of your life and your family's; hand theaccount over to your son, that he may do as you, and thus on,forever--generation after generation. Do you swear to me, by Hesus, torespect my wishes?"
I, Guilhern the laborer, answered: "I swear to my father Joel, the brennof the tribe of Karnak, that I will faithfully carry out his desires."
The orders then given to me by my father, I have carried out to-day,long after the battle of Vannes, and after innumerable misfortunes. Imake the recital or these misfortunes for you, my son Sylvest. It is notwith blood that I should write this narrative. No blood would run dry. Iwrite with tears of rage, hatred and anguish,--their source never runsdry!
After my poor and well-beloved brother Albinik piloted the Roman fleetinto the bay of Morbihan, the following was the course of events on theday of the battle of Vannes. It all took place under my own eyes--I sawit all. Were I to have lived all the days I am to live in the next worldand into all infinity, yet will the remembrance of that frightful day,and of the days; that followed it, be ever vivid before me, as vivid asit is now, as it was, and as it ever will be.
Joel my father, Margarid my mother, Henory my wife, my two childrenSylvest and Syomara, as well as my brother Mikael the armorer, his wifeMartha, and their children, to mention only our nearest relatives, had,like all the rest of our tribe, gathered in the Gallic camp. Our warchariots, covered with cloth, had served us for tents until the day ofthe battle at Vannes. During the night, the council, called together bythe Chief of the Hundred Valleys, and Tallyessin, the oldest of thedruids, had met. Several mountaineers of Ares, mounted on their tirelesslittle horses, were sent out in the evening to scout the area of theconflagration. At dawn they hastened back to report that at six leagues'distance from Vannes they saw the fires of the Roman army, encamped thatnight in the midst of the ruins of the town of Morh'ek. The Chief of theHundred Valleys concluded that Caesar, to escape from the circle ofdevastation and famine that was drawing in closer and closer upon hisarmy, had left the wasted country behind him by forced marches, andintended to offer battle to the Gauls. The council resolved to advanceto meet Caesar, and to await him on the heights which overlooked theriver Elrik. At break of day, after the druids had invoked the blessingsof the gods, our tribe took up its march for its post in the battle.
Joel, mounted on his high-mettled stallion Tom-Bras, commanded the_Mahrek-Ha-Droad_,[5] of which myself and my brother Mikael weremembers, I as a horseman, Mikael as a foot-soldier. According to thecustom of the army, it was our duty to fight side by side, I onhorse-back, he afoot, and mutually support each other. The war chariots,armed with scythes at the hubs, were placed in the center of the army,with the reserve. In one of them were my mother and wife, the wife ofMikael, and our children. Some young lads, lightly armed, surrounded thechariots and were with difficulty holding back the great war-dogs,which, after the example of Deber-Trud, the man-eater, were howling andtugging at their leashes, already scenting battle and blood. Among theyoung men of the tribe who were in the array, were two who had taken thebond of friendship, like Julyan and Armel. Moreover, to make it morecertain that they would share the same fate, a stout iron chain wasriveted to their collars of brass, and fastened them together. The chainas the symbol of their pledge of solidarity held them inseparable,scathless, wounded, or dead.
On the way to our post in the battle, we beheld the Chief of the HundredValleys passing at the head of the _Trimarkisia_.[6] He rode a superbblack horse, in scarlet housings; his armor was of steel; his helmet ofplated copper, which shone like the sun, was capped by the emblem ofGaul, a gilded cock with half spread wings. At either side of the Chiefrode a bard and a druid, clad in long white robes striped with purple.They carried no arms, but when the troops closed in to battle, then,disdainful of danger, they stood in the front ranks of the combatants,encouraging these with their words and their songs of war. Thus chantedthe bard at the moment when the Chief of the Hundred Valleys passed byJoel's column:
"Caesar has come against us. In a loud voice he asks: 'Do you want to be slaves? Are ye ready?'
"No, we do not want to be slaves. No, we are not ready. Gauls! Children of the same race, Let us raise our standards on the mountains and pour down upon the plains. March on! March on against Caesar, Joining in the same slaughter him and his army! To the Romans! To the Romans!"
As the bard sang this song, every heart beat with the ardor ofbattle.[7]
As the Chief of the Hundred Valleys passed the troop at the head ofwhich was my father Joel, he reined in his horse and cried:
"Friend Joel, when I was your guest, you asked my name. I answered thatI was called _Soldier_ so long as our old Gaul should be under theoppressor's scourge. The hour has come when we must show ourselvesfaithful to the motto of our fathers: 'In all war, there is but one oftwo outcomes for the man of courage: to conquer or to die.'[8] O, thatmy love for our common country be not barren! O, that Hesus keep ourarms! Perhaps then the Chief of the Hundred Valleys will have washed offthe stain which covers a name he no longer dares to bear.[9] Courage,friend Joel, the sons of your tribe are brave of the brave. What blowswill they not deal on this day which makes for the welfare of Gaul!"
"My tribe will strike its best, and with all its might," answered myfather. "We ha
ve not forgotten that song of the bards who accompaniedyou, when the first war-cry burst from them in the forest of Karnak:'Strike the Roman hard--strike for the head--still harder--strike!--TheRomans, strike!'"
With one voice the whole tribe of Joel took up the cry:
"Strike!--The Romans, strike!"