Paullinus is an old man now; you may see him walk at evening beside the water, under the shadow of the church. The images have been broken and defaced; but Paullinus often stops beside a mound, and thinks of the bones of the great beast that lie whitening below—and then he stands beside a grave which bears the name of John, and knows that his brother, that did evil in the days of his ignorance, but that suffered sore, will be the first to meet him in the heavenly country, with the light of God about him; "and perhaps," says Paullinus to himself, "he will bear a palm in his hand."
THE TOMB OF HEIRI
In the old days, when the Romans were taking Britain for their own, there lived in Cambria a great prince called Heiri. He was forty summers old; he had long been wed, but had no son to reign after him. Many times had he fought with the Romans, but his tribe had been driven slowly backward to the northern mountains; here for a time he dwelt in some peace, but the Romans crept ever nearer; and Heiri, who was a brave and generous prince and a great warrior, was sore afflicted, seeing the end that must come. He dwelt in a high valley of moorland, where his tribe kept such herds as yet remained to them. Heiri often asked himself in what he and his people had wronged the gods, that they should be thus vexed; for he was, as it seemed, like a wild beast with his back to a wall, fighting with innumerable foes; to the north and east and south and west lay great mountains, and behind them to west and north lay the sea; to south and east the Romans held the land, so that the Cambrians were penned in a corner.
One day heavy news came; a great army of the Romans had come by sea to the estuary in the south. The next day the scouts saw them marching up the pass, like ants, in countless numbers, with a train of baggage; and the day after, when the sun went down, the watch-fires burnt in a long line across the southern moorland, and the sound of the horns the Romans blew came faintly upon the wind; all day the tribesmen drove in their cattle up to the great camp, that lay on a low hill in the centre of the vale. Heiri held a council with his chiefs, and it was determined that next day they should give them battle.
That night, when Heiri was sitting in his hut, his beloved wife beside him, there came to see him the chief priest of the tribe; he was an old man, hard and cruel, and Heiri loved him not; and he hated Heiri secretly, being jealous of his power; he came in, his white priestly robe bound about the waist with a girdle of gold; and Heiri rose to do him honour, making a sign to his wife that she should leave them. So she withdrew softly; then the priest sat down. He asked first of Heiri whether it was determined to fight on the morrow; and Heiri said that it was so determined. Then the priest said, "Lord Heiri, to-morrow is the feast of the God of Death; and he claims a victim, if we are to be victorious." Now Heiri hated the sacrifice of men, and the priest knew it; and so for a while Heiri sat in silence, frowning, and beating his foot upon the ground, while the priest watched him with bright and evil eyes. Then Heiri said, "To-morrow must many men, both valiant and timid, die; surely that were enough for the god!" But the priest said, "Nay, my lord, it is not enough; the law saith that unless a victim should offer himself, the priests should choose a victim; and the victim must be goodly; for we are in an evil case." Then Heiri looked at the priest and said, "Whom have ye chosen?" for he saw that the priests had named a victim among themselves. So the priest said, "We have named Nefri—be content."
Now Nefri was a lad of fifteen summers, cousin to Heiri; his father was long dead, and Heiri loved the boy, who was brave and gracious, and had hoped in his heart that Nefri would succeed him as prince of the tribe. Then Heiri was very wroth, and said, "Lord priest, that may not be; Nefri is next of kin to myself, and will grow up a mighty warrior; and he shall be chief after me, if the gods grant him life; look you, to-morrow we shall lose many mighty men; and it may be that I shall myself fall; for I have been heavy-hearted for many days, and I think that the gods are calling me—and Nefri we cannot spare."
Then the priest said, "Lord Heiri, the gods choose whom they will by the mouth of their priests; it were better that Nefri should perish than that the people should be lost; and, indeed, the gods have spoken; for I prayed that the victim should be shown me, hoping that it might be some common man; but hardly had I done my prayer, when Nefri came to my hut to bring an offering; and my heart cried out, 'Arise, for this is he.' The gods have chosen him, not I; and Nefri must die for the people."