The Saxon arrows fly through the air; two strike, and quiver where they strike, in the upturned branches of the tree on which Vortigern has mounted; the third enters his left arm.
The descendant of Joel quickly draws out the sharp-edged iron, throws it back at the Franks with a defiant gesture, and disappears behind the twisted branches of the improvised barricade.
Three times the cry of the night bird is again heard in the forest, and the Bretons disperse along paths known only to them, again singing as they go, the ancient war-song, the sound of whose refrain is gradually lost in the distance:
| "This morning we asked: |
| 'How many are there of these Franks? |
| How many are there of these barbarians?' |
| This evening we say: |
| 'How many were there of these Franks? |
| How many were there of these barbarians?' |
| Victory, Victory for Gaul!" |
CHAPTER VII.
THE MOOR OF KENNOR.
About four leagues in width and three in length—such is the expanse of the moor of Kennor. It constitutes a vast plateau that slopes to the north toward the valley of Lokfern, and is bounded on the west by a wide river that pours its waters into the Sea of Armorica only a little distance away. The forest of Cardik and the last spurs of the mountain chain of Men-Brez border on the moor. The moor is covered throughout its extent by heather two or three feet high and almost burned out by the scorching sun of the dog-days. Level as a lake, the immense barren and desert plain presents a desolate aspect. A violent east wind causes the tall heather, now of the color of dead leaves, to undulate like a peaceful sheet of water. Above, the sky is of a bright blue on this sultry and windy day. An August sun inundates with its blinding light the desert expanse of heather, whose silence is disturbed only by the sharp chirp of the grasshopper, or the low moan of the gale.
Presently a new element enters upon the scene. Skirting the bank of the river, a black and confused mass heaves into sight, stretches out its length, and moves toward the centre of the plain. It is the one of the three army corps led in person by Louis the Pious against the Breton Gauls. Long before its appearance, other troops, formed in compact cohorts, have been descending on the east the last slopes of Men-Brez. They, likewise, are advancing toward the plain—the place agreed upon for the junction of the three armies that had invaded Armorica, burning and ravaging the country upon their passage, and driving the population back towards the valley of Lokfern. The only division absent from the rendezvous is the contingent captained by Neroweg, which, since morning, has been struggling in the forest of Cardik. Finally it has issued in disorder from the woods, and re-formed its ranks. After incalculable labor, hewing, axe in hand, a passage through the thickets, leaving their cavalry behind, and forced to retreat upon their steps back to the marsh of Peulven, the troops of Neroweg at last succeed in crossing the forest. These troops now number barely one-half their original strength. They are reduced, not only by the losses sustained in the passage of the defile of Glen-Clan, of the marsh of Peulven, and the forest of Cardik, but also by the defection of large numbers of men, who, being more and more terror stricken by the resistance that they encountered, refused to listen to the orders of their chief, and followed the cavalry in its retreat. Neroweg's greatly reduced contingent now also appears in sight from the opposite side. The three army corps have descried one another. Their march converges towards the centre of the plain. The distance between them becomes so small that they are able to see one another's armor, casques and lances, glistening in the sun. The division of Louis the Pious, having been the first to descend into the plain over the hills of Men-Brez, halts, in order to wait for the other divisions. The troops under Louis the Pious himself are no less demoralized and reduced in numbers than the division under Neroweg. They have undergone similar vicissitudes during their long march, having had to cut their way across a seemingly endless series of ambushes. The sight of their companions arriving from the opposite side revives their courage. Henceforth they expect to fight in the open. As far as the eye can reach, the vast plain that they now have entered upon lies fully exposed to view. It can conceal no trap. The last struggle is now at hand, and with it the close of the war. The Bretons, crowded together just beyond in the valley of Lokfern, are to be crushed by a combined armed force that is still three times stronger than theirs.
The vanguards of the three converging divisions are about to join when suddenly, from the east, whence a dry and steady gale is blowing, little puffs of smoke, at first almost imperceptible, are seen to rise at irregular distances from one another. The puffs of smoke are going up from the extreme eastern edge of the moor; they spread; they mingle with one another over an area more than two leagues in length; by little and little they present the aspect of one continuous belt of blackish smoke rising high and spreading into the air, and from time to time breaking out into lambent flames.