"Hark!" shouted Rogier. "What is that?"
The river of light had become a river of song. The thunder of the voices of men and the clear tones of the women combined. And from every rill of light that descended from the heights to swell the advancing current, came the strain as well.
"They have come caroling," said Rogier disdainfully.
"Carol, call you this?" exclaimed Cadell. "It is the war-song of the sons of David. 'Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered: let them also that hate Him, flee before Him. Like as the smoke vanisheth, so shalt Thou drive them away: and like as wax melteth at the fire, so let the ungodly perish——'"
"I will hear no more," said Rogier. "Mount! And Heaven grant us a day when we may revenge this."
"I will go too," said Cadell. "Here I dare not remain."
Before the advancing river of men arrived at the crossing of the Annell, the entire band of the Normans had fled—not one was left.
Then up the ascent came the procession.
First went the staff of Cynwyl, not now in its gold and gem-encrusted shrine, but removed from it—a plain, rough, ashen stick, borne aloft by Morgan ap Seyssult, its hereditary guardian, and behind him came Meredith, with his two attendant bards, all with their harps, striking them as the multitude intoned the battle-song that for five hundred years had not sounded within the sanctuary of David. The women bore torches aloft, the men marched four in breast, all armed and with stern faces, and Pabo was there—and led them.
The Archpriest, on reaching the church, mounted a block of stone, and dismissed the women. Let them return to their homes. A panic had fallen on those who had molested them, and they had fled. The work was but begun, and the men alone could carry it on to the end.