“And thou, Nesta, art thou not a daughter of a race of kings? Is not the blood of Hu the Mighty in thy veins, the blood of heroes who feared nought, death least of all. Maiden, I tell thee the gods demand it. Only by thy death can the Romans be overthrown, and Britain remain free. And behold the moon is even now in the sky, the hour of sacrifice is come.”
Nesta the Fair flung her arms about her lover and kissed him.
“Farewell, my heart,” she cried. “The gods prosper thee, and give thee a hero’s death at last.”
In another moment she was gone, and Edas, who knew the power of the Druids, fell on the ground and sobbed.
The wild warriors hurried on, and gathered in silence about the altar of sacrifice. There, between the upright stones, was bound the form of Nesta the Fair. About her were the white-robed Druids, and Caledon, the priest, stood near her on the altar.
The voice of Caledon rose, and the multitude drew their breaths to listen.
“To thee, Dread All Giver, Master of Life, and Death, we offer now the fairest maid in all the Isle of Britain. We give to thee our best beloved. Better far is it that she should become Thy bride than fall into the power of Roman ravishers. Deign to accept her blood as the price of British victory. May our spears be dyed in the blood of the Eagles, and may the Roman legions be swept away before the rush of our warriors, even as the leaves scatter before the wind.”
So he chanted, and then, as the moonlight fell in a slanting beam upon the snow-white breasts of Nesta the Fair, he raised the golden knife, plunged it deep in the maiden’s heart, and the spirit of the bride of Edas passed beyond the mountains to the Land of Rest.
Then Caledon turned to the warriors.
“Sons of Britain,” he cried, “the Gods have accepted your sacrifice. Get ye to your spears. The air is thick with ghosts. The dead heroes have left their graves, and their spirits sail about the moor. Sing ye the songs of the heroes who died for Britain. For on the morrow the blood will flow like water, and it is well that ye know how to die. The victory will be as the gods decree, but end the battle as it may, see that the bards have a glorious song to sing of you, and let not the ghosts of your fathers be ashamed when they greet you in the after world.”