Paul the Minstrel and Other Stories, Arthur Christopher Benson [paper ebook reader TXT] 📗

the tomb of Heiri, and that peaceful offerings should be made there, and that it should be kept as a day of festival; and that Nefri himself should be priest as well as prince, and his successors for ever."

And the people all applauded, for they had dreaded the bloody sacrifices; and the next day and for many days they laboured until over the whole precinct they had raised a mighty mound, burying the image of the god; and for Heiri's body they made a chamber of stone, and they laid him therein, with his face upward to the sky, and made great lamentation over him.

When all things were in order a solemn feast was held; and Nefri on the top of the mound made a sacrifice of fruits and milk, and blessed the people in the name of Heiri; and he made order that to make the place more blessed, all weddings should thenceforth be celebrated upon the mound, so that it should be the precinct of life and not of death. And the people rejoiced.

That night Nefri slept in the hut of Heiri; and at the dead time of darkness, when all was silent in the camp, except for the pacing of the sentry to and fro, Nefri awoke, and saw in the hut the form of Heiri standing, only brighter and fairer than when he lived; and he looked upon Nefri with a smile as though his heart was full of joy; then he came near and said, in a voice like the voice of a distant fall of water, "Nefri, dear child, thou hast done well and wisely; be just and merciful and loving to all; and rule with diligence, and grieve not."

Then Nefri would have asked him of the place wherein his spirit abode, but could not find words; for he was full of wonder, though not afraid. But Heiri smiled again, as though he knew his thoughts, and said, "Ask me not that, for I may not tell; but only this I may tell you, that no man who has lived wisely and bravely need fear the passage; it is but a flying shadow on the path, like a cloud on the hill; and then he stands all at once in a fairer place; neither need he fear that he lays aside with the body the work and labour of life; for he works and labours more abundantly, and his labour is done in joy, without fear or heaviness; and for all such spirits is there high and true labour waiting. Therefore, Nefri, fear not; and though I cannot come to thee again--for thou shalt live and be blest--yet will I surely await thee yonder."

And then there came a darkness, and the form of Heiri seemed to fade gradually away, as though he were withdrawn along some secret path; and there went others with him. And Nefri slept.

And in the morning came Heiri's wife, and said to Nefri that Heiri had stood beside her in the night and comforted her; "and I know," she said, "that he lives and waits for me."

So the land had peace; and Nefri ruled wisely and did justice among the mountains by the sea.



CERDA

There was once a city of Gaul named Ilitro, a heathen city. It was encircled by a strong wall, with towers and a moat. There was a drawbridge, for carts to enter the city, which was drawn up at night, for the country was often disturbed by warlike bands; beside the great drawbridge was a little bridge, which could be lowered and drawn up as well; the great bridge was hauled up at sundown, and no cart might enter the city after that time; but the little bridge could be lowered till midnight for a traveller, if he was honest.

The tower was kept by a porter named Cerda, a rough, strong man, who had an impediment in his speech, and spake with few; he lived all alone in the tower. There were two rooms; in the lower room were the weights which drew up the bridge, and a wheel which wound up the chains, with another wheel for the smaller bridge, and a fireplace where the porter cooked his food; in the room above, which was approached by a ladder, there was a table and a chair, and a bed of boards with straw upon it, where he slept. The windows were guarded by shutters, and in winter time it was sorely cold in the tower; but the porter heeded it not, for he was a strong and rough man; he had a wild air, and his long shaggy locks fell on his shoulders. But though he spake little and few spoke to him, he had a loving heart full of tender thoughts which he could not put into words. He was fond of flowers and green trees, and would sometimes walk in the woods that came up to the castle wall, in springtime, with a secret joy in the scent of the flowers and their soft bright heads; he liked to watch the wild animals, and the birds had no fear of him, for he fed them often with crumbs and grain; and they would come on his window-ledge and chirp for food. Sometimes a child who passed the bridge would smile at him, and he would smile back and be glad; to some children whom he knew he would shyly give simple presents--carts carved out of wood, or a wooden sword; but he was so rough and uncouth a man that their elders were not pleased that he should speak with them; and indeed most people spoke of him as of one who could be trusted indeed to do hard toil punctually like a beast of burden, but whose mind was not wholly sound, but like that of a dog or ox. But he did his duty so faithfully, and was moreover so strong and fearless, if there was any troublesome comer to deal with, that he was held to be useful in his place. He had no courtesy for grown men, who heeded him no more than if he had been a machine; but he was kind and gentle with women and maidens, and would carry their burdens for them into the city, as far as he might--for he was forbidden to go out of sight of the bridge.

One day, indeed, he had some talk to a grave, quiet man, a traveller, who came like a merchant to the city, and yet seemed to have no business to do. He was indeed a Christian priest, who was on his way to the West; for there were then a few scattered congregations of Christians in Gaul, though the faith was not yet known through the land. And the priest, seeing something wistful in the rude porter's eye, something that seemed dumbly to ask for love, asked him if he prayed; and the porter with a stammering tongue said some words of the gods of the land; but the priest, who loved to let the good seed fall even by the wayside, told him of the Father of all, and of the Divine Son who came to teach the world the truth, and was slain by wicked men.

Cerda felt a strange hope in his heart, half pity and half joy; and the priest told him that any man in any place could speak to the Father when he would, and he repeated to him a prayer that he might say; but Cerda forgot all the prayer except the first two words, Our Father, and, indeed, he did not understand the rest. But he would say those words over and over as he went about his work, and he would add, out of his own mind, a wish that he might see the Father; for he thought that He might some day come to the city, to see His sons there--for the priest had told him that all men were His sons. So the porter kept watch for the Father's coming; and he hoped that he might know Him if He came.

Now one day there was a great storm of rain and wind. The wind beat on the tower, and the rain rustled in the moat; and Cerda at sundown drew up the dripping bridges, and made all safe, knowing that he would not be disturbed again that night. He sat long that night listening to the wind, which seemed to have a sad and homeless voice in it, and then he remembered suddenly that he had not eaten, and he began to prepare his food. He had a little piece of meat in the house, which a citizen had given him, and bread, and a few berries which he had gathered in the wood; so he began to cook the meat; and it was about midnight, and the storm was fiercer than ever; when in a pause in the gust he thought he heard a cry out of the wood across the moat. He listened, but it came not again, and so he fell to his cooking. Then all at once the wind stopped, and he heard the rain whisper on the wall, when suddenly came the cry again, a very faint cry, like the crying of a child. He threw open the shutter of the window that looked to the wood, and in the glimmering dark, for there was a sickly light from the moon which laboured among the clouds, he thought he saw a little figure stand on the edge of the moat. It was dreary enough outside, but he went to the wheel and let the small bridge down, and then he went to the little gate and crossed the slippery plank with care.

There, near the lip of the moat, stood a little child, a boy that seemed to be about ten years old, all drenched and shivering, with his face streaming with rain. Cerda did not know the child, but asked him, as well as he could for his stammering speech, what he was doing there and what he desired. The child seemed frightened, and covered his face with his hands; but Cerda drew his hands away, not unkindly, and felt how cold and wet the little arms were. Then the child said that he had wandered from the way, and that seeing a light he had come near, and had found himself on the edge of the moat, and had cried out in case any one might hear him. Then Cerda asked him again what he was doing; and the child said timidly that he was about his father's business. Cerda was vexed that a father should be so careless of his child, but he could not understand from the child what the business might be.

So at last he said that the child must come into the tower with him, and that he would give him shelter for the night, and that in the morning he would make search for his father. But it was not with a very good grace that he said it, because he was now himself wetted; moreover, he was weary, and would fain have eaten his meal and slept undisturbed. Then the child shrank back from the slippery plank, so Cerda lifted him in his arms and carried him across. Then he pulled up the bridge again and shut the door, but the child seemed ill at ease. So Cerda did what he could to cheer him, wrung the water from his clothes and hair and covered him with a cloak and made him sit by the fire. Then he gave him of his own meat and drink, and brought the berries, bidding him see how fair they were. And the child ate