Adventure Magazine Cover — page 35: what you’re looking at

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Prisoners of War trick. You must swear to me that there is nothing hidden in these terms of yours.” “Not I! Tros answered. “I expect to make my profit. So do you, Skell. I will change no word of the agreement. Either you come to Lunden, subject to my stipu- lation, or you go your own way and [ will rid the earth of you as swiftly as that first duty can be done! Now choose—for I hear oears—and the tide is turning.” Skell also heard oars, thumping steadily down-stream toward the bireme. “T agree!” he said, snapping his mouth shut, looking bold and almost carefree; but Tros’ amber eyes discerned the nervousness that underlay that mask. Conops whispered in Tros’ ear. stood and glanced over the stern. “Druids!” he said, and began straighten- ing his garments to receive them with proper dignity. “They will be coming for my father’s body. Heh! But. Caswallon is a true host, friendship or no friendship! See in what state the druids come!” Tros CHAPTER VI ‘4 PRETTY DECENT SORT OF GOD!” ap HE druids sang as they approached the bireme. In the bow of a long barge, under a bower of yew-branches, there stood an ancient of days, bald-headed, a white beard flowing to his waist, a golden sickle in his girdle, his white robe touching sandals laced with golden thongs. He led the chant; young voices in the stern caroled joyful, almost bird-like regular responses; fourteen rowers droned a har- monied accompaniment, pulsing to the rythm of the gilded oars. Serenely, solemnly they hymned the ever-nearness of eternity; there was not one note of grief. The barge was draped in purple cloth and the rowers wore sleeveless purple tunics over their white smocks. They who stood singing in the stern were robed, like the ancient in the bow, in white from head to foot; and all rowers included, wore wreaths of mistletoe. In the midst of. the barge, between the rowers, was a platform draped in white with a wide gold border, and over that a purple canopy was raised on gilded rods. The sides of the barge were white, adorned with gilded scroll-work. The rowers tossed oars and the barge swung to a standstill under the bireme’s stern; but the chant continued. Tros and his prisoners stood respectfully, Olaf Si- gurdsen supporting himself on the shoulders of two men; the Northmen’s lips moved as if they were trying to fit their own familiar words. to druid music, that stirred their pagan hearts as only battle, and the North Sea storms and elemental mysteries could ever do. Skell kept covering his face nervously; some half-familiar phantom had returned to haunt his brain. The women, except Helma sobbed as if the sobbing brought relief to tortured heart-strings; but she stood still, beside Tros, brave-eyed, almost glistening with emotions that not she herself could have explained. Her shoulder touched Tros’ arm and he could feel a thrill that made his flesh creep pleasantly. He drew his arm away. The hireling Britons at the water-hoist ceased work and stood by the bulwark. Conops, irreverent and practical, threw a rope over the stern, but the druids ignored ~~ it; they held the barge to the bireme with gilded boat-hooks while two of the rowers drove long poles into the river-bed to serve for an anchor at either end. Then they raised a wooden ladder with bronze hooks that caught the bireme’s stern rail, and up that the old High-Druid came, pausing at every step to roll out his majestic hymn and wait for the response. He came over the taffrail, singing, moving his right hand in centuries-old ritual, as calmly as if that were a temple threshold. He hardly touched Tros’ proffered arm as he stepped down to the poop. There, eyes on the horizon, he stood booming his hymn to eternity until eight druids followed him over the stern. He needed no advice from Tros; Caswallon must have told him where the greater-than- a-druid’s body was that he had come to bear away with ancient honors. He strode forward, and down the short ladder to the deck, the other druids keeping step behind him; and when T’ros, summon- ing all his dignity, swung himself down to the deck te open the cabin door and show the way, a druid motioned him aside. They let no uninitiated hand have part, let no untaught eye see the rites they entered to fulfil, let none but druids hear their whis- pered liturgy. Two druids stood outside the door, their backs to it, lips moving, signifymg with a. €omicbooks.com |