XIII.

COUNT EUDON.

That aweful silence still endured, when one, Who to the northern entrance of the vale Had turn’d his casual eye, exclaim’d, The Moors!... For from the forest verge a troop were seen Hastening toward Pedro’s hall. Their forward speed Was check’d when they beheld his banner spread, And saw his order’d spears in prompt array Marshall’d to meet their coming. But the pride Of power and insolence of long command Prick’d on their Chief presumptuous: We are come Late for prevention, cried the haughty Moor, But never time more fit for punishment! These unbelieving slaves must feel and know Their master’s arm!... On, faithful Musselmen, On ... on, ... and hew down the rebellious dogs!... Then as he spurr’d his steed, Allah is great! Mahommed is his Prophet! he exclaim’d, And led the charge. Count Pedro met the Chief In full career; he bore him from his horse A full spear’s length upon the lance transfix’d; Then leaving in his breast the mortal shaft, Pass’d on, and breaking through the turban’d files Open’d a path. Pelayo, who that day Fought in the ranks afoot, for other war Yet unequipp’d, pursued and smote the foe, But ever on Alphonso at his side Retain’d a watchful eye. The gallant boy Gave his good sword that hour its earliest taste Of Moorish blood, ... that sword whose hungry edge, Through the fair course of all his glorious life From that auspicious day, was fed so well. Cheap was the victory now for Spain achieved; For the first fervour of their zeal inspired The Mountaineers, ... the presence of their Chiefs, The sight of all dear objects, all dear ties, The air they breathed, the soil whereon they trod, Duty, devotion, faith, and hope and joy. And little had the misbelievers ween’d In such impetuous onset to receive A greeting deadly as their own intent; Victims they thought to find, not men prepared And eager for the fight; their confidence Therefore gave way to wonder, and dismay Effected what astonishment began. Scatter’d before the impetuous Mountaineers, Buckler and spear and scymitar they dropt, As in precipitate route they fled before The Asturian sword: the vales and hills and rocks Received their blood, and where they fell the wolves At evening found them. From the fight apart Two Africans had stood, who held in charge Count Eudon. When they saw their countrymen Falter, give way, and fly before the foe, One turn’d toward him with malignant rage, And saying, Infidel! thou shalt not live To join their triumph! aim’d against his neck The moony falchion’s point. His comrade raised A hasty hand and turn’d its edge aside, Yet so that o’er the shoulder glancing down It scarr’d him as it pass’d. The murderous Moor, Not tarrying to secure his vengeance, fled; While he of milder mood, at Eudon’s feet Fell and embraced his knees. The mountaineer Who found them thus, withheld at Eudon’s voice His wrathful hand, and led them to his Lord.

Count Pedro and Alphonso and the Prince Stood on a little rocky eminence Which overlook’d the vale. Pedro had put His helmet off, and with sonorous horn Blew the recall; for well he knew what thoughts, Calm as the Prince appear’d and undisturb’d, Lay underneath his silent fortitude; And how at this eventful juncture speed Imported more than vengeance. Thrice he sent The long-resounding signal forth, which rung From hill to hill, re-echoing far and wide. Slow and unwillingly his men obey’d The swelling horn’s reiterated call; Repining that a single foe escaped The retribution of that righteous hour. With lingering step reluctant from the chase They turn’d, ... their veins full-swoln, their sinews strung For battle still, their hearts unsatisfied; Their swords were dropping still with Moorish blood, And where they wiped their reeking brows, the stain Of Moorish gore was left. But when they came Where Pedro, with Alphonso at his side, Stood to behold their coming, then they press’d All emulous, with gratulation round, Extolling for his deeds that day display’d The noble boy. Oh! when had Heaven, they said, With such especial favour manifest Illustrated a first essay in arms! They bless’d the father from whose loins he sprung, The mother at whose happy breast he fed; And pray’d that their young hero’s fields might be Many, and all like this. Thus they indulged The honest heart, exuberant of love, When that loquacious joy at once was check’d, For Eudon and the Moor were brought before Count Pedro. Both came fearfully and pale, But with a different fear: the African Felt at this crisis of his destiny Such apprehension as without reproach Might blanch a soldier’s cheek, when life and death Hang on another’s will, and helplessly He must abide the issue. But the thoughts Which quail’d Count Eudon’s heart, and made his limbs Quiver, were of his own unworthiness, Old enmity, and that he stood in power Of hated and hereditary foes. I came not with them willingly! he cried, Addressing Pedro and the Prince at once, Rolling from each to each his restless eyes Aghast, ... the Moor can tell I had no choice; They forced me from my castle: ... in the fight They would have slain me: ... see I bleed! The Moor Can witness that a Moorish scymitar Inflicted this: ... he saved me from worse hurt: ... I did not come in arms: ... he knows it all; ... Speak, man, and let the truth be known to clear My innocence! Thus as he ceased, with fear And rapid utterance panting open-mouth’d, Count Pedro half represt a mournful smile, Wherein compassion seem’d to mitigate His deep contempt. Methinks, said he, the Moor Might with more reason look himself to find An intercessor, than be call’d upon To play the pleader’s part. Didst thou then save The Baron from thy comrades? Let my Lord Show mercy to me, said the Musselman, As I am free from falsehood. We were left, I and another, holding him in charge; My fellow would have slain him when he saw How the fight fared: I turn’d the scymitar Aside, and trust that life will be the meed For life by me preserved. Nor shall thy trust, Rejoin’d the Count, be vain. Say farther now, From whence ye came? ... your orders what? ... what force In Gegio? and if others like yourselves Are in the field? The African replied, We came from Gegio, order’d to secure This Baron on the way, and seek thee here To bear thee hence in bonds. A messenger From Cordoba, whose speed denoted well He came with urgent tidings, was the cause Of this our sudden movement. We went forth Three hundred men; an equal force was sent For Cangas, on like errand as I ween. Four hundred in the city then were left. If other force be moving from the south, I know not, save that all appearances Denote alarm and vigilance. The Prince Fix’d upon Eudon then his eye severe; Baron, he said, the die of war is cast; What part art thou prepared to take? against, Or with the oppressor? Not against my friends, ... Not against you!... the irresolute wretch replied, Hasty, yet faltering in his fearful speech: But ... have ye weigh’d it well?... It is not yet Too late, ... their numbers, ... their victorious force, Which hath already trodden in the dust The sceptre of the Goths: ... the throne destroy’d, ... Our towns subdued, ... our country overrun, ... The people to the yoke of their new Lords Resign’d in peace.... Can I not mediate?... Were it not better through my agency To gain such terms, ... such honourable terms....

Terms! cried Pelayo, cutting short at once That dastard speech, and checking, ere it grew Too powerful for restraint, the incipient wrath Which in indignant murmurs breathing round, Rose like a gathering storm, learn thou what terms Asturias, this day speaking by my voice, Doth constitute to be the law between Thee and thy Country. Our portentous age, As with an earthquake’s desolating force, Hath loosen’d and disjointed the whole frame Of social order, and she calls not now For service with the force of sovereign will. That which was common duty in old times, Becomes an arduous, glorious virtue now; And every one, as between Hell and Heaven, In free election must be left to chuse. Asturias asks not of thee to partake The cup which we have pledged; she claims from none The dauntless fortitude, the mind resolved, Which only God can give; ... therefore such peace As thou canst find where all around is war, She leaves thee to enjoy. But think not, Count, That because thou art weak, one valiant arm, One generous spirit must be lost to Spain! The vassal owes no service to the Lord Who to his Country doth acknowledge none. The summons which thou hast not heart to give, I and Count Pedro over thy domains Will send abroad; the vassals who were thine Will fight beneath our banners, and our wants Shall from thy lands, as from a patrimony Which hath reverted to the common stock, Be fed: such tribute, too, as to the Moors Thou renderest, we will take: It is the price Which in this land for weakness must be paid While evil stars prevail. And mark me, Chief! Fear is a treacherous counsellor! I know Thou thinkëst that beneath his horses’s hoofs The Moor will trample our poor numbers down; But join not, in contempt of us and Heaven, His multitudes! for if thou shouldst be found Against thy country, on the readiest tree Those recreant bones shall rattle in the wind, When the birds have left them bare. As thus he spake, Count Eudon heard and trembled: every joint Was loosen’d, every fibre of his flesh Thrill’d, and from every pore effused, cold sweat Clung on his quivering limbs. Shame forced it forth, Envy, and inward consciousness, and fear Predominant, which stifled in his heart Hatred and rage. Before his livid lips Could shape to utterance their essay’d reply, Compassionately Pedro interposed. Go, Baron, to the Castle, said the Count: There let thy wound be look’d to, and consult Thy better mind at leisure. Let this Moor Attend upon thee there, and when thou wilt, Follow thy fortunes.... To Pelayo then He turn’d, and saying, All-too-long, O Prince, Hath this unlook’d-for conflict held thee here, ... He bade his gallant men begin their march.

Flush’d with success, and in auspicious hour, The Mountaineers set forth. Blessings and prayers Pursued them at their parting, and the tears Which fell were tears of fervour, not of grief. The sun was verging to the western slope Of Heaven, but they till midnight travell’d on; Renewing then at early dawn their way, They held their unremitting course from morn Till latest eve, such urgent cause impell’d; And night had closed around, when to the vale Where Sella in her ampler bed receives Pionia’s stream they came. Massive and black Pelayo’s castle there was seen; its lines And battlements against the deep blue sky Distinct in solid darkness visible. No light is in the tower. Eager to know The worst, and with that fatal certainty To terminate intolerable dread, He spurr’d his courser forward. All his fears Too surely are fulfill’d, ... for open stand The doors, and mournfully at times a dog Fills with his howling the deserted hall. A moment overcome with wretchedness, Silent Pelayo stood! recovering then, Lord God, resign’d he cried, thy will be done!