HE 
 
 )F LIGHT 
 
 \ . B . 
 
GIFT OF 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
THE 
 
 TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 BY 
 JAMES A. B. SCHERER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
COPYEIGHT, 1921, 
 
 BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
 464604 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The first national hero of English- 
 speaking peoples is Caradoc, son of 
 Shakspeare's Cymbeline. He lived five 
 hundred years before King Arthur, and 
 his story is just as romantic. English lit- 
 erature is rich in the treatment of Arthur, 
 while the only literary treatment of Car- 
 adoc is a quaint dramatic poem by Wil- 
 liam Mason. Tradition tells us that Car- 
 adoc met Paul while in Rome, and after- 
 ward brought us our Christmas. He is 
 also traditionally associated, albeit in con- 
 flict, with the British Druids and their 
 practice of human sacrifice. The present 
 writer became interested in his story 
 through reading a pamphlet about him by 
 Edward Hicks, published at Birmingham 
 in 1906, and based on the Roll of John 
 Rous. To that pamphlet this tale is espec- 
 ially indebted, as well as to the Annals of 
 Tacitus and in a different fashion The 
 9 
 
10 PREFACE 
 
 Golden Bough of Sir J.G. Frazer. Very 
 slight is our actual knowledge of Caradoc. 
 We do know that he was simple, brave, 
 human. "The Tree of Light" is fiction, 
 based on a fairly sound tradition. It is a 
 greatly amplified version of the short 
 story, "How Christmas Came into Eng- 
 land," published in the Christmas number 
 of Scribner's Magazine for 1909, and 
 copyrighted by Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 I wish to thank the Messrs. Scribner for 
 permission to use in this volume the two 
 drawings they had made by Frank Craig 
 for the original story. For the name of 
 the book I am indebted to Mrs. Julia 
 Crawford Ivers. 
 
 JAMES A. B. SCHERER. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I THE ALTAR UNDER THE OAK .... 
 
 II CARADOC IN ROME 47 
 
 III NEPTUNE'S FEAST 73 
 
 IV SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE .... 99 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Keep thou to thy oaks and thy mistletoe !" . 40 
 (From a drawing by Frank Craig.) 
 
 "A white-haired prisoner from Palestine" . . 57 
 (From a painting by Rembrandt.) 
 
 "He told them the story of the manger" . .117 
 (From a drawing by Frank Craig.) 
 
 The first Christmas tree 123 
 
 (From a photograph by Isabel Mosher.) 
 
THE ALTAR UNDER THE 
 OAK 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 Many great men have come out of old 
 Warwickshire. Shakspeare is the most 
 famous of these, yet one perhaps equally 
 great wrought there a work for the world 
 fifteen centuries before he was born. 
 The Stratford poet was ever a delver in 
 old buried facts, which he overlaid with in- 
 numerable fancies, and you may find in 
 his books a fanciful story of Cymbeline, 
 or Cunobelin, real king of ancient Britain, 
 and father of Caradoc. Caradoc is a hero 
 of Warwickshire, although Shakspeare 
 seems not to have heard of him. It is 
 ever the world's loss that he did not, for 
 his magic fingers would have woven a 
 marvelous web from the strange tangled 
 skein that has fallen to my clumsy hands. 
 Yet here it lies, on this clear Christmas 
 morning in Warwickshire, and though 
 you find my handiwork labored, you may 
 know 'tis a labor of love. 
 
THE ALTAR UNDER THE OAK 
 
 King Caradoc came out with his war- 
 men and his troop of Druidical priests to 
 rebuild the stronghold of Warwick on a 
 beautiful dawning of May. Warwick had 
 been founded by "the radiant Cymbeline" 
 in the truly radiant year when Christ was 
 born, only to be ruined by Romans in the 
 struggle about tribute-money, described 
 by Shakspeare. Cymbeline, at last vic- 
 torious, but moved by some strange whim 
 of happiness to share his victory with the 
 vanquished, had closed his warfare with 
 the memorable words : 
 
 "Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, 
 And to the Roman empire, promising 
 To pay our wonted tribute. . . . 
 
 Let 
 
 A Roman and a British ensign wave 
 Friendly together. So through Lud's town 
 
 march: 
 
 And in the temple of great Jupiter 
 Our peace we'll ratify." 
 
 Caradoc had not been nurtured at the 
 [19] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 court of the Csesars after the fashion of 
 the nobles of his time. His nourishment 
 had been that of freedom. That island 
 "outside the world," as the Romans called 
 Britain that "Neptune's Park," as 
 Shakspeare quaintly names it; "ribbed 
 and paled in with rocks unscalable and 
 roaring waters" had fed in Carodoc the 
 love of liberty and scorn of tyranny and 
 fealty to Fair Play which is Britain's chief 
 title to glory. 
 
 The Crown Prince Adminius, his older 
 brother, had on the other hand gone for 
 his schooling to Rome. Just before Cym- 
 beline died, Adminius returned from the 
 Imperial City so much a Roman prince- 
 ling and 'so little a British prince that the 
 aged sovereign summoned his last strength 
 to a deed of great wisdom and daring. 
 In the presence of all the people he pro- 
 nounced on Adminius the stern sentence, 
 "A son of Rome is no son of mine," and 
 with his own trembling hand set the crown 
 of succession on Caradoc. The people 
 gave tremendous acclamation, while Ad- 
 minius, "suckling of the Roman wolf," 
 [20] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 stole back to his dam. As he went, he 
 swore oaths of revenge. That was a 
 twelvemonth ago. 
 
 No foreboding clouded the brightness 
 of the young King's countenance as he 
 came out through the forest to the rebuild- 
 ing of Warwick on this beautiful dawning 
 of May. That "perfect beauty and great 
 strength" which early Britain demanded 
 of her kings met in regal consummation in 
 him. His lithe, erect figure, ruddy- 
 crowned, was set off by true kingly trap- 
 pings, revealing shrewd artifice among 
 his jewelers, hosiers, and needlewomen. 
 One who has ransacked the records of the 
 musty age in which Caradoc lived de- 
 scribes him as wearing a furred mantle of 
 sables oved his tunic of blue, which reached 
 to his shapely knees. Tight hosen were 
 bound with golden cross-garterings from 
 the middle of the calf to the ankle, where 
 they were met by black-pointed skin shoes. 
 Around his neck swung a massive gold 
 torque. At his side hung a long shining 
 sword, TrifingUiS, alive with iridescent 
 enamel. His ruddy locks were capped by 
 [21] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 a headgear of gay striped cloth, mainly 
 scarlet. To the peak clung the golden 
 dragon of Britain "the dragon of the 
 Great Pendragonship." His eyes were 
 blue and keen and fearless; his features 
 clear cut, and his face clean shaven except 
 for an auburn mustache growing well 
 down on either side of a mouth at once 
 gentle and firm, and betraying also that 
 lurking sense of humour which is the un- 
 failing accompaniment of both sympathy 
 and hard common sense. 
 
 Caradoc, leading his ceremonious pro- 
 cession through tLe starlit aisles of the for- 
 est, was followed close by an escort of 
 tangle-haired war-men, whose long and 
 brightly checkered woollen cloaks the 
 primitive Highland plaids were fastened 
 with brooches of boar's tusks. Each man 
 carried spear and battered shield, and 
 all wore mantles of wolf-skin. Here and 
 there a head-piece of horns or a mitered 
 helmet of leather marked out an officer. 
 Their bodies and souls were their King's. 
 
 Behind the warriors trooped the stately 
 Druids, or Oak-Men: clad in clinging 
 [22] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 robes of solid scarlet, with massy rough 
 bands of hammered gold on wrist and 
 ankle, and a long rough wooden staff in 
 each right hand. Caradoc, scorning the 
 temples of Rome, fostered this hoary cult 
 of Druidism not because it attracted his 
 devotion, but because it was rooted in the 
 soil, and might be utilized for patriotic 
 ends. 
 
 The somber disciples of Taranis and 
 Camulus came chanting their Hymn to 
 the Dawn in low monotonous wailings as 
 the King led on the advance through and 
 out of the forest to the summit of a gorse- 
 sprinkled hill, beside the "soft-flowing 
 Avon" and, there suddenly pausing, 
 struck his gigantic wolf -spear into the 
 soil he had chosen for replanting the cor- 
 ner-stone of Warwick. 
 
 It was beneath the spreading branches 
 of an oak that had been struck by light- 
 ning, and the Druids raised a shout of 
 raptured joy. With them the high oak 
 was held sacred as the stern and lonely 
 monarch of the trees, speaking the voice 
 of their gods. 
 
 [23] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 Instantly the Arch Druid, old Dalian, 
 rushed forward, peering upward through 
 the pale green boughs, while his fellows 
 pressed about him in silence, and the chief- 
 tains encircled the tree. 
 
 "Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 
 
 Like green waves on the sea, 
 As still as in the silent deep 
 The ocean-woods may be." 
 
 But suddenly, without any warning, and 
 as though he never had risen before, the 
 sun shot up above the vast unbroken for- 
 ests to eastward, and kissed the budding 
 oak upon the hill-top, so that there ran 
 "a little noiseless noise among the leaves" 
 as they trembled at the touch of his rays. 
 
 On the instant the eager-eyed Arch 
 Druid, thrusting both clenched hands up- 
 ward in highly wrought religious excite- 
 ment, uttered a tense prolonged shriek 
 
 "Qo-yeel The Mistletoe, All-Heal!* 
 
 As the sunrise lit up the great tree, the 
 searching eyes of Dalian the Arch Druid 
 
 *The Druid word for mistletoe meant "All-Heal." 
 
 [24] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 had discerned a branch of the mystical 
 mistletoe growing close in against its huge 
 trunk ; little witting that the shrewd King 
 had found it before him, and had carefully 
 chosen his hour. To such fanatical relig- 
 ionists this union of omens seemed so pro- 
 pitious that there was not a man of them 
 but shivered to his marrow with the rap- 
 ture of superstitious awe the stricken 
 oak, the dawn, the mistletoe in the sixth 
 day of the moon, the King and his corner- 
 stone! and the cry that shrilled from 
 their throats as they stood with uplifted 
 clenched hands behind Dalian frightened 
 many a squirrel from his feast of tender 
 twigs among the tree- tops. 
 
 When the cry had died down from want 
 of breath, but before its echoes faded in 
 the forest, the hook-nosed snow-bearded 
 Dalian, beating himself twice upon the 
 breast, raised his hands once more toward 
 heaven and then shouted: 
 
 "Know ye, O people of Britain, that 
 
 heaven smiles on you this day! The oak 
 
 is the strong unswerving god. The gods 
 
 love sacrifice, and have stricken this tree 
 
 [25] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 in his heart; but the lightning is the 
 touch of the gods, and the sacred mistle- 
 toe their thunder-besom. Sunrise is heav- 
 en's smile. It is the sacred sixth day of 
 the moon. Here see ye the holy tokens, 
 fixed in perfect unison at the moment of 
 mighty adventure. By the sacred An- 
 guineum which I bear upon my breast" 
 he wrenched it from its twisted chain of 
 gold and held it aloft "I declare that the 
 favor of our gods is with King Caradoc, 
 and that Caradoc shall mightily prevail!" 
 
 All the Druids chanted a loud and fer- 
 vent "Amen," and the war-men clashed 
 spear against shield ; while Caradoc stood, 
 proudly smiling, beneath the beneficent 
 tree. 
 
 Dalian himself was an impressive figure, 
 tall and tense, the sun striking fire from 
 the curiously fashioned gold disc that 
 formed his headgear, as well as from his 
 golden shoulder-plates. He alone of all 
 the Druids was clothed in white. He re- 
 sumed his interrupted oration: 
 
 "Wherefore I call on you, O Druids, 
 while the King with his chieftains marks 
 [26] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 out the bounds of New Warwick, to get 
 you to your duties, which ye know so well, 
 and build here, where the King's spear 
 stands, an altar for fit sacrifice on this 
 Golden Day of the Dawn." 
 
 He lowered his gaunt arms, in token 
 that his speech was now ended. Three 
 priests pressed toward him for orders. 
 These directions he whispered in their 
 ears ; then held against each heart, in turn, 
 that mystical charm of the Serpents'-Egg, 
 or Anguineum, which ancient chroniclers 
 describe as of "about the size of a moder- 
 ately large round apple, having a carti- 
 laginous rind studded with cavities like 
 those on the arms of a polypus." Accord- 
 ing to tradition it was aways produced 
 from the saliva and frothy sweat of innu- 
 merable serpents writhing in an entangled 
 mass in the moonlight, the egg being 
 tossed up, as soon as formed, by their hiss- 
 ing. The divinely favored Druid who 
 contrived, as it fell, to catch the egg-of- 
 serpents in his sagum, or white linen 
 apron, rode off at full speed upon horse- 
 back, pursued by the serpents until they 
 [27] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 were checked by the passage of some clear 
 running stream. 
 
 When Dalian had pressed the Anguin- 
 eum against the breasts of the three priests 
 in turn, they disappeared quickly in the 
 forest : one, with a livid scar upon his face, 
 which reached from temple to nostril, go- 
 ing in the direction of the village of wat- 
 tled huts whence the procession had come, 
 and the others toward a neighboring cat- 
 tle-pit. 
 
 Meanwhile the remaining Druids, about 
 two score in number, were hurrying to and 
 fro in search of large stones, which they 
 built in a surprisingly short time into a 
 rough unplastered altar, between the oak 
 and the sun. 
 
 This done, Dalian beckoned to the chief 
 of the saronidse, bardic instructors of 
 youth. The winner of the circlet of gold 
 in the last annual Tournament of Song 
 stepped out and faced toward the sun, up- 
 lifting the British banner of scarlet in the 
 same hand that held his rude harp, and 
 chanted : 
 
 "O Thou strong King of Day, 
 L<prd of Light, 
 [28] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 Who chasest away 
 
 The dark night, 
 Thou hast smiled on the oak, 
 Thou hast bless'd Caradoc, 
 And we praise Thee with all of our 
 might ! 
 
 "O Wheel of the world, 
 
 Turning Wheel, 
 On our banner unfurl'd 
 
 Set Thy seal ! 
 Give us true hearts of oak 
 For our liege Caradoc, 
 In the name of the sacred All-Heal!" 
 
 Gruff shouts of applause burst from the 
 throats of the war-men as the chief bard 
 brought his impromptu chant to its close ; 
 and the poet had no sooner returned to his 
 place in the now silent and expectant band 
 of Druids than the two priests who had 
 gone to the cattle-pit were seen advancing 
 from the rim of forest, leading two large 
 white bulls. 
 
 Caradoc and his war-men moved out 
 from under the tree to make way for the 
 savage rites that followed. The bulls 
 were fastened by their horns to the trunk 
 of the oak. Dalian was then lifted o the 
 [29] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 shoulders of the two assisting priests un- 
 til he could clamber to a seat among the 
 lowermost boughs. A golden sickle was 
 handed up to him. With this, standing 
 upright among the branches of the tree, 
 he cropped the mistletoe, amid the pious 
 chanting of the prests catching the pre- 
 cious parasite in his snow-white sagum as 
 it fell. 
 
 He then descended, with the aid of the 
 two tall Druids, and placed the mistletoe 
 upon the altar. 
 
 Returning to the tree, amid the perfect 
 silence of the people he raised the knife 
 of gold above his head, and, with two deft 
 practiced strokes of his sinewy arm, sev- 
 ered the jugular veins of the bulls. 
 
 Their hot blood spouted gurgling on the 
 tree-trunk ; the Druids chanting a doleful 
 "Amen" to this further good omen, the 
 laving of the oak with warm blood. Both 
 bulls fell without breaking their bands, 
 one sharp horn piercing the tree until the 
 sap oozed. There was a short convulsive 
 struggle, and they were still. 
 
 The Druids uttered grunts of relief over 
 [30] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 the fortunate killing. After Dalian had 
 placed the sacrificial parts upon the altar, 
 his followers pushed in for their edible 
 share in the feast. 
 
 Caradoc and his war-men, knowing that 
 the votive flame would not be lit on the 
 corner-stone altar until the sun had quite 
 touched his zenith when the elaborate 
 ceremony of dedication would take place 
 now set out on their journey to mark 
 bounds for the walls of the town. 
 
 This engaged them for the space of 
 several hours. Meanwhile the Druids 
 built a fire, and presently partook of their 
 barbecued beef "rather after the fashion 
 of lions," although assisted by little bronze 
 knives; gnawing the joints to the bone, 
 and then tossing the denuded bones upon 
 the embers. 
 
 Their feast ended, they stretched them- 
 selves around the barbecue fire to enjoy 
 the sleepy pleasure of repletion, awaiting 
 the hour of high noon. Their repose was 
 soon interrupted by the return of the 
 young scar-faced priest, bearing in his 
 arms a crying child, whose piteous mother 
 [31] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 dogged at Goran's heels. Youthful enough 
 she appeared, despite her somber gown of 
 hodden-gray, tied about the waist with 
 thongs of straw her hair covering her 
 face like a veil, and half stifling her piti- 
 ful sobs. 
 
 The Druids gave scant heed to the girl- 
 ish mother, but every man of them sat in- 
 stantly attentive to the highest of all the 
 Druid rites. Only on unusual occasions- 
 did the Oak-Men practice human sacrifice, 
 but Dalian had decided that the extraor- 
 dinary events of the morning demanded 
 high mass to Taranis. He was all the 
 more willing to make it since Myfanwy's 
 beautiful boy had been used as occasion 
 for scandal. Her husband having been 
 slain in battle, her honor was thus left de- 
 fenseless against the slanders of Goran the 
 scar-faced. 
 
 Why should not this man-child be built 
 as a stone of offense into the altar of the 
 corner-stone, a sacrifice acceptable to the 
 gods on two counts ? Thus reasoned Dal- 
 ian. 
 
 So the archpriest arose with great dig- 
 [32] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 nity, and directed that due preparations 
 should begin, after having craftily ob- 
 served the disappearance of the King with 
 his warriors far in the distance. 
 
 The two-year-old boy had been quieted 
 by a big saffron pone which Myfanwy 
 drew from her bosom and thrust into his 
 outstretched hands. The girl-mother 
 seemed utterly cowed as she crouched on 
 the ground near the altar, transfixed with 
 horror at what she saw through the veil 
 of her tangled hair. 
 
 Goran placed the child inside his tomb. 
 Dalian stood directing the mason, busily 
 mixing his mortar. 
 
 When everything was finally ready, the 
 mason scooped a slimy mass into his hands 
 and began to smear it skilfully among the 
 chinks with strokes of his bony forefinger. 
 Little Dunwallo sat quietly within, 
 munching his saffron cake in growing 
 darkness. 
 
 Suddenly Myfanwy thrust forward on 
 
 her knees, and, peering hungrily through 
 
 a crevice of the altar, exclaimed in tones 
 
 that were vibrant with the pain of 
 
 [33] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 wounded love, and that framed themselves 
 into the blind unconscious poetry of Celtic 
 passion: 
 
 "I see his face, there gleaming like a 
 rose!" 
 
 The mason's hands were busy at their 
 task, shutting out the light from the altar. 
 The smack of mortar against the stones 
 made deeper darkness about the unsus- 
 pecting child. 
 
 "I see his eyes, shining like twin stars!" 
 
 A rough hand seized Myfanwy by the 
 shoulder, but she wrenched herself free 
 and pressed her wet face against another 
 part of the unfinished oven, while the ma- 
 son's finger closed up the cranny that had 
 just served as a window of love. 
 
 "I see his hair, gleaming like the dawn!" 
 
 As they tore the girl-mother away and 
 shut up the last poor channel of vision, she 
 thrust her knotted hands above her head 
 and, falling backward prone upon the 
 ground, shrieked in heart-rending agony: 
 
 "I see nothing, nothing, nothing! Oh 
 my child]" 
 
 Coran spurned the prostrate girl with 
 [34] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 his foot, and harshly bade her be silent. 
 Not knowing what she did, she seized him 
 by the ankles, and began gnawing at his 
 bones as if a dog. When they tore her 
 free the shins of the slanderous priest 
 were bleeding, and while they held her 
 there, recumbent, she fixed her crazed 
 glassy eyes upon him and poured out a 
 torrent of curses. 
 
 "Thou dog of a Druid!" screamed 
 Myfanwy. "Would thou wert with the 
 dead fetid marsh-hag that bore thee! 
 May scurvy rot thy bones and darkest 
 demons snatch thy scowling soul! Thou 
 it was that didst enter my hut with thy 
 leer and thy lolling tongue! Hand of 
 my husband it was that did brand thee 
 across thy foul face, when he came in at 
 eve from the hunt to find a wild beast in 
 his home! Him didst thou betray in the 
 battle ! Me hast thou robbed of mine hon- 
 our with the ulcerous sting of thy slander! 
 And now thou hast taken my child!" 
 
 Her voice was stifled with the folds of 
 her own coarse gown as they finally 
 crushed her struggles and dragged her 
 [35] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 back to the village. Coran, pointing rue- 
 fully down at his ankles, suggested that 
 Myfanwy, too, should be immolated; but 
 Dalian, who remained unruffled through- 
 out this melee, waved the suggestion away 
 with stately gesture and the curt pro- 
 nouncement that so high a dedication 
 must not be profaned or cheapened by 
 the unholy blood of a female. 
 
 The sacred oven having now been com- 
 pleted, quantities of punk and dry wood 
 from the hill-side were heaped about the 
 entrails on top of the altar, as well as on 
 the ground at its base; and, as the sun 
 drew almost directly overhead, while 
 Caradoc with his escort of warriors could 
 be seen coming in from their circuit, the 
 three assisting priests snatched brands 
 from the barbecue fire, and awaited the 
 word of command. 
 
 Old Dalian, his arms folded and his 
 bushy gray brows gathered in a dignified 
 frown, stood under the oak facing the 
 altar, his Druids assembled around him 
 ready to chant with their bards the solemn 
 incantation to Taranis and Camulus when 
 [36] 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 the flames should mount toward the sky. 
 The men who had dragged Myfanwy 
 back to her empty hut in the village came 
 running, quite out of breath, in time to 
 join themselves to the Druidical company 
 followed to the edge of the forest by a 
 motley crowd of villagers, who stood peer- 
 ing timidly and in open-mouthed wonder 
 at the mystic ceremonial on the hill-top. 
 
 Caradoc, with an ill-suppressed yawn, 
 leaned on his spear among the war-men, 
 facing the Arch Druid and the altar. 
 Dalian cut his keen eye toward the sun, 
 then lifted his hand as a signal for the 
 chant to commence. 
 
 It droned like the low drowsy murmur 
 of bees as the Druids caught up the weird 
 strain: 
 
 "O Taranis, oak-hearted Deity, 
 Taranis, blood-loving Lord!" 
 
 swelling to articulate sound as the priests 
 rushed in with flaming torches and thrust 
 them among the fagots. 
 
 Dry twigs crackled as the fire caught 
 them. The chant dropped again to a 
 [37] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 drone, before the wild hurricane of sound 
 that should ascend with the uplifting 
 flames. 
 
 A tiny ember sifted in through the lid 
 of the oven and fell upon the baby's naked 
 shoulder just as his drowsy eyes were 
 yielding to the spell of close darkness and 
 the feast of the great yellow pone. So it 
 was that the shrill cry of a child pierced 
 the low monotone of the bards precisely as 
 the flames roared heavenward and the 
 chant soared into a scream. 
 
 The quick ear of Caradoc detected this 
 shrill note of keen childish agony, cutting 
 the air like a knife. Unbidden, there 
 flashed through his brain a swift vision of 
 his own darling child, the Princess Imo- 
 gen, safe with Queen Eigen at Colchester. 
 His eye swept the freshly plastered oven 
 of human sacrifice. It was clear that his 
 well known horror of Druidic high mass 
 had almost been baffled on this day of all 
 days by Dalian's crafty fanaticism. 
 Like a catapult he flung himself toward 
 the altar, his sabled robe and scarlet cap 
 slipping from him ; and lay fiercely about 
 [38] 
 
"Keep thou to thy oaks and thy mistletoe." 
 
 From a drawing by Frank Craig 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 him with his Homeric wolf-spear, shower- 
 ing the sparks and glowing coals in such 
 fashion that the dumfounded Druids 
 shrank back under the oak. 
 
 In a twinkling he had overtopplea the 
 altar, with its burden of scorched odorous 
 sacrifice. In a moment he had seized the 
 small Dunwallo and lifted him high in his 
 arms. 
 
 Turning then with blazing eyes toward 
 old Dalian, he read that hook-nosed fa- 
 natic a lesson in royal rebuke such as made 
 him blench before the face of his Druids, 
 the war-men looking stolidly on. 
 
 "Thou treacherous priest!" shouted 
 Caradoc, his right hand burning with 
 pain, 
 
 "Keep thou to thy oaks and thy mistle- 
 toe, but know that human sacrifice shall 
 never stain the stones of New Warwick, 
 nor imbrue the fame of my reign! On 
 peril of thy life shalt thou venture ever to 
 attempt the like again! I swear it by the 
 Great Pendragonship !" 
 
 Dalian had recovered his composure. 
 There was real majesty in the old fanatic's 
 [41] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 bearing as he spoke for his outraged gods : 
 "And know thou, O Caradoc, that the 
 gods will be avenged this very day! I 
 swear it by the sacred Egg-of -the- Ser- 
 pents!" 
 
 The King was walking indifferently 
 over toward his war^men, all his youthful 
 grace and supple strength disclosed with 
 the loss of his trappings. The half -naked 
 and quite dirty Dunwallo nuzzled his 
 sunny head upon his shoulder and gurgled 
 with laughter. The King smiled and 
 kissed his chubby cheek. As if in answer 
 to the Arch Druid's imprecation, a horse- 
 man crashed through the underbrush and 
 flung himself to his knees before the King: 
 "The Romans are upon us, O my Mas- 
 ter! They have crossed the Street-ford 
 of the Avon ! Adminius, thy brother, leads 
 the way!" 
 
 That "doomsday," as it afterward 
 
 came to be called, closed the chapter of 
 Caradoc's reign. "The Battle of Car- 
 adoc's Oak" was not a battle at all, but 
 a shambles. Dalian, maddened that the 
 grim wolves of Rome should appear as the 
 
ALTAR AND OAK 
 
 agents of his curse, fought like an aged 
 sheep at bay. He fell among the stones 
 of his altar, brandishing his sickle of gold. 
 Scar-faced Goran wrenched it from his 
 grasp, and with it killed the traitorous Ad- 
 minius. The leader of the bards was 
 struck down, wielding his harp as a 
 weapon. Coran managed to make his es- 
 cape, together with a group of fellow 
 Druids. The larger group lay huddled 
 near the oak. Caradoc, with but a tithe of 
 his war-men surviving, fled eastward to- 
 ward Colchester, then known as Camulo- 
 dunum, the capital. Toward sunset the 
 Romans pitched their camp on the hillside, 
 and beside the soft river near by. As dusk 
 fell, the commander Lucius, having bathed 
 away the stains of battle in the Avon, 
 strolled toward Caradoc's Oak. His at- 
 tention had been attracted by sounds as 
 of rude notes of music. He stumbled 
 amid the overturned stones of the altar, 
 and made out the prostrate figure 
 of a blue-clad bard, whose dead hand 
 clenched a broken harp. And beside him 
 the living figure of a child ! Dunwallo the 
 [43] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 irrepressible, sunburnt and swarthy and 
 covered with soot, had reappeared among 
 the stones of sacrifice. Careless of the 
 dead bard's hand, his baby fingers plucked 
 the Celtic harp. 
 
 Lucius, a man compounded of craft, 
 sternness, and whimsical kindness, 
 stooped, smiling, to loosen the dead bard's 
 hand. When he arose, he lifted up Dun- 
 wallo, still clinging to his harp of broken 
 strings. Why should not a handful of 
 Druids be spared to train this winsome 
 little savage as a minstrel for the amuse- 
 ment of Rome? 
 
 [44] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
II 
 
 CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 When Caradoc and his war-men ap- 
 proached Colchester they found the Brit- 
 ish capital in the hands of the Romans. 
 Claudius himself had crossed from Italy to 
 lead his legionaries in their assault on this 
 'chief stronghold of the stubborn islanders, 
 who, although nominally vassals of Rome 
 for almost a century, had furnished no end 
 of trouble. Queen Eigen and the infant 
 Princess Imogen had been seized as cap- 
 tives, and the conquest of the whole island 
 was planned. Stabbed to the quick by 
 his personal losses, Caradoc's instant de- 
 cision was for the utmost defense of his 
 kingdom. Wheeling his black stallion 
 westward again, he summoned the scat- 
 tered British forces and led them to the 
 mountains of Wales, whence for seven 
 years he harried the invaders with a ruth- 
 less guerilla warfare. Overwhelmed in 
 [47] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 the end and made -captive through treach- 
 ery, he found himself at last reunited with 
 Eigen, whom Lucius had treated with 
 complete respect. The twain of them 
 were immediately transported to Italy, 
 weighed down with a heavy load of grief. 
 For Lucius, now governor of the palace at 
 Colchester, kept the lovely little Princess 
 Imogen in Britain. Why riot so educate 
 Imogen, reasoned Lucius, that in her per- 
 son Britannia might some day wed Rome? 
 The prolonged resistance of Caradoc to 
 the "ever victorious legions" had given 
 him great fame in Rome. His arrival 
 was therefore made the occasion of tri- 
 umphal rejoicing. In glory of Claudius, 
 now surnamed Britannicus, a pageant was 
 marshaled with extraordinary pomp and 
 splendour. "The land of the wintry pole" 
 had at last become Rome's. All the tem- 
 ples were thrown open, garlands of flowers 
 decorated every shrine and image, incense 
 smoked on every altar. On the appointed 
 day the procession of triumph defiled 
 along the Via Sacra, for the enjoyment of 
 [48] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 the multitudes and the especial glorifica- 
 tion of the vain Claudius and his newly 
 wedded Empress. 
 
 First came the Senate, headed by the 
 magistrates and the victorious general, 
 Ostorius, all riding in chariots of state. 
 Following a body of picked trumpeters, a 
 train of carriages rolled by, loaded with 
 spoils; those articles that were deemed 
 especially remarkable on account of their 
 beauty or rarity being disposed in such 
 a manner as to be seen distinctly by the 
 throngs, who were shouting, ff lo Tri- 
 umphe!" 
 
 Then came troops of litter carriers, 
 bearing aloft huge sign-boards whereon 
 were painted in large letters the names of 
 the vanquished British tribes. Borne on 
 other litters were models in ivory and 
 wood of the forts and cities captured dur- 
 ing the seven-year struggle, together with 
 pictures of the mountains, rivers, and 
 other outstanding natural features of the 
 subjugated region, with appropriate in- 
 scriptions. Gold and silver in coin and 
 bullion, arms, weapons, cavalry trappings 
 [49] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 of every description, vases, and other 
 works of Celtic art, precious stones, elab- 
 orately wrought and richly embroidered 
 stuffs, and every object that could be re- 
 garded as valuable or curious, were car- 
 ried high upon litters and frames. 
 
 Preceded by a band of flute-players 
 came now the white oxen destined for 
 sacrifice, their horns gilded, attended by 
 the slaughtering priests with their imple- 
 ments, and followed by the Camilli bear- 
 ing in their hands sacred vessels and in- 
 struments. Behind these oxen and their 
 attendants swung the trained elephants 
 that had rendered such effective service in 
 overcoming the British resistance. Then 
 appeared hordes of captives in fetters, ter- 
 rified by multitudinous shouts of "Vce 
 Victis!" "Woe to the conquered !" Last 
 of all marched Caradoc and Queen Eigen, 
 clad in their lordliest garments, but hum- 
 bled with chains. 
 
 The Queen, who still retained much 
 
 of the maidenly beauty for which she was 
 
 famous, was attired in a long crimson 
 
 gown, above which was a tunic with flow- 
 
 [50] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 ing sleeves. Fastened about her neck by 
 a curiously wrought golden brooch was a 
 mantle of blue, edged with gold, trailing 
 almost to the ground. A hood half cov- 
 ered her clustering ringlet. Her gray 
 eyes were so clear and fearless, her car- 
 riage so upright and free, that many 
 women in the crowd whispered of her as 
 "the lioness." 
 
 Marching at her side in a magnificent 
 robe of ermine, intended as his shroud, 
 Caradoc's native demeanor was such that 
 in place of the bloodthirsty cries of Vce 
 Victlsl the populace actually began to 
 shout his acclaim. "With a countenance 
 still unaltered," reports the Roman chron- 
 icler himself, "not a symptom of fear 
 appearing, no sorrow, no condescension, 
 he behaved with dignity even in ruin." 
 
 On the Imperial tribunal Claudius sat 
 enthroned : attired in the purple of a gen- 
 eral, with oak-leaf crown and a scepter 
 of ivory. Stiff with brocade at his side 
 sat Agrippina who was to murder him 
 that she might enthrone Nero, her son; 
 who in turn was to murder his mother 
 [51] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 and for the first time in Roman history 
 the supreme insignia waved over the head 
 of a woman. 
 
 Claudius and even Agrippina were im- 
 pressed by the simple majesty of Caradoc, 
 steeped though they were in that tradi- 
 tion recorded by Cicero, "It is the great- 
 est pleasure in life to behold a brave en- 
 emy led to his torture and death." When 
 Caradoc and Eigen came opposite the 
 empurpled tribunal, Claudius intimated 
 to the captive King that he might speak. 
 
 With majestic simplicity Caradoc com- 
 bined deep sagacity. On the instant he 
 framed a most skillful appeal to the en- 
 throned couple to spare the lives of Eigen 
 and himself as a memorial to the clemency 
 Df Rome: 
 
 "I had arms, men, and horses; I had 
 wealth in abundance ; can ye wonder I was 
 unwilling to lose them? The ambition of 
 Rome aspires to world-wide dominion: 
 must mankind, in consequence, stretch out 
 their necks to the yoke ? For years I held 
 you at bay: had I done otherwise, where 
 had been the glory of your conquest, or 
 [52] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 my honour in courageous resistance? I 
 am at your mercy! If ye be bent on ven- 
 geance, strike! the bloody scene will 
 quickly pass, and the name of Caradoc 
 sink to oblivion. On the other hand, by 
 the preservation of life ye shall rear to 
 late posterity a monument to the clemency 
 of Rome!" " 
 
 Amid the acclamations of the multi- 
 tude the politic Claudius, after conferring 
 with Agrippina, not only spared the lives 
 of the British King and Queen, but at 
 the timid suggestion of Eigen gave them 
 permission to dwell outside the City gates, 
 wherein they felt like caged eagles. They 
 were accordingly lodged forthwith in the 
 Prsetorian Camp, where they lived in con- 
 siderable comfort. 
 
 Here the Emperor and Empress, char- 
 ioteering, occasionally observed the dis- 
 tinguished figure of Caradoc, and, sum- 
 moning him to their side, conversed with 
 him in good fellowship. Although a cap- 
 tive, Caradoc became one of the fashion- 
 able curiosities of Rome. 
 
 It was during one of these gateway 
 [53] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 audiences that he received a peculiar mark 
 of the Imperial favor. Claudius put in- 
 to his hands one day a rescript, giving him 
 permission to return to Britain under 
 the safe-conduct of Rome, should he see 
 fit at any time to renounce his claim to the 
 throne. Caradoc smiled and shook his 
 head as he received the rescript. 
 
 "Although I have no intent ever to set 
 seal to this parchment," he said, respect- 
 fully, "I accept it, and shall cherish it 
 always as a token of the Imperial kind- 
 
 ness." 
 
 Twelve years passed by before he used 
 it. He might never have done so at all 
 had not the death of Queen Eigen, which 
 utterly broke and unnerved him, been 
 followed by the coming of the Sage. 
 
 Ten years the King and his Queen had 
 lived together in a reasonably comfortable 
 captivity, wherein they came to be all in 
 all to each other. Soon after their arrival 
 at Rome they had learned of the death, 
 by the plague, of "the Princess Imogen." 
 It was really the aunt of their own little 
 Imogen that had died, the Imogen of 
 [54] 
 
A white-haired prisoner from Palestine" 
 From a painting by Rembrandt 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 whom Shakspeare writes. But the Ro- 
 man officials did not undeceive them. 
 Lucius himself had deliberately communi- 
 cated the ambiguous news to the colonial 
 office in Rome. His plans for the future 
 of the infant Crown Princess involved the 
 widening of the breach between parents 
 and child in every way possible. Re- 
 signed, in the course of time, to the loss of 
 their Imogen, the couple had only each 
 other. It was therefore a stroke of the 
 most poignant bereavement when the 
 exiled King bade farewell forever to the 
 devoted companion of his solitude. 
 
 In vain did he endeavor to solace him- 
 self with ill-remembered fragments of the 
 Druidic doctrine of immortality. He had 
 despised such teachings when he had no 
 need of them, and now that he grasped at 
 the straws of hope they whirled from his 
 memory. Moody and contemplative, he 
 was ripe for the visit of the Sage. 
 
 The Sage was a white-haired prisoner 
 from Palestine, who, taking advantage of 
 his rights as a Roman citizen, had ap- 
 pealed to the highest tribunal for trial. 
 [57] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 After shipwreck and many discomfitures 
 on the arduous journey, he came in under 
 guard along the Appian Way at the close 
 of a summer's day. The tired guardsmen 
 gave him in custody for the night to the 
 Captain of the Praetorian Camp, where 
 Caradoc was quartered in loneliness. The 
 Camp being crowded at the time, the Cap- 
 tain lodged his stately prisoner with Cara- 
 doc. There was that in the demeanour 
 of the Sage that bespoke his own innate 
 nobility, so that the courteous Roman offi- 
 cer lodged like with like. 
 
 Using the universal language of Rome, 
 the two prisoners talked throughout the 
 night. Never could Caradoc forget the 
 mien of this marvelous man, nor his even 
 more marvelous message. In vague po- 
 etic fashion the Druids had argued of life 
 out of death from their magic symbol of 
 the mistletoe, All-Heal, growing indepen- 
 dent and lone from the trunks of the 
 stricken oaks. In powerful contrast with 
 such fantasies, Caradoc now listened to 
 the crystal clear teaching of the Sage, who 
 spoke as one having authority. 
 [58] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 "One hath brought life and immortality 
 to light" said he. 
 
 The Sage entered the City on the fol- 
 lowing morning, and two years passed 
 before these two met again. In all that 
 time there was scarcely a day when the 
 bereaved Caradoc, strangely comforted by 
 the supreme confidence with which this 
 Sage had spoken, scarcely a day passed 
 when he failed to repeat to himself the 
 sonorous solemn music that had fallen 
 from the lips of Paul of Tarsus, 
 
 "As we have borne the image of the 
 earthy, we shall also bear the image of 
 the heavenly. For this corruption must 
 put on incorruption, and this mortal must 
 put on immortality." 
 
 It was in the Vale of Nemi that the two 
 courtly prisoners met again, led to their 
 meeting, unconsciously enough, by Pop- 
 poea Victrix. Her surname, The Victor- 
 ious, was well deserved. Even Nero she 
 had utterly vanquished; for her sake he 
 had put his Empress away. This Emper- 
 or who was "at once a priest, an atheist, 
 and a god," believed himself also to be a 
 [59] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 poet. In meretricious verse that stirred 
 the secret ridicule of literary Rome, he 
 has at least embalmed for us those "amber 
 tresses" in which he was entangled the 
 amber tresses of his friend Otho's wife, 
 Poppcea, who kept five hundred she-asses 
 to supply the milk in which she bathed, 
 'and who had her mules shod with gold 
 when she traveled! 
 
 Honey Pot was incessantly greedy. 
 Charioteering idly through the City gates, 
 her beautiful roving eyes fell one day on 
 the figure of Caradoc, and when she knew 
 who he was, she desired him. 
 
 Stupid Nero had devised a perfect 
 means to her end. In some strange mood 
 of fantastic satire, or perchance in the 
 crazy endeavour to conceal her real char- 
 acter, he had recently consecrated Poppcea 
 as High Priestess of Diana, goddess of 
 purity, whose chief shrine was in the 
 gloomy Vale of Nemi. No sooner did 
 this spurious Priestess spy the King from 
 the oak-groves of Britain and yearn 
 toward him, than the mischievous notion 
 possessed her to anoint him a^ "Rex 
 [60] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 Nemorensis," King of the Grove of Diana 
 at Nemi, and alone privileged, from times 
 immemorial, to consort with the Priestess 
 herself. What mattered it that the anoint- 
 ment was by blood? The barbaric King 
 from the wildwood looked doughty enough 
 for ordeal by battle, and she resolved to 
 give him secret aid if he deserved it. 
 
 A centurion came from Poppoea by 
 night and spirited him away to the Vale of 
 Nemi. So it was that in a dawn of sil- 
 vered moonlight Caradoc found himself 
 involved in the hoariest and weirdest rite 
 of all antiquity. 
 
 This rite had to do with the mistletoe- 
 named by Virgil "the Golden Bough" 
 when he chose it as the supreme symbol 
 of freedom. Most famous of all mistletoe 
 shrines was Diana's Oak in the Grove of 
 Nemi, whose guardian priest always owed 
 his freedom from slavery to the Golden 
 Bough, which he must thenceforward 
 guard with his life. None but a slave 
 could succeed to this uncanny priesthood, 
 and he by plucking a spray of the Golden 
 Bough from the heart of Diana's- Oak. 
 [61] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 To do this he must engage in mortal com- 
 bat with the priest whom he would sup- 
 plant either slaying the priestly guard- 
 ian, or himself being slain by him. 
 
 Deep in the shady sadness of the vale 
 of Nemi gloomed Diana's Oak: described 
 in an ancient Roman song as 
 
 "The tree in whose dim shadow 
 
 The ghastly priest doth reign; 
 
 The pi est who slew the slayer 
 
 And shall himself be slain." 
 
 Under this Oak, night and day, walked 
 Rex Nemorensis, the luckless Priest of 
 Diana, guarding with sharpened sword 
 the Golden Bough. "He kept peering 
 warily about him as if at every instant he 
 expected to be set upon by an enemy. He 
 was a priest and a murderer ; and the man 
 for whom he looked was sooner or later to 
 murder him and hold the priesthood in 
 his stead. Year in, year out, in summer 
 and winter, in fair weather and in foul, he 
 had to keep his lonely watch, and when- 
 ever he snatched a troubled slumber it was- 
 at the peril of his life. It is a somber pic- 
 ture, the background of forest showing 
 [62] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 black and jagged against a lowering sky, 
 and in the foreground, pacing to and fro, 
 a dark figure with a glitter of steel at the 
 shoulders whenever the pale moon, riding 
 clear of the cloud-rack, peers down at him 
 through the matted boughs." 
 
 Such was the scene that met Caradoc 
 as he stood on the bank near the Oak. He 
 had no knowledge why he had been 
 brought to this place. Poppoea he did not 
 know except by hearsay, and he knew not 
 that she knew him. Yet she was only a 
 few yards away, concealed behind a lau- 
 rel on the lakeshore, quite alone, but 
 with slaves within call. For her private 
 enjoyment this insatiate lover of sensation 
 had staged a gladiatorial surprise for the 
 British war-man, as a prelude to her 
 friendship, should he win. 
 
 The centurion snapped free the slender 
 chain that bound his prisoner's wrist, and 
 thrust Caradoc down the slope toward the 
 Oak. Instantly a stealthy figure sprang 
 out from the shade of the tree, and the 
 moonlight flashed on a brandished blade. 
 Instinctively Caradoc defended himself 
 with bare hands as best he might. Then 
 [63] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 there flooded through his veins the red 
 tide of battle, racing riotously through 
 channels long disused. 
 
 Erect and lithe as of old, rejoicing as a 
 strong man in this swift return of his 
 youth, he dashed the blade swirling 
 through the moonlight, and felled the now 
 defenseless priest with a blow. 
 
 He stood over him, startled by his un- 
 expected adventure, mystified by the mys- 
 tical scene. The prostrate priest made no 
 sign. Before he could stoop to revive 
 him, Caradoc heard a soft rustling, and 
 turned. 
 
 "Thou hast conquered!" spoke a silver- 
 throated voice. 
 
 He did not know who she was. She 
 was beautiful, but he had no mind for her. 
 His heart slept in the urn with Eigen. 
 
 "Hand me the sword," Poppcea com- 
 manded. 
 
 He stepped to the spot where it had 
 fallen, out into the clearer light of dawn. 
 Poppoea followed him. Unseen by 
 Caradoc, two of her slaves, acting under 
 instructions, slipped from the bank to the 
 [64] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 shade of the Oak. They stooped above 
 the body of the priest. Caradoc's blow 
 had merely stunned him, but now a dirk 
 flashed, swift and silent, and the slaves 
 bore the body away. 
 
 Caradoc lifted up the sword, and handed 
 it to Diana's Priestess. 
 
 "Now I shall give it back to thee," Pop- 
 pcea murmured, "and with it thou win- 
 nest thy freedom." 
 
 "What meanest thou? 
 
 "Thou art King of the Grove," she 
 said. "Take this sword and guard the 
 sacred tree. No one shall ever molest 
 thee. I, thy secret friend, will see to that. 
 Take also this badge of thy freedom." 
 
 Caradoc took the sword from her hands 
 in silent wonderment, with a spray of the 
 Golden Bough. It was precisely as when 
 Dalian the Arch Druid had handed him 
 the sword "Trifmgus" on the day of cor- 
 ronation at Colchester, together with a 
 mistletoe bough, and had charged him to 
 guard the sacred Oak. Why should the 
 same rites exist here, in such wholly dif- 
 ferent surroundings? A shiver of super- 
 stitious awe passed through his frame. ' 
 [65] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 "The dawn is chill," smiled the amber- 
 tressed Poppcea, "The centurion kept 
 me waiting while he brought thee, but 
 'twas worth it to watch the whirling of that 
 sword!" 
 
 Her laughter was the cadence of a 
 song. 
 
 "What meanest thou?" he asked the 
 second time. His brain was stupefied. 
 
 "That will I tell thee when once again 
 Diana's moon shall swing above us. 
 Now the dawn calls, and I must go. See, 
 the slaves of the dead priest shall serve 
 thee!" 
 
 Cardoc turned. Slaves stood near 
 the tree with laden salvers. They ap- 
 proached, and began to spread a feast. 
 When he faced once more toward 
 Poppoea, she had gone .... 
 
 He sat on the moss-covered bank far 
 into the morning, pondering what had be- 
 fallen. Meanwhile, Rome was enjoying 
 a minor sensation. There were no news- 
 papers in those days, but public bulletins 
 took their place, and rumour was fleet 
 then as now. With due official authority 
 [66] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 it was promptly announced that Caradoc, 
 captive King of Britain, had seized the 
 prerogative of slaves and won freedom as 
 King of the Grove. Poppcea had looked 
 after that. 
 
 Paul of Tarsus heard the news from the 
 officer of the guard, who had lately be- 
 come his disciple. He had attracted 
 many followers during the two years he 
 had been privileged to live in his own 
 hired house, and was known to be especi- 
 ally interested in the study of blood sac- 
 rifice. At the time, he was writing an im- 
 portant monograph on this subject, after- 
 wards termed an epistle. He had long 
 desired to visit the famed Oak of Diana, 
 and investigate for himself its weird rit- 
 ual. When he heard the name of Caradoc 
 again, he recalled with stirring interest 
 the night they had spent talking together 
 in the Praetorian Camp. He resolved to 
 go to see him if he could. With char- 
 acteristic earnestness hard to be denied, 
 he requested of the officer of the guard 
 that he might on that very morning take 
 advantage of a long-promised privilege 
 [67] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 to journey outside the City gates- Be- 
 fore noon he and his Roman disciple were 
 on their way to the Vale of Nemi. 
 
 Caradoc greeted his scholarly visitor 
 with joy; he knew of no one in all the 
 world he would have preferred to him. 
 Paul, a man of impetuous directness, 
 asked him immediately how he came there. 
 
 When Caradoc recounted the strange 
 story of the preceding night, Paul became 
 thoroughly alarmed for him. Poppoea 
 Victrix was seeking out a new victim! 
 He explained to Caradoc the terrible dan- 
 ger he was in: Nero's mistress had in- 
 volved him in seeming intrigue. Caradoc 
 gave but scant heed to this peril, so eager 
 was he for the Sage to take up the broken 
 thread of his narrative, interrupted two 
 years before. As Paul now spoke of the 
 Unknown God whom ignorantly both 
 Druids and Romans worshiped, compress- 
 ing his entire philosophy into the sentence, 
 "Love is the fulfilling of the law," 
 Caradoc's face shone as with an inner 
 light. "He is the God not of the dead, 
 but of the living," said Paul. "He came 
 [68] 
 
CARADOC IN ROME 
 
 that we might have life, that we might 
 have life more abundantly." Then, as 
 Paul sketched with masterful strokes and 
 with a supremely confident faith the mes- 
 sage of the Manger and the Cross, Cara- 
 doc caught the high contagion of his zeal. 
 His eyes flashing, the King leaped to his 
 feet. ' 
 
 Paul himself became greatly excited 
 when Caradoc drew from his girdle the 
 rescript of Claudius, and proclaimed his 
 newly formed purpose. 
 
 "Blessed be Claudius!" cried Caradoc. 
 "I will accept the Imperial safe-conduct, 
 and go back straightway to Britain! I 
 will freely renounce my own Kingdom to 
 tell my people of this holy King of Love ! 
 There shall come a new world to all peo- 
 ple: built on freedom instead of fear, on 
 forgiveness instead of vengeance, on life, 
 and not death!" 
 
 For once Diana's Grove was left un- 
 guarded, save by slaves, as Caradoc has- 
 tened wih Paul and the officer of the guard 
 to the palace, to arrange for departure for 
 Britain. As they traveled, Paul enthusi- 
 [69] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 astically pointed out that under favourable 
 weather conditions his new disciple might 
 expect to reach Britain about the time of 
 the winter solstice celebrated as Christ- 
 mas by the Christians, as Yule by the 
 Norsemen and Druids, and by Romans 
 with the Feast of Saturnalia. 
 
 When the spurious Diana returned to 
 her Oak on the following night it fared ill 
 with two hapless slaves. On them alone 
 could she vent her displeasure, since in- 
 trigues involve secrecy. 
 
 [70] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
Ill 
 
 NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 Imogen, so far from being lost, as her 
 father had long supposed, attained her 
 majority during the summer preceding 
 Caradoc's departure for home, the most 
 beautiful woman in Britain. She strik- 
 ingly resembled her mother, the Queen, as 
 that noted beauty had looked in her girl- 
 hood, but with an added grace and deli- 
 cacy of manner due to her life in the 
 household of Lucius. She had the free 
 upright carriage and fearless gray eyes of 
 "Eigen the lioness," with her mother's 
 charmingly modeled features. Ruddy- 
 crowned like her father Caradoc, and shar- 
 ing his singular power to attract, she was 
 touched above all with a bloom that be- 
 spoke the rare culture of Rome. Lucius, 
 although increasingly kind with the years, 
 had never once relaxed his strong resolu- 
 [73] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 tion to wed Britain, through Imogen, with 
 Rome. Since babyhood this thought had 
 been daily drilled into her mind. When 
 she came of age in the summer of the year 
 62, he seemed about to see the crowning 
 of his statecraft. 
 
 Britain had become a land of sharp con- 
 trasts, particularly at Colchester. There 
 Lucius dwelt in marble halls; there also 
 a temple had been consecrated in honor 
 of Claudius, a statue of Victory set up in 
 the well-paved streets, and a resplendent 
 theater provided for the large colony of 
 Romans. The British, on the other hand, 
 endured unending poverty and oppres- 
 sion, ground by the heel of their conquer- 
 ors. Their dwellings were rude log huts, 
 wattled with reeds. 
 
 Imogen was the only bond of union be- 
 tween victors and vanquished. The Ro- 
 mans respected her and the British adored 
 her. Nurtured in the lap of Roman lux- 
 ury, she had nevertheless grown up as free 
 as the birds of the air. There was not a 
 British peasant girl who could match her 
 swimming stroke, nor any Roman youth 
 [74] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 in the colony who surpassed her in fal- 
 conry or archery. The little remnant 
 band of broken Druids, at length despair- 
 ing of Caradoc's messianic return, pinned 
 their last shred of hope to their Princess. 
 
 As for the young bard Dunwallo, he 
 altogether owed her his life, properly for- 
 feit to the gods since that terrible dooms- 
 day as the five remaining Druids now 
 always called it when the young King 
 had snatched him from the flames. In 
 his role as harper to Lucius, Dunwallo 
 had been the one unfailing means of com- 
 munication between the Druids and their 
 Princess, and therefore his life had been 
 spared by them, in spite of old Goran's 
 fanaticism. 
 
 These were the conditions existing when 
 the long expected wedding of Imogen 
 received its spectacular setting. Lucius 
 planned as the last act of his governor- 
 ship her marriage with Gallus, the youth- 
 ful commander whom Nero had named to 
 succeed him at his own request. 
 
 To make this wedding gorgeously sym- 
 bolical, Neptune's Feast Day July 23 
 [75] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 of the year 62 A. D. had been chosen, and 
 the event itself was to be preceded by a 
 brilliant marine pageant at the mouth of 
 the river Colne, twelve miles from the 
 capital. 
 
 On her wedding eve "the radiant Im- 
 ogen," as she was now universally called, 
 flitted here and there through the palace, 
 a-glitter with lights, making merry with 
 her army of tirewomen and caterers, but 
 unwontedly restless at heart. The great 
 awakening had never really come to her; 
 she did not know what love was; so now, 
 instinctively, her girlish fancies stirred in 
 blind revolt. The marriage had seemed 
 light enough as Father Lucius arranged 
 it, so long as it lay in the future ; but now 
 that to-morrow was to be the last day of 
 her maidenhood, her spirts were turbu- 
 lent within her, she knew not why. Like 
 a wood-nymph, her abundant ruddy 
 tresses flowing free, she ran tip -toe from 
 room to room, followed by the smiles of 
 her slave-women. Airy, fairy Imogen, 
 they called her. Never had her smile 
 seemed so winsome, never her glance so 
 [76] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 kind; but the light in her eye was as the 
 eaglet's and the rebellion in her breast she 
 could not quell. 
 
 Darting like a humming-bird from 
 room to room, at length she flung wide the 
 doors that led to an outer balcony, and 
 stood in the white magic moonlight, 
 breathing the midsummer air. There was 
 turmoil in the court-yard below her, for 
 the whole palace was astir with prepara- 
 tion. Suddenly she made out Dunwallo 
 - distinguishable among the crowd of 
 shock-haired British youths in the moonlit 
 court-yard by the Celtic harp he bore 
 upon his arm. 
 
 On the instant she clutched at her heart. 
 Swift through her brain flashed the knowl- 
 edge that her lot as a Roman matron 
 would fence her off forever from her com- 
 rade. With no thought of restraining the 
 impulse, she leaned out over the balcony 
 and called his name. 
 
 He looked up and saw her, the moon- 
 light streaming on her face. She was his 
 Princess, and he worshiped her with a 
 feeling like awe ; but the caste that separ- 
 [77] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 ated them had not interfered with the 
 wholesome outdoor comradeship of boy 
 and girl. He had often sung to Lucius 
 in the gardens, as David used to sing to 
 King Saul; Imogen nestling against her 
 gray-haired guardian's side, drinking Cel- 
 tic folk-lore from the harp-strings. Not 
 only so, but they had roamed field and 
 wildwood together, and raced through the 
 turbulent surf. Once, in their earlier 
 youth, when Myfanwy came through the 
 forests from Warwick to visit her minstrel 
 son at the capital, the two children had 
 begged over and over again for the won- 
 derful story of Caradoc's Oak, still stand- 
 ing at Warwick, although now dead to the 
 heart. This tale formed a strong bond be- 
 tween them. Many times they had sat 
 at the mouth of the traditional "Caradoc's 
 Cave," under the cliff by the river, where 
 Myfanwy first taught them the story, and 
 told it each to the other by turn. 
 
 Dunwallo looked up and saw her. Her 
 
 white face, straining toward him in the 
 
 moonlight, smote like a blow upon his 
 
 heart. He thrilled to that in her tone he 
 
 [78] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 had never heard in any voice before. He 
 answered her with a rich chord of music, 
 but he knew not what had befallen. 
 
 The scene lasted only an instant. Gal- 
 lus, his scented curls crowned with the 
 grape leaves and his dark face flushed with 
 their wine, strode into the balcony behind 
 Imogen and crushed her shoulder in a 
 grasp domineering and sensual. 
 
 "What would'st thou, calling to a ser- 
 vant in the courtyard?" 
 
 His rasping words hurt more than his 
 grasp. Other gilded Roman youths had 
 toasted him all too hilariously at his pre- 
 nuptial banqueting. Imogen shrank back 
 and eluded him. Crimson with her first 
 sense of shame, quickened with her first 
 sense of terror, her shoulder burning where 
 his hot hand had clutched her, she fled to 
 her rooms. The wedding dress was lying 
 on a couch. She fingered it, nervously, 
 and half against her will, with deep repul- 
 sion. It felt rough to her touch, and a 
 needle left carelessly in the hem pricked 
 her tender hand and drew blood. The 
 sight appalled her ; she was not without the 
 [79] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 superstitions of her time. More restless 
 than ever, the smile gone from her lips, she 
 flitted out again into the halls, so white and 
 cold. She came suddenly on gray-haired 
 Lucius at a turning. His smile was very 
 gentle as he took her in his arms and kissed 
 her forehead ; he was troubled to see tears 
 well from her eyes as she slipped from him. 
 She was choking with a surge of new emo- 
 tions. Scarcely knowing what she was 
 doing, she glided down the gleaming 
 stairs out into the scented gardens where 
 fountains played. But she was craving 
 for Nature herself, wild and beautiful and 
 wise. Through the narrow postern gate 
 she made her way, fleet-footed, down the 
 cliff and through the buttercups of the 
 meadows, to the group of friendly little 
 fir-trees near the entrance to Caradoc's 
 Cave. There, where she had often sat 
 with Dunwallo, there, where Myfanwy 
 had enchanted her round-eyed childhood 
 with the tale of her exiled father, she sat 
 down on the moss-covered stone which, as 
 legend had it, had closed the hoary door- 
 way of the cavern until the boy Caradoc 
 cleared it away. 
 
 [80] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 She had no thought of what had hap- 
 pened to Dunwallo, no thought of what 
 had happened to herself. He, poor bard, 
 had of a sudden become himself a harp, 
 played on with sweet tumultuous music. 
 In a fever of restlessnes that he could 
 not understand, he, too, had been roaming 
 the moonlit night. Beautiful as Endym- 
 ion whom Diana loved, but filled with 
 brooding melancholy by the curse resting 
 always upon him, the young bardic Ham- 
 let to-night sought his lonely refuge in 
 Caradoc's Cave. A while before Imogen 
 had half unconsciously found her way 
 to the mossy stone under the fir-trees, 
 Dunwallo had flung out of the court-yard 
 and over the cliff to his cavern. He knelt 
 now in its inmost recesses, gazing into the 
 heart of a little fire. 
 
 Imogen had no thought of his nearness 
 as she sat in a halo of moonlight, her 
 hands clasped, her breast heaving, fac- 
 ing the great awakening, as yet unguessed. 
 
 Visions flitted through Dunwallo's 
 flickering firelight, visions he had often 
 seen before. They were always visions of 
 [81] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 Imogen. There was a soft vision of baby- 
 hood, seen through the eyes of Myf aiiwy : 
 a cruel priest, a saffron pone, a great god- 
 like man seizing him from darkness and 
 pain, a mighty tumult, and then a Roman 
 holding him up on his arm. Always, for 
 some unexplained reason, the Roman, 
 whom he knew to be Lucius, held Imogen 
 upon the other arm. Then there was a 
 day in the forest when with all his boyish 
 strength and cunning he saved her from 
 the jaws of the she- wolf they had together 
 cheated of her cub. There was another 
 day when he lay bleeding and senseless 
 at the foot of the waterfall whose side he 
 had scaled for a splendid flower for 
 Imogen; and when he opened his eyes it 
 was Imogen whose brown hands had re- 
 vived him with water from the brook. 
 There were races through the surf and the 
 sea, and there was the rescue of the poor 
 screaming hare from the talons of the fal- 
 con, when Imogen had wept like a girl 
 for tears had been strange in the eyes of 
 this beautiful tomboy. Then there were 
 those innumerable golden moments in the 
 [82] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 scenjed gardens, Imogen nestling against 
 the shadowed figure of Lucius, she herself 
 as bright and clear as gold, while Dun- 
 wallo sang his wild Celtic music to the 
 tunes of his sweet Celtic harp. Dreamily 
 he took it up now, a mysterious new tu- 
 mult within him, its meaning as yet un- 
 guessed. "Rose of the World," was the 
 song that he sang; and Imogen, out in 
 the moonlight, caught the weird strains 
 from the cave, and lifted up her head in 
 ireamy wonder. 
 
 "Once upon a morn of May 
 All the meadowlands were gay, 
 All the tree of life was dight 
 With the blossoms of delight. 
 
 ' 'Lo !' I said unto my spirit, 
 'Earth and sky thou dost inherit !' 
 Forth I wandered, free of care, 
 In the largesse of the air. 
 
 "By there came a damosel; 
 At a look I loved her well: 
 
 But she passed and would not stay 
 
 All my j oy is gone away ! 
 
 "Now no fields are fair to see, 
 Nor the buds on any tree ; 
 
 [83] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 Nor care I for earth or sky 
 All for a maiden's passing by !" 
 
 While he chanted the last cadence of 
 the song, Dunwallo's brain was lit as by 
 a flash of lightning, which illumined his 
 whole being, and also warmed him like 
 wine. From the little fire he marched out 
 into the white magic light of the moon, 
 his forehead uplifted and shining, his eyes 
 indeed "like twin stars." His face was set 
 with a resolution both inflexible and ten- 
 der. Imogen beheld a young god. 
 
 They were not Princess and serf any 
 longer, nor did any curse seem to rest on 
 Endymion. Diana uttered a small muf- 
 fled cry. Dunwallo marched straight to- 
 ward his goddess. He knelt at her feet 
 beside Caradoc's Stone, and the spirit of 
 the great Nursing-Father of Britain 
 brooded over his children. Imogen 
 stooped, and her cheek touched Dun- 
 wallo's dark hair, her own wealth of un- 
 handed tresses shining in the moonlight 
 like spun gold. Then the two heard that 
 music from the hidden inner shrine of life 
 itself which mortals are thrice happy if 
 [84] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 they hear but once, and which it is given to 
 no mortal ear to hear a second time this 
 side of heaven*. 
 
 "Love took up the Harp of Life, and smote on all 
 the chords with might, 
 
 Smote the chord of self that, trembling, 
 
 past in music out of sight.". . 
 
 The light of resolution in Dunwallo's 
 face did not melt under the spell of his 
 love. For the once he was freed from all 
 moodiness. He raised his head and 
 looked with deep eyes into Imogen's, 
 dreamy with wonder. 
 
 "Thou takest me, O radiant Imogen, 
 in place of Gallus?" 
 
 His clear tones vibrated with an excit- 
 ed sense of repressed action ; they rang as 
 with a touch of tempered steel, and quick- 
 ened Imogen out of her reverie. She 
 shuddered at the mention of Gallus, and 
 leaped to her feet. 
 
 Dunwallo sprang up beside her. 
 Tensely holding each other's hands, they 
 planned swiftly a means of escape 
 their young brains on their mettle, and 
 racing. They would flee during Nep- 
 [85] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 tune's Feast ! They both knew enough of 
 the programme planned for the next after- 
 noon to understand that Imogen herself, 
 representing Britannia, was to march out 
 through the shallows of the cove and pay 
 tribute to Gallus, as Neptune, on his wa- 
 tery throne. It was Dunwallo's eager 
 suggestion that Imogen, this done, should 
 make some playful excuse to leap from 
 the throne-rocks into the sea, where she 
 was quite as much at home as on land. 
 He, meanwhile, would be waiting behind 
 the sharp southern headland, which jutted 
 out and hugged the cove like an arm. 
 The five Druids must be taken into con- 
 fidence! With their aid Imogen should 
 journey by forest and river to Warwick, 
 and the hut where Myf anwy still lived. 
 
 Before Imogen stole back through the 
 postern gate, the plans of the two forest- 
 lovers had been woven, and laid on the lap 
 of the gods. The sea-god Neptune must 
 have resented the audacity of his drunken 
 impersonator, next day, for the blunder- 
 some Gallus himself became the fool in a 
 farcical comedy, and tool to these lovers' 
 desire. 
 
 [86] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 Ai this time the sandy cove at the mouth 
 of the river Colne, only twelve miles from 
 the capital, furnished a perfect marine 
 stage for Neptune's festival. It was pro- 
 tected by headlands on either side, and a 
 rocky islet near the center of the cove of- 
 fered itself as a pedestal for the sea-god's 
 throne. 
 
 The entire Roman colony turned out 
 hilariously to see Britain become indeed 
 "Neptune's park," through this allegor- 
 ical wedding of the Princess Imogen with 
 Gallus, The strand was lined with booths 
 built of freshly cut boughs, and covered 
 with masses of oak-leaves, affording a 
 grateful protection from the heat of the 
 afternoon sun. In these booths the col- 
 onists, old and young, were feasting and 
 drinking at the expense of the generous 
 Lucius, who, with special guests from the 
 palace, occupied the booth in the center. 
 
 Scattered shouts of applause greeted 
 the first sign of the approaching ceremon- 
 ial, as Portunus, guardian of harbours, 
 strode out from the beach toward Nep- 
 tune's throne. Gaffer JLeir, the oldest 
 [87] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 British inhabitant of the country, had been 
 pressed into service for this part. A hulk- 
 ing giant of a man, still straight despite his 
 eighty years, he drew applause for his 
 own majestic bearing as he waded out 
 through the shallows a mantle of British 
 scarlet cast loosely about his broad shoul- 
 ders, his white beard tossed by the wind, 
 and in his hands the gigantic key he was 
 to present to Neptune in token of a wel- 
 come even from the British. 
 
 Following Portunus, and gaily chiding 
 him now and then for the majestic slow- 
 ness of his gait, were two tall Roman girls 
 cast for the parts of Ino and Thalassa, 
 to stand as handmaids on either side of 
 Neptune's throne. Representing as they 
 did the powers of the sea, they wore gar- 
 ments of ^billowing green, bound about 
 them with festoons of small shells. Their 
 hair flowed free except for fillets of shin- 
 ing sea-weed. 
 
 Scarcely had old Portunus reached his 
 place at the foot of the throne of British 
 oak, upborne by gilded figures of dol- 
 phins, Thalassa and Ino standing near 
 [88] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 and waving merrily to their roistering 
 friends on the strand, when the dazzling 
 apparition of Neptune's car burst into 
 view from behind the northern headland. 
 It was fashioned as an immense sea- 
 shell, being actually covered with a com- 
 plete layer of mother-of-pearl, which 
 flashed all the tints of the rainbow in the 
 low light of the afternoon sun. The axle 
 and pole were of gold, and the whirling 
 spokes were of silver. The rim of the car 
 was encrusted with huge opalescent gems. 
 Four milk-white stallions with Argus 
 wings and brazen hoofs and gilded manes 
 drew the car at a gallop through the ebbed 
 sea, giving an almost perfect illusion of 
 skimming the waves, under the practiced 
 rein-hand of Gallus. 
 
 He himself stood somewhat uncertainly 
 in his whirling car of light, for which a 
 sandy road under the water had been care- 
 fully freed from chance stones and pit- 
 falls. Gamboling around him were the 
 hundred Nereids, impersonated by Brit- 
 ish maidens under the lead of Galatea and 
 Thetis, whose parts were taken by two 
 Roman ladies from the palace. 
 [89] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 In their eagerness the throngs on the 
 beach left their booths, and stood uncon- 
 sciously laving their feet in the lazy surf, 
 shouting vociferous applause for this gor- 
 geous spectacle, which exceeded in splen- 
 dour anything they had seen since leav- 
 ing Rome. 
 
 Neptune reached the central reef with- 
 out mishap. The four shock-haired Brit- 
 ish grooms who, habited as Tritons, had 
 raced through the sea beside the four stal- 
 lions, now seized them by the bit and held 
 them as steady as possible while Neptune 
 dismounted; then the grooms led the 
 bright chariot shoreward, where it became 
 the center of sight-seeing swarms. When 
 the sun would have set, Gallus and his 
 bride were to be borne ashore in the arms 
 of their worshipful attendants, and then 
 drive merrily homeward in their "car of 
 light" over a specially prepared roadway 
 to the evening ceremonial at the palace. 
 
 All was now in readiness for the tribute- 
 bearers. Portunus, with reluctant hospi- 
 tality, had presented the Roman claimant 
 with his key. Neptune, holding his great 
 [90] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 jeweled trident aloft, was seated on the 
 oaken throne, at the foot of which Por- 
 tunus knelt in symbolic submission. Over 
 the sea-god's head Thalassa and Ino held 
 rustling fronds of sea-palm. All around 
 the rocky islet sat the resting Nereids, 
 their locks tossing in the gathering even- 
 ing breeze. 
 
 Through passage-ways left clear on 
 either side of the central booth of Lucius, 
 the British tribute-bearers now defiled. 
 There were an even hundred of them, cor- 
 responding to the number of the Nereids : 
 fifty each of British boys and girls, the 
 boys bearing grain and fruits, and the girls 
 being laden with flowers. There were 
 gillyflowers of all varieties; musk-roses, 
 and the blossoms of the lime-tree ; honey- 
 suckle, columbine, and marigold. Besides 
 staple grains, the boys bore such fruits 
 as pears and apricots and barberries, with 
 musk-melons, ginitings, and quadlins 
 There were also plums of several sorts, 
 and baskets distended with filberts. The 
 air was fraught with a fragrance com- 
 pounded of manifold sweets as the hun- 
 [91] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 dred tribute-bearers waded out to the vine- 
 crowned Neptune and heaped this gar- 
 nered bounty at his feet. 
 
 Applause from the jubilant spectators 
 swelled to its loudest compass when Brit- 
 annia herself appeared in the train of her 
 hundred heralds. Erect as a young oak, 
 her brow garlanded with oak-leaves, her 
 shining tresses falling to her supple waist, 
 and her beautiful face all aglow with a 
 new radiance well befitting this nuptial 
 occasion, Imogen elicited the zenith of ac- 
 claim as her adoring heralds parted and 
 made way for her to ascend from the sea 
 over a carpet of flowers to the throne of 
 her liege lord and master. This exquisite 
 white-clad 'beauty suggested Amphitrite 
 herself as she arose from the waters and 
 faced Neptune. 
 
 The suggestion was not lost upon Gallus. 
 Half intoxicated as he was, it so entranced 
 him that he forgot his part and wholly 
 became his worst self. Amphitrite should 
 marry Neptune here and now ! He seized 
 Imogen passionately, while the throngs 
 yelled louder from the shore. The 
 [92] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 struggle was but momentary. Lithe 
 Britannia slipped from Neptune's 
 drunken grasp, leaped from the seaward 
 side of the reef, and swam rapidly north- 
 ward. Gallus reeled, too drunk to follow, 
 and the shouts from the shors became 
 jeers. 
 
 Farther seaward, farther northward, 
 swam Imogen. Billows engulfed her, but 
 the Romans on the strand had no fear. 
 They knew her for the sea-nymph she was. 
 All of them were laughing uproariously. 
 "What a joke on Captain Gallus, for- 
 sooth!" 
 
 He cut a ridiculous figure now, sil- 
 houetted against the clear sky, as he 
 kneeled a trifle groggily on the seat of his 
 throne, peering seaward under an un- 
 steady hand; his thronewomen and Ner- 
 eids agape, while old Portunus dared to 
 smile openly. 
 
 Farther northward, farther seaward, 
 swam Imogen. The waves, with the now 
 flowing tide, mounted high as she left the 
 sheltered cove. She disappeared entirely 
 from view. Lucius, angered by the 
 [93] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 unseemly behaviour of Gallus, at length 
 became thoroughly alarmed. He broke 
 up the pageant abruptly, amid tremendous 
 hubbub. Search parties were sent, out 
 for the swimmer, ashore and in the sea. 
 No trace of her could be found. 
 
 Night drew nigh. Stirred to the stern- 
 est depths of his wrath, Lucius loaded 
 Gallus with chains, and held him against 
 the ransom of Imogen. ... A week, a 
 month, passed by. The Princess was 
 given up for lost, and Gallus sent back to 
 Rome a prisoner, with reports to his Im- 
 perial master of conduct unbecoming a 
 nobleman and officer. 
 
 Imogen made her escape with Dun- 
 wallo. When the towering billows hid her 
 from Neptune's throne, she veered south- 
 ward. Dunwallo met her far out at sea, 
 his black head bobbing up and down. By 
 and by her long ruddy locks streamed 
 beside him like a watery comet. In sheer 
 joy they shouted to the sea-gulls scream- 
 ing above them, and the free British sky 
 overhead. Then "they swam silently, 
 high, low, creatures of the smooth green 
 roller. He heard the water-song of her 
 [94] 
 
NEPTUNE'S FEAST 
 
 swimming." Hand lightly touching hand 
 now and then, they sped southward ; with- 
 out haste, without rest, and unwearied. 
 They swam in an ocean of love. At last- 
 far too soon it seemed to both of them the 
 heads of the five crouching Druids ap- 
 peared above the lower rocks of the head- 
 land, and Princess and peasant waded to 
 the shore hand in hand, through the dusk. 
 Aged Coran the Scar-faced wrapped a 
 rough woollen cloak about Imogen, and in 
 her behalf exorcised the forest demons. 
 In the presence of these somber Druids, 
 Imogen and Dunwallo alike felt darkness 
 steal into their hearts. Dunwallo, ever a 
 creature of moods, descended from heights 
 to the very depths. As he reverently 
 bade Imogen farewell, a cold dread took 
 hold upon him, while the old priest 
 watched them askance. Through fen and 
 moor, by waterway and gloomy forest 
 paths, encamped by day and traveling 
 only at night, the five Druids conveyed 
 their royal charge to Myfanwy's humble 
 welcoming near Warwick, while Dun- 
 wallo mingled gloomily enough with other 
 servitors in the palace court -yard at Col- 
 chester. 
 
 [95] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
IV 
 
 SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 Saturnalia at last drawing nigh, Dun- 
 wallo made ready as usual to spend the 
 week at Warwick. During the festival 
 sacred to slaves, Lucius had always al- 
 lowed his harper this boon. Heavy- 
 hearted, he took up his journey; he did not 
 expect to see Imogen. Druid as he was by 
 life-long association and training, and im- 
 bued with the dogma of his curse, the lone- 
 liness of life at the palace, bereft for the 
 first time of Imogen, had induced such a 
 mood of depression that he deemed him- 
 self a sacrilegious criminal. The blackest 
 melancholy that this young bardic Hamlet 
 had ever known succeeded the momentary 
 dazzlement of love. His Princess how 
 had he ever dared love her? One thought 
 alone brought him comfort: through his 
 aid she had escaped drunken Gallus. On 
 [99] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 the other hand, had she not lost the lov- 
 ing luxuries of Lucius, did she not drink 
 the bitter dregs of poverty? His super- 
 stitions caused him to fear that by the 
 curses resting on himself he may have 
 brought curses on her. Who knew but 
 old Goran was right? How could the 
 gods bestow favours so long as they were 
 cheated of their due? 
 
 With such thoughts grinding in his 
 brain, Dunwallo trudged through the for- 
 est paths to Warwick, not aglow with the 
 glory of the lover, but oppressed with the 
 curses of the doomed. 'No doubt the 
 ghastly sickliness of that long remembered 
 winter fed the fevered vapours of his 
 mind. 
 
 Saturnalia spelt respite from serfdom. 
 Reminiscent of the vanished age of Saturn 
 and prophetic of a golden age to come, 
 this gay carnival softened for a week of 
 every twelvemonth the arrogant lordi- 
 ness of Rome. In the Imperial City it- 
 self, where freedmen were accustomed to 
 dedicate their cast-off manacles to Saturn 
 as divine author of liberty, all fetters were 
 [100] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YU] 
 
 removed from his statues, so that no sign 
 of slavery should appear. Thus for one 
 brief week the masters of all the world 
 played make-believe of universal liberty, 
 roistering at their feasts with unbound 
 slaves. Even the stern rulers of colonies 
 turned the tables of customary behaviour, 
 seating the slaves at festal boards and rol- 
 licking as servitors themselves the formal 
 toga replaced by the loose synthesis, after 
 which the domino of modern carnivals is 
 patterned, and the close-fitting cap, then 
 called pilleus, now known as the liberty- 
 cap, crowning every head as a symbol of 
 universal manumission. At this high car- 
 nival of the winter solstice lasting from 
 the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth of 
 December inclusive tiny wax tapers 
 were everywhere exchanged as lightsome 
 gifts, with dolls made of pastry and clay. 
 Everywhere also the wintry air resounded 
 with the merry-making shout, ff lo Satur- 
 nalia!" 
 
 By the time Dunwallo reached War- 
 wick, half-starved in that famine-cursed 
 winter, his gloomy thoughts had become 
 [101] 
 
THE TREE' OF LIGHT 
 
 an obsession. More than once it came 
 into his mind that he should heed the 
 veiled dogmas of Goran, and avert fur- 
 ther woes from his people especially 
 from the radiant Princess Imogen by 
 propitiating the cheated Taranis. That 
 meant his death. He avoided Myfanwy 
 and Imogen, with whom it would have 
 fared ill that winter but for the constant 
 aid of the five Druids. The two women 
 were not only provided with food, but the 
 medicinal skill of old Coran warded off the 
 menace of the plague. By these devoted 
 guardians, moreover, the presence of the 
 Princess in Warwickshire was jealously 
 concealed. Not a soul knew of it but 
 themselves, with Dunwallo and the white- 
 haired Myfanwy. 
 
 On reaching Warwick toward the end 
 of Saturnalia week, Dunwallo had com- 
 panioned with the Druids. Morose and 
 silent, they barely greeted him, and said 
 not a word of their charges. From their 
 stealthy visits to his mother's hut, loaded 
 with the food for which they foraged, he 
 guessed that his mother and Imogen were 
 alive and well. 
 
 [102] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 It was Yuletide eve. The Druids were 
 encamped for their rites under the Tree 
 of Caradoc, where, licensed by Saturnalia 
 freedom, they sat around a glowing log 
 of oak. 
 
 The forest had been cleared between 
 this hill-top and the ancient British vil- 
 lage, and now a strong Roman settlement 
 marked the site of the Warwick of later 
 days. The Romans, always keen judges 
 of locality, had endorsed the judgment 
 of Caradoc, and posterity continues to 
 praise it. 
 
 "Under this hill, hard by the river 
 Avon," as one quaint chronicler has 
 phrased it, "is the very seate itself e of 
 pleasantnesse. There have yee a shady 
 little wood, cleere and cristall springs, 
 mossy bottomes and caves, meadowes al- 
 waies fresh and greene, the river rumbling 
 here and there among the stones, with his 
 stream making a milde noise and gentle 
 whispering, and besides all this, solitary 
 and still quietnesse, things most grateful 
 to the Muses." 
 
 The muse of William Shakspeare was 
 [103] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 surely partial to his native Warwickshire, 
 
 "With shadowy forests and with champains 
 
 rich'd. 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted 
 
 meads." 
 
 The Romans of Caradoc's time have 
 been charged with decadent taste in many 
 points, but Warwick must be* cited in 
 their favour. . . . 
 
 On this last night of Saturnalia week, 
 as Yule day drew toward its dawn, Dun- 
 wallo sat with his five Druid companions, 
 beneath the stark branches of Caradoc's 
 Oak, attendant on the coming of the sun. 
 His harp gleamed in the Yule-log glow. 
 He plucked moodily at its strings in prep- 
 aration for that weird Hymn to the Dawn 
 in which it was now become his lot to lead 
 the Druids. 
 
 When men's nerves are strained to the 
 breaking-point, even a twanging harp may 
 make them snap. 
 
 "Curses on thee!" suddenly muttered 
 Coran. "Cease the idle twanging of that 
 harp ! The gods must not be waked be- 
 fore the dawning! Curses, double curses, 
 come upon thee!" 
 
 [104] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 "Peace, Coran," softly answered the 
 startled Dunwallo. "Curses come home 
 to roost, the saying goes, and our curse is 
 heavy already." 
 
 The scar-faced priest sat rigidly up- 
 right as- though he had springs in his 
 backbone. His pale eyes flashed with life 
 once more, and the seam on his face 
 seemed to deepen. The fanatical devil 
 dwelling in his breast shook his voice to 
 a cataract of utterance. 
 
 "Ay, well thou hast said, thou Dun- 
 wallo, that curses come back home to roost ! 
 Well hast thou said that our curses are 
 heavy to bear! To come from thy lips of 
 all men! Came not our curse out of 
 thee?" 
 
 This question he screamed with such 
 shrillness that Dunwallo looked alarmedly 
 about; and then, smiling sadly, replied: 
 
 "Softly, softly, testy Coran, or the 
 Romans may bring us Yuletide with a 
 vengeance!" 
 
 "Yuletide, indeed!" shouted Coran, the 
 four others listening intently to what gave 
 promise of becoming a broil. 
 
 "Ay, the Yule!" cried the bitter old 
 [105] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 priest of former days, with strident inten- 
 sity of passion, leaning forward with 
 skinny elbows on his knees, his eyes now 
 glowing like coals : 
 
 "Knowest thou not 'tis the hour of the 
 Yule Wheel? that the angered Wheel- 
 God of heaven is turning him now in his 
 courses? and, if he be not appeased in 
 his wrath, he will burn us to hell with his 
 curses? This week the Sun wheels in his 
 circuit ; woe be to us if we spit toward the 
 Yule!" 
 
 The four companions sat with their 
 chins in their palms, weary and worn with 
 sore toil, despondent from oppression and 
 from exposure in this strangest of all 
 British winters, but listening with eager 
 intentness to the spokesman of altarless 
 gods. 
 
 "Who would spit toward the Yule, 
 Father Coran?" 
 
 The old man held back his reply; peer- 
 ing deep into the youth's melancholy but 
 entirely fearless eyes, his face twitching 
 with unearthly excitement, his scar throb- 
 bing like something alive. 
 
 When the answer was finally moulded, 
 [106] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 it fell slow from his thin writhing lips, 
 each word with a sting as of an asp, im- 
 pelled by the malignant ferocity which re- 
 ligious bigotry draws to its prime. 
 
 "Accursed of the gods!" he hissed. 
 "Spawn of leprous sire and lying dam! 
 Robber of the altar, cheater of the sacri- 
 fice, it is thou that spittest at the Yule! 
 Seest thou not that thy living is a daily in- 
 sult to deity? Knowest thou not that thy 
 life's blood is forfeit to hungry Taranis? 
 Well do I remember that damnable May 
 day noontide, when Dalian called ven- 
 geance from the skies ! The smell of sac- 
 rificial fire still clung to thy swaddling- 
 band when the courier fell from his frothy 
 horse and proclaimed, like some herald 
 from hell, the coming of Jupiter's scourge! 
 The beak of the eagles of Rome hath 
 rended the hearts of our people because 
 all the Druid gods of heaven wreak re- 
 venge for the cheating of Taranis! Thy 
 hag mother frothed in her frenzy and left 
 me these anklets for keepsake, as thy fa- 
 ther had marked me this scar! I spare 
 her life now and feed her because she 
 [107] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 shelters our Princess ! Thine own life was 
 forfeit, I tell thee; the mad King raped 
 it from the Oak-God's jaws! In ex- 
 change for thy puling infant's drachm of 
 blood, the blood of our oak-hearted man- 
 hood has deluged Britain with red floods 
 of fury even from that day to this ! War, 
 war, war! Toil and pain, toil and pain, 
 toil and trouble ! Bloody curses, stinking 
 woes, and filthy serfdom that hast thou 
 brought to our bosoms! Thou art the 
 hell-born incubus of Britain, the father 
 of fiendish woes! Even the clouds and 
 the seasons retch at thee ! Why this reek- 
 ing moisture of midwinter? Why these 
 steaming months of lukewarm fog? 
 Why this baleful threat of deadly plague ? 
 Why do the worms rot the trees, and the 
 weevils plague the corn, and the mole-rats 
 pollute the brook-bed, except for thee? 
 Wherefore should the snow stick in the 
 sky, save for shuddering fear of thee? 
 'Land of the wintry pole,' indeed! Why 
 should the oily rivers creep unpurified of 
 ice in their slimy serpentine beds except 
 that the cold gods of purity disdain thee? 
 [108] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 They are all in league with Taranis ; never 
 hath such a winter's season come to Brit- 
 ain, never land groaned under heavier 
 woe! Thou clingest to thy whelp's life as 
 a leech yea, leech thou art to Britain's 
 sucked-up heart, devourer of thy land 
 and thy people! Here under this Oak- 
 Tree came the awful curse on us from 
 thee; when thou payest here under this 
 Tree thy debt to the cheated Taranis, 
 then, and not till then, will Britain be 
 freed from her curses! I swear it by the 
 Egg-of- the- Serpents, which I tore from 
 the dead hand of Dalian!" and, wrench- 
 ing the sacrosanct charm from its long 
 hiding-place in his girdle, he thrust it with 
 violence against Dunwallo's wildly beat- 
 ing heart. 
 
 The aged man leaned back exhausted, 
 his breast heaving with its torrent of de- 
 lirium. The fetid breath of that dense 
 winter in Britain turned more than one 
 man toward madness. This half mad and 
 wholly fanatical priest had not escaped the 
 sword of Suetonius for naught. With 
 such seed-corn of fierce Druidism existent, 
 [109] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 that intense barbaric faith might again 
 find full field in Britain. 
 
 Goran's hearers were visibly affected. 
 The four Druids muttered together, steal- 
 ing murderous looks toward Dunwallo. 
 He, poor youth, was affected most pro- 
 foundly of all. The full watery moon 
 showed his face as pallid as a ghost's, 
 his great eyes staring into vacancy. Pres- 
 ently he spoke. 
 
 It was the fruit of much melancholy 
 brooding, fertilized by the sick ghastli- 
 ness of the season, and ripened suddenly 
 by the blaze of Goran's wrath. In Dun- 
 wallo spoke the voice of a martyr, unre- 
 membered now, yet worthy of a place be- 
 side those who later died in the highway at 
 Oxford. His voice was low but steady; 
 his face had the grandeur of a god. 
 
 "Father Goran, it comes to me that thou 
 art right. And I am ready to pay the 
 forfeit for my people." 
 
 The old priest leaped to his feet with 
 the agility of a cat ; the four other Druids 
 lumbered clumsily to theirs. Dunwallo 
 remained seated. 
 
 [110] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 "Say it again!" screamed the unfrocked 
 priest "Say what mine ears have 
 seemed to tell me!" 
 
 "I say it," answered Dunwallo. "Here 
 and now will I pay forfeit for my people!" 
 
 One of the men said, hollowly : 
 
 "Dunwallo, well spoken ! It is due that 
 thou shouldst die and save the people. 
 Thy life is truly forfeit to the gods." 
 
 In this they all gloomily concurred. 
 
 Coran sealed him with the deadly An- 
 guineum. They bound him with their 
 leathern girdles to the Tree, his- arms out- 
 stretched so that his body formed the fig- 
 ure of a cross. They discussed the place 
 where they might sink his corpse in the 
 Avon, and escape the detection of the 
 Romans. Coran was feverish with excite- 
 ment, while Dunwallo, his eyes closed, re- 
 mained to all appearance divinely calm. 
 The five Druids finally stood out before 
 lim in the moonlight Coran in the center, 
 chanting the blood-curdling Death Song, 
 his golden knife gleaming toward Dun- 
 wallo's throat. But listen! 
 
 A voice of singular sweetness and per- 
 suasion interrupted the unholy dirge. 
 
 [in] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 "My children!" 
 
 Coran wheeled around like a dervish, 
 recognized by some strange intuition the 
 figure of Caradoc standing there alone in 
 the moonlight, and raised his murderous 
 knife frenziedly upon the King. 
 
 But the weapon fell harmless from his 
 hand as he huddled in a faint upon the 
 ground. The four men fell back aghast. 
 
 Caradoc stooped, and with infinite ten- 
 derness ministered to the unconscious 
 priest. When the sick man revived, Cara- 
 doc bade one of the Druids support him, 
 then hastened to unbind Dunwallo. 
 When each knew who the other was, they 
 embraced and wept. 
 
 Suddenly Dunwallo tore himself from 
 his ransomer's arms and fled like a deer 
 toward the village. Imogen's father had 
 come! The King, the Great King, had 
 come home! 
 
 Caradoc stooped once more over the 
 prostrate form of the priest, whose 
 strength seemed utterly spent ; and, laying 
 the gaunt head with its horrible throbbing 
 scar upon his knee, he bade the others, 
 [112] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 filled with silent awe-struck wonderment 
 as they were, to summon all the slumber- 
 ing peasants within call. 
 
 His request fairly electrified their feet. 
 
 "The children! Especially the chil- 
 dren!" Caradoc cried after them. 
 
 "Come!" he called to his two Roman ser- 
 vants, who at his bidding had remained 
 unseen in the background. They came 
 forward bearing bundles of gifts. 
 
 Goran showed signs of reviving 
 strength. Pillowing the old priest's head 
 on wrappings from one of the bundles, 
 Caradoc arose to complete his prepara- 
 tions for the first British Christmas. 
 
 But he stood still, stricken with joy. 
 
 "Eigen!" he shouted, in a voice loud 
 with wonder and gladness. 
 
 It was not Eigen, it was Imogen, stand- 
 ing in the rim of the Yuletide fire, clasp- 
 ing Dunwallo's hand. 
 
 With a cry she sprang into her father's 
 arms. 
 
 "It is Imogen!" she sobbed, on his 
 breast. 
 
 Kissing her happy tears away, the 
 [113] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 Christmas King held her at arm's length 
 to enjoy her wonderful beauty. 
 
 "Blessed Day-Star, I had thought thou 
 wert Eigen !" he said, tremulously. "Thou 
 art as she was when first I beheld her 
 O radiant Imogen!" 
 
 Once more she nestled her head upon his 
 heart. 
 
 "I had thought that He who had 
 brought life and immortality to light had 
 given back to me thy mother in her youth," 
 he went on, reverently. "That might not 
 be. But indeed thou hast come back from 
 the grave of lost hopes, O radiant Imogen, 
 to renew my own youth within me!" 
 
 In the firelignt the King's face shone 
 with joy. 
 
 Dunwallo would fain have checked his 
 mother, the white-haired Myfanwy, who 
 had followed the two up the hill from the 
 hut; but she rushed past him, throwing 
 herself prone on the ground and kissing 
 Caradoc's feet. 
 
 His voice was infinitely tender. 
 
 "Rise, O Myfanwy, I have somewhat to 
 telltheeP 
 
 [114] 
 
' J He told them the story of the manger" 
 
 From a drawing- by Frank Craig- 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 By this time the huddling villagers were 
 collecting in a great wonder-struck ring 
 about Caradoc's Oak, bringing with them 
 hordes of smudge-faced children, clad in 
 ragged smocks and untanned wolf -skins. 
 The summoners, now breathlessly return- 
 ing themselves, had stirred every neigh- 
 bouring household with the message: 
 
 "The King has come back! Bring the 
 children to Caradoc's Oak and hasten!" 
 
 Purifying snow had begun to fall. This 
 brought added joy to these poor people, 
 affrighted as they were of the plague. 
 
 "Sit ye about me on the ground," 
 commanded Caradoc, seating himself on 
 an unsacrificed Yule log, close up against 
 the trunk of the Oak. Imogen nestled in 
 his right arm's embrace. 
 
 "I have come back to you at the Yule- 
 tide at the cost of my kingly crown. My 
 freedom I purchased, my children, to lead 
 you to serve the Prince of Peace." 
 
 "The Prince of Peace! What a name!" 
 muttered the fierce old priest of Taranis, 
 gazing wide-eyed into Caradoc's face. 
 
 "Yes, my children," continued the great 
 Nursing-Father. "He purchased the 
 [117] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 peace of his people by the forfeit of hL 
 life upon the Tree." 
 
 Dunwallo shifted to a kneeling posture, 
 his hands clasped as in prayer. Coran 
 would have struggled to his feet, but a 
 gesture from Caradoc restrained him. 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed the old Druid, "we 
 were about to claim the forfeit of Dun- 
 wallo!" and when Caradoc had heard the 
 story of the young man's voluntary sacri- 
 fice, he looked on him and loved him, and 
 told them the story of the Cross. 
 
 "I had thought it was only the fondness 
 of memory that lured me by way of the 
 Oak. I longed to stand.under this Tree, 
 where I parted with the glory of the past. 
 Now I know I was sent here. I was sent 
 to the Oak as your Daysman, to set you 
 at one with Immanuel, and to turn your 
 somber Yuletide into Christmas." 
 
 "Christmas what is Christmas?" mur- 
 mured Dunwallo. 
 
 "Christmas is redeemed childhood," an- 
 swered Caradoc. "It was- the unknown 
 touch of Christmas in my heart that set 
 you free from Taranis a score of years 
 [118] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 ago" and he told them the story of the 
 Manger. 
 
 "Christmas is redeemed motherhood," 
 the gentle evangelist went on, smiling to- 
 ward the white-haired Myfanwy, whose 
 very soul was shining in her eyes ; and he 
 pictured to their minds the Virgin Mother. 
 
 "Christmas is a redeemed world," the 
 King continued, and his voice rang out to 
 the outermost ring of the people surround- 
 ing the Oak. "Chiefly it is the redemption 
 of our joy." He kissed Imogen with 
 great tenderness upon her brow. "It 
 turns our age to youth again, our ugliness 
 to beauty, and all our outward sorrows to 
 an innermost delight. It takes the whole 
 wide world and makes it new again, with 
 a gift like the ministry of snow. There 
 was that in your old religion, faithful Cor- 
 an, which it will possess and transform. A 
 Father takes the place of Taranis, and 
 Christ shall become your Druid. There 
 is never a truth or beauty in the world but 
 Christmas will welcome them and mould 
 them to itself with fragrant freshness. So 
 the coming centuries will cherish the sac- 
 rament of sacrifice, though Christmas al- 
 [119] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 tars never feel the stain of blood. Even 
 your Oak" and he waved his hand up- 
 ward "will surrender his sacred Ail- 
 Heal, and the Yule log will burn on the 
 hearthstone, and the greenery of forest 
 gods shall wave, not as signs of dark and 
 helpless fear, but to bid the new-born 
 world a merry Christmas!" 
 
 And he told them how the trembling 
 shepherds heard the first Christmas words, 
 "Fear not!" 
 
 "Imogen!" he suddenly cried, buoyantly 
 leaping to his feet with the lithe spring of 
 youth "Come! the children!" 
 
 It was high dawn,. The maiden caught 
 the spirit of Christmas as Caradoc pointed 
 to the open bundles of Saturnalian toys, 
 and then toward the nestling groups of 
 children. 
 
 But he looked up at the bare cheerless 
 boughs of the Oak and shook his head. In 
 the growing light he could see its charred 
 trunk, blackened by a second and a third 
 stroke of lightning, and blacker now than 
 ever against a background of softly falling 
 snow. He shook his head, smiling. 
 
 Imogen smiled back at him. 
 [120] 
 
"The first Christmas tree" 
 From a photograph by Isabel Mosher 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 "Not here!" she said. "Let us go out 
 into the dawn!" 
 
 So they came out from under the Oak, 
 Dunwallo aiding the Roman servants with 
 the bundles of toys, and the Druids stir- 
 ring fresh Yule logs into a towering flame, 
 merrily crackling. 
 
 The people pressed back but little. 
 Sobs of joy were heard on every side, and 
 many stooped to kiss the hem of the King's 
 simple garment. Children so clung about 
 his knees that as he moved they moved 
 forward with him. 
 
 "See!" cried the radiant Imogen, joy- 
 fully dancing, her eyes agleam with some 
 fresh thought of delight, her cheeks dimp- 
 ling in the Yule log's merry glow, as she 
 pointed to a slenderly graceful young fir- 
 tree, sparkling with SETOW crystals as with 
 unnumbered jewels "Let us festoon the 
 children's gifts among its houghs!" 
 
 Dunwallo exchanged a swift glance of 
 understanding with Imogen. He felt as 
 if his pall of gloom had dropped from him, 
 nevermore to return. They were think- 
 ing of the fir-trees at Colchester through 
 [123] 
 
THE TREE OF LIGHT 
 
 whose boughs they had heard the Gift of 
 Music. 
 
 Caradoc noted the unmistakable glances 
 of youth in love, and smiled with a wise 
 new tenderness. So he and Imogen and 
 Dunwallo and even old Goran hung the 
 Saturnalian toys among the boughs of the 
 fir-tree, to the merry laughter of rollick- 
 ing children, amid shouts of delight from 
 their elders. 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 It was the first time Imogen had spoken 
 the beautiful word. Her hands clasped 
 behind Caradoc's neck, she looked up into 
 his smiling eyes with unutterable radiance. 
 
 "I love Dunwallo!" 
 
 Caradoc kissed her gently on the lips. 
 
 "Clip me the Golden Bough, the Mis- 
 tletoe !" he cried to old Coran. This hoary 
 mystical plant should bespeak a new free- 
 dom, a more abundant life, alike to 
 Princess and peasant. 
 
 With trembling limbs, assisted by the 
 four eager Druids, the breathless priest 
 climbed to the lowest bough of the black- 
 ened Oak, and cut with Dalian's golden 
 knife the only living thing upon the tree. 
 [124] 
 
SATURNALIA AND YULETIDE 
 
 Meanwhile Dunwallo, as if in a trance, 
 had stepped slowly forward at the sum- 
 mons of Caradoc, who laid Imogen's right 
 hand within his. 
 
 " * There is neither bond nor free,' " the 
 Christian King murmured, " 'but ye are 
 one!'" 
 
 Dunwallo and Imogen were standing in 
 front of the fir-tree, and as Goran came 
 running with the mistletoe bough, Caradoc 
 waved it above their heads. 
 
 "Liberty love life," were three words 
 he uttered as if in benediction. Dunwal- 
 lo and Imogen plighted their troth with a 
 kiss. The sun suddenly shot up over the 
 boundless forests to eastward, precisely as 
 on the dawn of that far-away May day 
 morning, and lit up the world with strange 
 splendour. 
 
 "Father!" cried Imogen, rapturously 
 pointing toward the dazzling little fir-tree, 
 surrounded by dancing children; ever- 
 green with fresh life, as free as it was fresh, 
 and to her heart fragrant with love, 
 
 "It is the Tree of Light!" 
 
 THE END 
 
 [125] 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 5 1952 
 
 LU 
 
 LD 21-95m-ll,'50(2877sl6)476 
 
ID O / I 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY