CHAPTER XII.
LOST.
Carna was known all over the neighbourhood of the villa as the best andkindest of nurses, always ready to help in cases of sickness, and able tocommand the services of the household physician where her own medicalskill was at fault. It was therefore with no surprise that the morningafter the consultation, recorded in the last chapter, she was told thather help was wanted in a case of urgent need. The woman who had broughtthe message was a stranger. She was the daughter, she said, of an oldwoman living at Uricum, a small hamlet about four miles from the villa.She had happened to come the day before on a visit to her mother, andfound her very ill; they had no medicines in the house, and indeed shouldnot have known how to use them if they had. Would the lady come, and, ifshe thought proper, bring the physician with her? The place mentioned wason the limits of the district with which Carna was acquainted. It couldonly be approached by a path through the forest; and the girl had notvisited it more than two or three times in her life. She had a vagueremembrance, however, of the patient's name. On sending for the physician,it was found that he was out, having been called away, Carna was told, toa case which, he had said before starting, would probably occupy him forthe greater part of the day. On hearing this, she made up her mind tostart without waiting for him. The illness was very probably of a simplekind, though it might be violent in degree. Very likely it was a case inwhich the nurse would be more wanted than the doctor. She provided herselfwith two or three simple remedies which she learnt to employ in theordinary maladies of the country, of which feverish colds were the mostcommon, and started, taking with her as companion and protector a statelyMilesian dog, or mastiff, who was always delighted to play the part of aguard in her country walks. Her own pet dog, a long-haired littlecreature, something of the Spanish kind, whom she had intended to leave athome, contrived to free himself from the custody to which he had beenassigned, and stealthily followed her, cunningly keeping out of sight tillthe party had gone too far for him to be conveniently sent back. He thenshowed himself with extravagant gestures of contrition, was tenderlyreproached, pardoned, and allowed to go on.
During the walk the messenger was curiously silent, and answered allCarna's questions about her mother and her affairs in the very briefestfashion. All that could be got from her was that she lived on the mainland, about twenty miles inland, in a northerly direction, and that sinceher marriage, now twenty years ago, she had seen very little of hermother. When they reached the outskirts of the hamlet she pointed out hermother's house, and, making an excuse that she had an errand for aneighbour, disappeared. Carna, seeing nothing but a certain surliness oftemper, possibly only shyness, in her companion, went on withoutsuspicion. She reached the house, and knocked at the door. There was noanswer. She knocked again. Still all was silence. Looking a little moreclosely at the place she could see no signs of habitation, no smoke, forinstance, making its way out of the thatch (for chimneys did not yetexist, at least, in the poorer dwellings). The next thing was to peep inat the window, a wooden lattice, which had been left partially open. Theroom into which she looked was perfectly bare.
A suspicion rushed into her mind that she had been tricked, and thatdanger of some unknown kind was at hand. The strange sympathy which oftenmakes the dog so quick to understand the feelings of man, made the bigmastiff, Malcho, uneasy. With a low growl, showing uneasiness rather thanfear or anger, he ranged himself at her side.
As she stood considering what was next to be done, a party of six men, oneof whom led a horse, issued from the wood which bordered the little gardenof the cottage.
"Can you tell me where I shall find one Utta, who, I am told, is sick, andwishful to see me? Can it be that I have mistaken the house?"
"Utta, my lady," said one of the party, "is not to be found any more. Shedied a week since."
"But," said Carna, with rising anger, "a woman, who said that she was herdaughter, told me, not more than two hours ago, that she was sick, anddesired to see me. Why have I been brought here for nothing?"
"Pardon me, lady," returned the first speaker, in a tone in which respectand command were curiously blended, "but you have not been brought fornothing. You have a better work to do than ministering to a sick oldwoman."
As he spoke he moved forwards. But he had not taken two steps before thegreat dog, who had been watching the speakers, we might say almostlistening to their talk with the most eager attention, sprang furiously athim, and laid him prostrate on the ground. His companions rushed to rescuetheir leader from the dog and to seize the girl. They did not accomplisheither of their objects with impunity. The gallant creature turned fromone assailant to another with a strength and a fury which made him a mostformidable antagonist, and he had inflicted some frightful wounds beforehe was made senseless by repeated blows from the weapons of theassailants. Nor was Carna overpowered without a struggle. Weapons she hadnone, except a little dagger, meant for use in needlework, which hung ather side; but she used this not without effect. She clenched her fist, anddealt two or three blows, of which her antagonists bore the marks upontheir faces for days to come. Finally she wrenched herself from the graspof the assailants as a last resource, and endeavoured to fly, but it was ahopeless effort. Before she had run more than a few yards she wasovertaken. Her captors used no more violence than they could help.Probably had they been less unwilling to hurt her, she could not haveresisted so long. Finding her so strong and so determined, they wereobliged to bind her hands and feet; but they did this with all thegentleness compatible with an evident resolve to make her bonds secure. Inthe midst of her terror and distress Carna could not help observing withastonishment that the cords which they used were of silk. Then findingherself absolutely helpless, she said--
"Do not bind me as though I were a slave. On the faith of a Christian, Iwill not attempt to escape."
"Lady, we trust you," said the leader of the party, and at the same timedirected one of his companions to unbind the ropes. "Be comforted," hewent on; "we do not intend you harm; on the contrary, high honour is instore for you."
The Capture of Carna.]
Carna was scarcely reassured by these mysterious words, but she had nowrecovered her calmness. Summoning up all her courage--and it was far beyondeven the average of a singularly fearless race--she intimated to hercaptors that she was ready to follow them without further delay. Theymounted her upon the horse, which, as has been said, one of them washolding, and started in a northerly direction. Two of the party had beenso severely injured by the hound, that they were obliged to stay behind.One of the others held the bridle of the horse, and led him forward at anambling pace; the others followed behind.
The way of the party lay entirely along rough forest-paths which seemedfrom their appearance, often grown over as they were with branches andcreepers, to be but seldom traversed. Night had fallen some hours beforethey reached the northern coast of the island. Their way had lain in anorth-westerly direction, and they emerged near to the arm of the sea nowknown as Fishbourne Creek. Here they found a rowing boat in waiting.
Carna's captors now handed over their charge to the boat party, which wasunder the command of the young chief whom we know by the name of Ambiorix.He received his prisoner with a dignified civility, made her ascomfortable as he could with rugs and wraps in the stern of the boat, andthen gave orders to start. The journey across the channel, which we nowknow as the Solent, occupied some hours, though the night was calm, andthe ebbing tide mostly in the rowers' favour, the shortest route not beingtaken, but a north-westerly direction still followed. The morning was justbeginning to break when the coast was reached near the spot whereLymington now stands. The party hurriedly disembarked, put the girl on arough litter which they had with them in the boat, and carried her to adwelling some half-mile inland, and surrounded by the woods which herealmost touched high-water mark. Carna found a tolerable chamber allottedto her, where she was waited upon by an elderly woman who
seemed bent ondoing everything that she could for her comfort. The girl was of theelastic temper which soon recovers itself even under the most depressingcircumstances. She had the wisdom, too, to feel that, if she was to helpherself, she must keep up her strength to the very best of her power. Shedid not refuse the simple but well-cooked meal which her attendant servedto her, after she had enjoyed the refreshment of a bath. And thenoverpowered by the fatigue of a journey which had lasted not much lessthan twenty-four hours, she sank into a deep sleep.
It was dark when her attendant gently roused her and told her that in anhour she would be required to resume her journey, in which, as Carna heardwith some pleasure, she was herself to be her companion. A start was madeabout three hours before midnight, and the journey was continued till anhour before dawn. This plan was followed till their destination wasreached. The party was evidently careful to keep its movements secret.Their way lay as before, by woodland paths, leading them through thedistrict now known as the New Forest. They travelled but slowly, moreslowly indeed than they had done on the island, for the paths were stillrougher, and, in fact, almost undistinguishable. Carna, too, was the onlyone of the company that had a horse, and her female attendant, who wasneither young nor active, could manage but a few miles at a time. It wasthe morning of the second day after they had left the coast before theyreached the edge of the great forest known as the Natanleah. Some fivemiles to the west lay Sorbiodunum, now Salisbury. This was a Roman town ofsome importance, and had of course to be avoided by the party, who,indeed, were anxious, as Carna could gather from a few scattered wordsthat were let drop in her presence, as to the way in which the rest oftheir journey was to be accomplished. The country was open, cultivated,and comparatively populous, the inhabitants being, for the most part,thoroughly Latinized. Two Roman roads, too, had to be crossed before theirdestination was reached.
The day was spent as usual in concealment and repose. An hour afternightfall the party started. They had now managed to procure another horsefor Carna's attendant; and as the ground was fairly level, unenclosed,and, at that time of year, unencumbered by crops, they moved rapidlyonwards. The moon had now risen, and Carna, for the first time, could atleast see where they were going. She was still, however, at a loss to knowwhat part of the country they had reached. At midnight a halt was called,and the leader of the party proceeded to blindfold the captive's eyes. Butif he wanted to keep her in ignorance of the locality, he was a little toolate. The girl's quick sight had caught a glimpse in the distance of thehuge circle of earth walls, now known as Amesbury. She had never seen theplace, but it was known to her in the chronicles of her people. There, asshe had read with a patriotism which all her Roman surroundings had notbeen able to quench, her countrymen had more than once held at bay thelegions of Rome. She knew roughly the situation of the famous camp of theBelgae, and she was sure that these massive fortifications, just seen for amoment in the moonlight, could be none others than those of which she hadread so often.
When the bandage was removed, she found herself in a chamber larger andmore comfortably furnished than any she had hitherto occupied on herjourney. Part of the palace of one of the old kings of the Belgae was stillstanding, and the travellers had taken up their quarters in it. TheAmesbury camp was indeed as safe a place as they could have chosen. It wasa spot which no Roman, much less a Briton living under Roman protection,would care to visit. The whole countryside believed that it was haunted bythe spirits of the great chiefs and warriors who had been buried withinits precincts, and of the slaves who had been killed to furnish them withservice and attendance in the unseen world. The scanty remnant who stillclung to the Druid faith found their account in encouraging thesesuperstitions. More than one appearance had been arranged to terrifysceptical or curious persons who had been rash enough to visit the vastcircle of embankments. For many years before the time of our story theenclosure had been untrodden except by the few who were in the secret ofthe Druid initiation. Here, then, the party waited securely with theirprisoner till the time should come for the solemn visit to _Choir Gawr_,the Great Temple, known to us by the name of Stonehenge.
The Count of the Saxon Shore; or The Villa in Vectis. Page 14
