University of Virginia Library

17. XVII.

“Egiza,” said Pelayo, “to-night we are to meet our
friends at the Cave of Wamba.”

“To-night?” said Egiza.

“Ay, to-night—our friends—the brave, devoted few,
who now risk the doom and the dungeons of the tyrant
in thy behalf—we meet with them to-night! Dost thou
hear me—dost thou understand me, Egiza? Think,
my brother, think well!—to-night (the time is close at
hand)—our friends (can there be a sweeter meeting?)
—we meet them, my brother, in thy cause—in our
common cause—to strike against thy enemy, the tyrant
Roderick—the murderer of our father—the usurper of
our throne—the enslaver of our country.”

“I understand thee well enough, Pelayo,” was the
reply of Egiza, who seemed impatient of the earnest
manner of his brother.

“We meet, too—think, my brother—we meet with
them in the Cave of Wamba!—that cave which was
hallowed as the home of the holy man, when he left the
cares of the empire which he had saved to other hands!
What a prince was he—a prince to emulate—to follow
in all practice! In that cave I think to meet his spirit
with the rest. Let not thine falter there, I pray thee,
brother. The place is holy—haunted. His knees
have pressed its rocks—his prayers have risen from its

encircling gloom, in the deepest and darkest hour of
midnight, in tribute for his country, to his God. It will
need that thou shouldst speak to our people a language
such as his—'twill need, I say, my brother!”

“Have I not said to thee already, my brother, that I
hold this struggle to be vain, and more like the madness
of the dreamer than the calm reasoning resolve of one
who thinks and knows?” was the reply of Egiza.

“Let me not answer thee, my brother,” said Pelayo,
gently—“I would not be angry with thee now. What
I say to thee this day I would say pleadingly—I would
say humbly—I would bring thee to think and to feel
the truth, even as I feel it; and though my blood bounds
wildly and my heart throbs vexatiously, sometimes,
when thou speakest coldly of these things, the very
thoughts of which do fever me, yet will I so school
blood and heart into subjection this day, as that neither
will have cause to reproach me hereafter when I think
of thee.”

“What meanest thou, Pelayo?” said Egiza.

“Look down!” said Pelayo, without heeding the inquiring
looks and language of his brother—“look down,
my brother!”

They stood a few paces from the edge of the precipice,
to which, following the road, they had been directly
advancing. It was then that the path suddenly
turned aside, and on one hand it took its way down a
deep gorge, partly the work of art and time, and partly
made by the heavy torrents that worked their way down
from the upper hills to the deep valley that lay below.
Where they then stood, however, the deep and sudden
abyss spread itself before them, and the bosom involuntarily
shuddered as the eye surveyed the edge of the
precipice. Egiza looked down, agreeably to the suggestion
of Pelayo.

“What seest thou?” demanded the latter.

“I see the cattle grazing, and now a shepherd looks

up, and now moves on, with sluggard step, beside
them.”

“Seest thou naught else?” asked Pelayo.

“Nothing—what seest thou, brother?”

“I do not see the cattle nor the shepherd,” said
Pelayo.

“Why, there they are—there by the rivulet, that toils
and tumbles through yon rocks. Dost thou not hear
the brawl?—its clamour seeks us here.”

“I hear it not,” said Pelayo, while he continued to
gaze, “nor do I seek to hear or to behold it.”

Egiza turned to him with a look of inquiry. The
eye of Pelayo met his gaze, and it was full of a proud
meaning, which the former could not understand, but
which he could not help but feel.

“I do not see the cattle nor the shepherd,” said Pelayo—“it
is not these I look for! but I look once more
to see the bands of Viriatus foiling the Roman consul.
Dost thou remember—thou hast not sure forgotten, oh
Egiza, the last time went we with our father forth, he
pointed out the gorge, made glorious then by Viriatus.
There the Roman came with his dense legions. The
Lusitanian chief stole from behind the hills with a small
band, inviting the assault. The prætor saw, and fell
into the cunning snare he laid: Vitellius fell, and the
Iberians came, clustering like angry bees on every side,
and hemmed the invaders in. Vainly they fought that
day: they fled at last; but with as swift a wing did
hate pursue as ever helped on fear. Not one had then
escaped, had not Nigidius, colleague of Vitellius, come
to the Roman's aid. I think of it, and see once more
the strife begin—there—just below—”

“Why, sure, Pelayo, 'tis a dream thou hast,” exclaimed
Egiza, interrupting his brother, whose eye intently
watched the pass below them, while his finger
rigidly pointed to a distant section of the gorge. Pelayo

turned suddenly upon his brother in silence. Egiza
continued—

“Thou errest in thy speech—it was not here that
Viriatus fought and slew Vitellius; 'twas in the bloody
defiles near Tribola—”

“'Tis well thy memory lives,” replied Pelayo; “and
sweet to me, Egiza, to discover that all is not forgotten
from thy mind of what our fathers wrought. Full well
I know 'twas at Tribola that Vitellius fell—thou didst
not think that, when my eye was stretched as piercing
yon abyss, I looked to see the legions issuing forth?
No, my fair brother—the sight was in the mind. I
called for thine, and would have given it glorious exercise.
I would have had thee from the distant vision
catch a faint hope of glory for thyself—would show thee
Roderick's legions in some pass, bleak, rugged, deep
like this; and in the fearless chief of Lusitania, with little
band, small chance, but fearless heart, I would have
had thee look upon Egiza, and dare be, what that vision
would have made thee, a patriot and a man! But let
us on: we'll speak no more of this; I leave it to thy
thought. Come on, Britarmin—what matter, Bascone
—thou look'st as thou wert angered?”

“Why, so I am, my prince,” replied Britarmin, “but
the anger is a pleasant one. Only speak when we are
going into battle as thou didst just now, and I will leap
into the enemy's throat. Almost I thought that thou
didst behold them coming quickly around the mountains
below us, and I strained my eyes to behold them also
—thy words were so proud, and thine eye so glorious.”

In silence they descended the pass, each too much
filled with his own thoughts to speak farther for some
time; but, before the day was half over, Pelayo renewed
the subject most active in his mind to his brother Egiza.
Long and earnestly he strove to awaken him, by every
sort of exhortation and argument, to a proper sense of
the duties which he had hitherto neglected. He repeated

many stories of the olden time—of old Iberian valour—of
their ancestors, and of their immediate family;
and in the prosecution of these efforts he strove studiously
to forbear harsh comment and ungentle word.
One time he soothed, then solicited, then argued; and
at moments, when, in his narratives, he elicited some
spirited response from Egiza, his heart would rejoice
with hope that his brother was beginning to awaken
from the apathy which had possessed him. But such
hopes lingered not long; and he saw with the deepest
sorrow, as, towards nightfall, they reached the neighbourhood
of the Cave of Wamba, that his brother maintained
his former unresolve, and still thought discouragingly
of the enterprise which was before them. Pelayo
said but little after this; yet one sentence, which he
uttered in a cold and solemn manner when they came
in sight of the cave, fell on the ears of Egiza with a
deathlike emphasis.

“Here is the place, Egiza—here we meet all our
friends. I have now done with thee. Whatever they
resolve shall be my law. I'll say no word against it—
lift no hand save in support of what they decree.
Beware of what thou dost—thou knowest their power—
they are the National Council of Iberia, sole sovereign
in the land. Let's in to them.”

“A moment, brother,” said Egiza, in a whisper, while
he grasped the arm of Pelayo, who was about to go
forward.

“What wouldst thou now?” he asked.

“Such is not their power?”

“Unless you hold the usurper Roderick to be the
truer sovereign, yes!” was the reply of Pelayo.

“And what if I declare myself against their plans—
if I withhold myself?” demanded Egiza.

“A shaven crown or death!—the monk's stone cell
and rosary, or else the sharp stroke of the axeman,” was
the stern reply of Pelayo.

“I will not enter with thee,” was the sudden resolve
of Egiza as he heard these words, and he drew back
from the mouth of the cavern.

“Too late, Egiza, now,” replied Pelayo, grasping his
arm and dragging him into the throat of the cavern—
“too late!—show not the coward now, but say out thy
firm resolve, whatever it be, to our people, and meet thy
fate like a man, whatever they decree it,—follow me
close, Britarmin.”

The Bascone did as he was commanded, and Egiza
was forced to advance, for Pelayo and his follower were
now between him and the entrance. With a deep sigh
he went onward, bitterly regretting that he had not preferred
to brave the sword-point of his brother, which
threatened him in the night, rather than the trial and
possible doom which were before him now. When he
had fairly entered within the recess, Pelayo lingered
behind and spoke thus to Britarmin—

“Keep thou here concealed, Britarmin—hide thee
behind this ledge of the rock—thou wilt be unseen, and
thy presence unsuspected. Watch well that none leave
the cavern till thou hearest my signal—admit all to
enter that seek to do so; and show thyself only to those
who would depart before the business of our meeting is
over. Remember—strike down, with a sudden and
sweeping blow, him who would leave us until permission
is given to him to do so. I do not except from
this command my own self, nor the person of my brother
who but now preceded us. Remember, Bascone, I
trust thee as my soldier. Be faithful as thou wouldst
have success—do as I bid thee in this, if thou wouldst
have employment for thy seven teeth.”

The Bascone placed the hand of Pelayo upon his
head while he swore—

“By the god Ipsistos, whose wrath I fear, I swear,
Prince Pelayo, to do even as thou hast commanded!”

“It is well—I trust thee, Britarmin. Remember, I

except not myself from thy blow, should I seek, ere the
proper time, to depart from the cavern. Egiza, my
brother, who came with us—remember, also, thou wilt
slay him as if he were a stranger and a Saracen, with
as little pause or sorrow, should he seek to fly.”

“I will slay him—I will do even as thou commandest!”
was the reply; and Pelayo then followed his
brother into the recesses of the cavern, leaving the Bascone
safely hidden behind the projecting ledge of the
rock which he had shown to him as a place for shelter
and concealment.