ars it would
be easier for us; but not now, your excellency, not now."

"Tut, man; for years you have been clamouring in our ears and raising
the people. Now you have got what you asked. What more would you have?
Within the month you will be as free as were your ancestors before Caesar
set foot upon your shore."

"For God's sake, your excellency, put our words out of your head. The
matter had not been well considered. We will send to Rome. We will ride
post-haste ourselves. We will fall at the Emperor's feet. We will kneel
before the Senate and beg that the legions remain."

The Roman proconsul rose from his chair and motioned that the audience
was at an end.

"You will do what you please," said he. "I and my men are for Italy."

* * * * *

And even as he said, so was it, for before the spring had ripened into
summer, the troops were clanking down the via Aurelia on their way to
the Ligurian passes, whilst every road in Gaul was dotted with the carts
and the waggons which bore the Brito-Roman refugees on their weary
journey to their distant country. But ere another summer had passed
Celticus was dead, for he was flayed alive by the pirates and his skin
nailed upon the door of a church near Caistor. Regnus, too, was dead,
for he was tied to a tree and shot with arrows when the painted men came
to the sacking of Isca. Caradoc only was alive, but he was a slave to
Elda the red Caledonian and his wife was mistress to Mordred the wild
chief of the western Cymri. From the ruined wall in the north to Vectis
in the south blood and ruin and ashes covered the fair land of Britain.
And after many days it came out fairer than ever, but, even as the Roman
had said, neither the Britons nor any men of their blood came into the
heritage of that which had been their own.

II

THE LAST GALLEY

"Mutato nomine, de te, Britannia, fabula narratur."

It was a spring morning, one hundred and forty-six years before the
coming of Christ. The North African coast, with its broad hem of golden
sand, its green belt of feathery palm trees, and its background of
barren, red-scarped hills, shimmered like a dream country in the opal
light. Save for a narrow edge of snow-white surf, the Mediterranean lay
blue and serene as far as the eye could reach. In all its vast expanse
there was no break but for a single galley, which was slowly making its
way from the direction of Sicily and heading for the dis