It was late in the afternoon of a
dark and rainy day when Paullinus left the little
village where he had found shelter for the night.
The village lay in a great forest country in the heart
of Gaul. The scattered folk that inhabited it
were mostly heathens, and very strange and secret
rites were still celebrated in lonely sanctuaries.
Christian teachers, of whom Paullinus was one, travelled
alone or in little companies along the great high
roads, turning aside to visit the woodland hamlets,
and labouring patiently to make the good news of the
Word known.
They were mostly unmolested, for they
travelled under the powerful name of Romans, and in
many places they were kindly received. Paullinus
had been for months slowly faring from village to village,
without any fixed plan of journeying, but asking his
way from place to place, as the Spirit led him.
He was a young man, a very faithful Christian, and
with a love of adventure and travel which stood him
in good stead. He carried a little money, but
he had seldom need to use it, for the people were
simple and hospitable; he did not try to hold assemblies,
for he believed that the Gospel must spread like leaven
from quiet heart to quiet heart. Indeed he did
not purpose to proclaim the Word, but rather to prepare
the way for those that should come after. He
was of a strong habit, spare and upright; when he was
alone he walked swiftly, looking very eagerly about
him. He loved the aspect of the earth, the green
branching trees, the wild creatures of the woodland,
the voices of birds and the sound of streams.
And he had too a great and simple love for his own
kind, and though he had little eloquence he had a
plentiful command of friendly and shrewd talk, and
even better than he loved to speak he loved to listen.
He had a sweet and open smile, that drew the hearts
of all whom he met to him, especially of the children.
And he loved his wandering life in the free air, without
the daily cares of settled habit.
He had spent the night with an old
and calm man, who had been a warrior in his youth,
but who could now do little but attend to his farm.
Paullinus had spoken to him of the love of the Father
and the tender care that Jesus had to His brothers
on earth; the old man had listened courteously, and
had said that it sounded fair enough, but that he
was too old to change, and must stand in the ancient
ways. Paullinus did not press him; his custom
was never to do that. In the morning he had gone
to and fro in the village, and it was late before
he thought of setting out; the old man had pressed
him to stay another night, but something in Paullinus’
heart had told him that he must not wait, for it seemed
to him that there was work to be done. The old
man came with him to the edge of the forest, and gave
him very particular directions to the village he was
bound for, which lay in the heart of the wood.
“Of one thing I must advise you,” he said.
“There is, in the wood, some way off the track,
a place to which I would not have you go it
is a temple of one of our gods, a dark place.
Be certain, dear sir, to pass it by. No one would
go there willingly, save that we are sometimes compelled.”
He broke off suddenly here and looked about him fearfully;
then he went on in a low voice: “It is called
the Temple of the Grey Death, and there are rites
done there of which I may not speak. I would
it were otherwise, but the gods are strong and
the priest is a hard and evil man, who won his office
in a terrible way, and shall lose it no less terribly.
Oh, go not there, dear stranger;” and he laid
his hand upon his arm.
“Dear brother,” said Paullinus,
“I have no mind to go there but your
words seem to have a dark meaning behind them.
What are these rites of which you speak?” But
the old man shook his head.
“I may not speak of them,”
he said, “it is better to be silent.”
Then they took a kind leave of each
other, and Paullinus said that he would pass again
that way to see his friend, “for we are friends,
I know.” And so he went into the wood.
It was a wood of very ancient trees, and the dark
leaves roofed over the grassy track making a tunnel.
The heavens too grew dark above, and Paullinus heard
the drops patter upon the leaves. Generally he
loved well enough to walk in the woodways, but here
it seemed different. He would have liked a companion.
Something sinister and terrible seemed to him to hide
within those gloomy avenues, and the feeling grew stronger
every moment. But he said to himself some of
the simple hymns with which he often cheered his way,
and felt again that he was in the hands of God.
Presently he passed a little forest
pool that was one of the marks of his way. Upon
the further bank he was surprised to see a man sitting,
with a rod or spear in his hand, looking upon the water.
He was glad to see another man in this solitude, and
hailed him cheerfully, asking if he was in the right
way. The man looked up at the sound. Paullinus
saw that he was of middle age, very strong and muscular but
undoubtedly he had an evil face. He scowled, as
though he were vexed to be interrupted, and with an
odd and angry gesture of the hand he stepped quickly
within the wood and disappeared. Paullinus felt
in his mind that the man wished him evil, and went
on his way somewhat heavily. And now the sun
began to go down and it was darker than ever in the
forest; Paullinus came to a place where the road forked,
and thinking over his note of the way, struck off
to the left, but as he did so he felt a certain misgiving
which he could not explain. He now began to hurry,
for the light failed every moment, and the colour was
soon gone out of the grass beneath his feet, leaving
all a dark and indistinguishable brown. Soon
the path forked again, and then came a road striking
across the one that he had pursued of which he did
not think he had been told. He went straight
forward, but it was now grown so dark that he could
no longer see his way, and stumbled very sadly along
the wet path, feeling with his hand for the trees.
He thought that he must by this time have gone much
further than the distance between the villages, and
it was clear to him that he had somehow missed the
road.
He at last determined that he would
try to return, and went slowly back the way that he
had come, till at last the night came down upon him.
Then Paullinus was struck with a great fear. There
were wolves in those forests he knew, though they
lived in the unvisited depths of the wood and came
not near the habitations of men unless they were fierce
with famine. But he had heard several times a
strange snarling cry some way off in the wood, and
once or twice he had thought he was being softly followed.
So he determined to go no further, but to climb up
into a tree, if he could find one, and there to spend
an uneasy night.
He felt about for some time, but could
discover nothing but small saplings, when he suddenly
saw through the trees a light shine, and it came across
him that he had stumbled as it were by accident upon
the village. So he went forward slowly towards
the light there was no track here often
catching his feet among brambles and low plants, till
the gloom lifted somewhat and he felt a freer air,
and saw that he was in a clearing in the wood.
Then he discerned, in front of him, a space of deeper
darkness against the sky, what he thought to be the
outline of the roofs of buildings; then the light shone
out of a window near the ground; but presently he
came to a stop, for he saw the light flash and gleam
in the ripples of a water that lay in his path and
blocked his way.
Then he called aloud once or twice;
something seemed to stir in the house, and presently
the light in the window was obscured by the head and
shoulders of a man, who pressed to the opening; but
there was no answer. Then Paullinus spoke very
clearly, and said that he was a Roman, a traveller
who had lost his way. Then a harsh voice told
him to walk round the water to the left and wait awhile;
which Paullinus did.
Soon he heard steps come out of the
house and come to the water’s edge. Then
he heard sounds as though some one were walking on
a hollow board then with a word of warning
there fell the end of a plank near him on the bank,
and he was bidden to come across. He did so, though
the bridge was narrow and he was half afraid of falling;
but in a moment he was at the other side, a dark figure
beside him. He was bidden to wait again, and
the figure went out over the water and seemed to pull
in the plank that had served as a bridge; and then
the man returned and bade him to come forward.
Paullinus followed the figure, and in a moment he
could see the dark eaves of a long, low house before
him, very rudely but strongly built; then a door was
opened showing a lighted room within, and he was bidden
to step forward and enter.
He found himself in a large, bare
chamber, the walls and ceiling of a dark wood.
A pine torch flared and dripped in a socket. There
were one or two rough seats and a table spread with
a meal. At the end of the room there were some
bricks piled for a fireplace with charred ashes and
a smouldering log among them, for though it was still
summer the nights began to be brisk. On the walls
hung some implements; a spade and a hoe, a spear,
a sword, some knives and javelins. He that inhabited
it seemed to be part a tiller of the soil and part
a huntsman; but there were other things of which Paullinus
could not guess the use hooks and pronged
forks. There were skins of beasts on the floor,
and on the ceiling hung bundles of herbs and dried
meats. The air was pungent with pine-smoke.
He recognised the man at once as the same that he
had seen beside the pool; and he looked to Paullinus
even stranger and more dangerous than he had seemed
before. He seemed too to be on his guard against
some terror, and held in his hand a club, as though
he were ready to use it.
Presently he said a few words in a
harsh voice: “You are a Roman,” he
asked; “how may I know it?” “I do
not know,” said Paullinus, trying to smile,
“unless you will believe my word.”
“What is your business here?” said the
man; “are you a merchant?” “No,”
said Paullinus, “I have no business, I travel,
and I talk with those I meet perhaps I am
a teacher a Christian teacher.”
At this the man’s sternness seemed a little
to relax. “Oh, the new faith?” he
said, rather contemptuously; “well, I have heard
of it and it will never spread; but I am
curious to know what it really is, and you shall tell
me of it.” But suddenly his angry terrors
came upon him again, and he said, with a frown, “But
where were you bound, and whence come you?”
Paullinus, with such calmness as he
could muster, for he felt himself to be in some danger,
he scarcely knew what, mentioned the names of the
villages. “Well, you have missed your way,”
said the man. “Why did you come here to
the Temple of Death?” Paullinus had a sudden
access of dread at the words. “Is this
the Temple?” he said; “it is the place
I was bidden to avoid.” At this the man
gave a fearful kind of smile, like a flash of lightning
out of a sombre cloud, and he said, with a certain
dark pride, “Ay, there are few that come willingly;
but now you must abide with me to-night unless,”
he added, with a savage look, “you have a mind
to be eaten by wolves.” “I will certainly
stay,” said Paullinus, “I am not afraid I
serve a very mighty God myself, who guards his servants
if they guard themselves.” “Ay, does
He?” said the man, with a flash of anger, “then
He must needs be strong; but I wish you
no evil,” he added in a moment. “I
think you are a brave man, perhaps a good one I
fear you not.” “There is no need
for you to fear me,” said Paullinus, “my
God is a God of peace and love and indeed,”
he added with a smile, looking at the man’s
great frame, “I should have thought there was
little need for you to fear any one.” This
last word seemed to dissolve the man’s evil mood
all at once, for he put away the club he held, in a
corner of the room, and bade Paullinus eat and drink,
which he did gladly. The meat was a strongly
flavoured kind of venison, and there was a rough bread,
and a drink that seemed both sweet and strong, and
had the taste of summer flowers. He praised the
food, and the man said to him, “Ay, I have learnt
to suit it to my taste. I live here in much loneliness,
and there is none to help me.”
After the meal the man asked him to
tell him something of the new faith, and Paullinus
very willingly told him as simply as he could of the
Way of Christ.
The man listened with a sort of gloomy
attention. “So it is this,” he said
at last, “which is taking hold of the world!
well, it is pretty enough a good faith
for such as live in ease and security, for women and
children in fair houses; but it suits not with these
forests. The god who made these great lonely
woods, and who dwells in them, is very different,” he
rose and made a strange obeisance as he talked.
“He loves death and darkness, and the cries
of strong and furious beasts. There is little
peace here, for all that the woods are still and
as for love, it is of a brutish sort. Nay, stranger,
the gods of these lands are very different; and they
demand very different sacrifices. They delight
in sharp woes and agonies, in grinding pains, in dripping
blood and death-sweats and cries of despair. If
these woods were all cut down, and the land ploughed
up, and peaceful folk lived here in quiet fields and
farms, then perhaps your simple, easy-going God might
come and dwell with them but now, if he
came, he would flee in terror.”
“Nay,” said Paullinus,
but somewhat sadly, for the man’s words seemed
to have a fearful truth about them, “the Father
waits long and is kind; the victory of love is slow,
but it is sure.”
“It is slow enough!” said
the man; “these forests have grown here beyond
the memory of man, and they will stand long after you
and I have been turned to a handful of dust and
so I will serve my gods while I live. But you
are weary,” he added, “and may sleep; fear
not any hurt from me; and as for the way you speak
of, well, I will say that I should be content if it
had the victory. I am sick at heart of the hard
rule of these gods but I fear them, and
will serve them faithfully till I die.”
And then he brought some skins of
beasts and heaped them in a corner of the room for
Paullinus, who lay down gladly, and from mere weariness
fell asleep. But the priest sat long before the
fire in thought; and twice he went to the door and
looked out, as if he were waiting for some tidings.
Once the opening of the door aroused
Paullinus; and he saw the dark figure of the priest
stand in the doorway, and over his head and shoulders
a dark still night, pierced with golden stars; and
once again, when he opened the door a second time,
the pure gush of air into the close room woke Paullinus
from a deep sleep; again he saw the priest stand silent
in the door, with his hands clasped behind him; and
through the door Paullinus could see the dim ring of
dewy woods, that seemed to sleep in quiet dreams;
and over the woods a great pale light of dawn that
was coming slowly up out of the east.
But Paullinus fell back into sleep
again from utter weariness, as a man might dive into
a pool. And when at last he opened his eyes, he
saw that day was come with an infinite sweetness and
freshness; the birds called faintly in the thickets;
and the priest was going slowly about his daily task,
preparing food; and Paullinus, from where he lay,
smiled at him, and the priest smiled back, as though
half ashamed, and presently said, “You have
slept deeply, sir; and to sleep as you have done shows
that a man is brave and innocent.”
Then Paullinus rose, and would have
helped him, but the man said, “Nay, you are
my guest; and besides, I do things in a certain order,
as all do who live alone, and I would not have any
one to meddle with me.” He spoke gruffly,
but there was a certain courtesy in his manner.
Presently the priest asked him to
come and eat, and they sat together eating in a friendly
way. The priest was silent, but Paullinus talked
of many things and at last the priest said,
“I thought I loved my loneliness, but it seems
that I am pleased to have a companion. I believe,”
he added, “that I would be content if you would
dwell with me.” And Paullinus smiled in
answer, and said, “Ay, it is not good to live
alone.”
A little while after Paullinus said
that he must set out on his way, and that he was very
grateful for so gentle a welcome; but the priest said,
“Nay, but you must see the sights of my house
and of the temple. Few folk have seen it, and
never a foreign man. It is not a merry place,”
he added, “but it will do to make a traveller’s
tale.”
So he led him to the door, and they
went out. Paullinus saw that the house where
he had spent the night stood on a little square island,
with a deep moat all round it, filled with water; the
island was all overgrown with bushes and tall plants,
except that in one place there were some pens where
sheep and goats were kept; and a path led down to
the landing-place where he had crossed it the night
before. But what at once seized and held the
eyes and mind of Paullinus was the temple. He
thought he had never seen so grim a place; it rose
above the bushes and above the house. It was
of very rough stone, all blank of windows, with a
roof of stone; the blocks were very large, and Paullinus
wondered how they had been brought there. In front
there was a low door, and over it a hideous carving,
that seemed to Paullinus to be the work of devils.
Apart from the temple, rising among the bushes, stood
a rude sculptured figure, with a leering evil face,
very roughly but vigorously cut, with an arm raised
as though beckoning people to the temple. This
figure, of a kind of reddish stone, seemed horrible
beyond words to Paullinus. It seemed to him like
a servant of Satan, if not Satan himself, frozen into
stone.
The priest looked at Paullinus, who
could not help showing his horror, with a kind of
pride. Then he said, “Will you go further?
Will you enter the temple with me, and see what is
therein? Perhaps you will after all bow your
head to the gods of the forest.” And Paullinus
said, “Yes, I will go,” and he said a silent
prayer to the Lord Christ that He would guard him
well. Another path paved with stone led from
the landing-place to the temple, along which they went
slowly; the priest leading. Arrived at the door,
the priest made another strange obeisance, lifting
his hands slowly above his head and closing his eyes;
then he opened the door into the temple itself.
There came out a foul and heavy smell that shuddered
in the nostrils of Paullinus and left him gasping
somewhat for breath. The priest looked at him
with a sort of curious wonder, which made Paullinus
determine to go further.
The temple itself was large and dark,
a sickly light only filtering in through a hole in
the roof. The floor was paved, and the roof was
supported by great wooden columns, the trunks of large
forest trees. The greater part of the building
was shut off by a large wooden screen, about the height
of a man, close to them, so that they stood in a kind
of vestibule. The whole of the building, walls,
roof, and floor, had been painted at some time or
other a black colour, which was now faded and looked
a dark slaty grey. Over the screen in the centre
was seen the head of what seemed an image, very great
and horrible. The light, which came from an opening
immediately above the image, showed a horned and bearded
head, misshapen and grotesque. Possibly at another
time and place Paullinus might have smiled at the
ugly thing; but here, peering at them over the screen,
in the fetid gloom, it froze the blood in his veins.
And now behind the screen were strange
sounds as well, a kind of heavy breathing or snorting,
and what seemed the scratching of some beast.
The priest went up to the screen and opened a sort
of panel in it; this was followed by a hoarse and
hideous outcry within, half of fear and half of rage.
The priest took from an angle of the wall a long pole
shod with iron, and leaned within the opening, saying
in a stern tone some words that Paullinus did not
understand. Presently the noises ceased, and
the priest, using a great effort, seemed to pull or
push at something with the pole, and there was the
sound as of a great gate turning on its hinges.
Then he drew his head and arms out, and said to Paullinus,
“We may enter.” He then threw a door
open in the middle of the screen and went in.
Paullinus followed.
In front of them stood a great statue
on a pedestal; the figure of a thing, half-man half-goat,
crouched as though to spring. The smell was still
more horrible within, and it became clear to Paullinus
that he was in the lair of some ravenous and filthy
beast. There lay a mess of bones underneath the
statue. To the left, in the wall, there was a
strong oaken door, made like a portcullis, which seemed
to close the entrance of a den; something seemed to
move and stir in the blackness, and Paullinus heard
the sound of heavy breathing within. The priest,
still holding the pole in his hand, led the way round
to the back of the statue. Here, set into the
wall, were a number of stone slabs, with what seemed
to be a name upon each, rudely carved.
The priest pointed to these and said,
“Those are the names of the priests of this
shrine. And now,” he went on, “I will
tell you a thing which is in my mind I
know not why I should wish to say it but
it seems to me that I have a great desire to tell
you all and keep nothing back; and I tell you this,
though you may turn from me with shame and horror.
We have a law that if a man be condemned to death
for a certain crime if he have slain one
of his kin he is bound to a tree in the
forest to be devoured piecemeal by the wolves.
But if there seem to be cause or excuse for the deed
that he has done, then he is allowed to purchase his
life on one condition he may come to this
place and slay the priest who serves here, if he can,
or himself be slain. And if he slay him he reigns
in his stead until he himself be slain. And the
rites of this place are these: all of this tribe
who may be guilty of the slaying of a man by secret
or open violence without due cause are offered here
a sacrifice to the god and that is the
task that I have done and must do till I am myself
slain. And here in a den dwells a savage beast I
know not its name and its age is very great that
slays and devours the guilty. What wonder if a
man’s heart grows dark and cruel here; I can
only look into my own heart, black as it is, and wonder
that it is not blacker. But the gods are good
to me, and have not cursed me utterly.
“And now I will tell you that
when I saw you by the pool, and when you called to
me in the night, I thought that perchance you had come
to slay me and then I saw that you were
alone, and not guarded as a prisoner would be; but
even then my heart was dark, because the god has had
no sacrifice for many a month, and seems to call upon
me for a victim so I had it in my heart
to slay you here. And now,” he said, “I
have opened the door of my heart, and you have seen
all that is to be seen.”
And then he looked upon Paullinus
as if to know his judgment; and Paullinus, turning
to the priest, and seeing that in his heart he desired
what was better, and abode not willingly in the ways
of death, said, “Brother, with all my heart
I am sorry for you and I would have you
turn your heart away from these dark and evil gods who
are indeed, I think, the very spirits of hell and
turn to the Father of mercy of whom I spoke, with
whom there is forgiveness and love for all His sons,
when once they turn to Him and ask His help.”
The priest looked very gently at Paullinus
as he spoke; but there came a horrible roaring out
of the den, and the beast flung himself against the
bars as if in rage.
Then the priest said, “For twenty
years I have heard no speech like this; for twenty
years I have lived with death and done wickedness,
and all men turn from me with fear and loathing, and
speak not any word to me: I have never looked
in a kindly human eye, nor felt the hand of a friend
within my own. Judge between me and my sin.
I had a brother, an evil man, who made it his pleasure
to trouble me. I was stronger than he, and he
feared me. I loved a maiden of our tribe, and
she loved me; and when my brother knew it he went about
to do her a hurt, that it might grieve me. One
day she went through the forest alone, and never returned,
and I, in madness ranging the wood to find her, found
the mangled bones of her body. I knew it by the
poor torn hair she had been devoured by
wolves but burying the bones I saw that
the feet were tied together with a cord, and then I
knew that some one had bound her by violence and left
her to be devoured.
“Then as I returned from burying
her, I came upon my brother in a glade of the wood;
and he looked upon me with an evil smile, and said,
‘Hast thou found her?’ And I knew in my
heart what he had done, and I slew him where he stood and
then I returned and said what I had done. Then
they imprisoned me for my brother was older
than myself, and my enemies said that I had done it
to win his inheritance and at last, after
long consulting, they gave me the choice to be devoured
of wolves or to become the priest of Death. I
chose the latter, because I was mad and hated all
mankind. I came to this place at sundown, and
my guards left me. I swam the ditch, and knocked
at the priest’s door; he was an old man and
piteous, who abhorred his trade and there
I seized him and slew him with my hands he
was weak and made no resistance and I flung
his body to the beast and carved his name. That
is my bitter story and since then I have
lived, accursed and dreaded. These gods are hard
taskmasters.” He made a wild gesture of
the hand and turned his bright eyes upon Paullinus,
who stood aghast.
“The tale is told,” said
the priest. “I who have kept silence all
these years have babbled my story to a stranger.
Why did I tell you? I thought that with all your
talk of mercy and forgiveness you might have a message
for my bitter and tired heart but you shrink
from me, and are silent.”
“Nay,” said Paullinus,
“shrink from you! not so nay,
I cling to you more than ever; come and claim your
part in the forgiveness that waits for all you
have suffered, you have repented and the
God whom I serve has comfort and peace for you and
for all; His love is wide and deep claim
your share in it.” And he took the priest’s
hand in both of his own.
There was a horrible roaring behind
them as they stood: the great beast behind them
struck at the bars, but the priest took no heed.
“If I could,” he said,
with his eyes fixed on Paullinus’ face.
“Nay then,” said Paullinus,
“if you would it is done already, for He reads
the very secrets of the heart.”
There broke out a loud fierce crashing
sound behind them; the great oaken gate heaved and
splintered, and a monstrous beast as huge as a horse
appeared at the mouth of the den; his small head was
laid back on his hairy shoulders, his little eyes
gleamed wickedly, and his red mouth opened snarling
fiercely. The priest turned, and met the rush
of the beast full. In a moment he was flung to
the ground with a dreadful rending sound. “Save
yourself!” he cried. The huge brute glared,
with his foot upon the fallen form, and seemed to
hesitate whether to attack his second foe. Paullinus,
hardly knowing what he did, seized the great iron-pointed
pole, and with a firmness of strength which he had
not known himself to possess drove it full into the
monster’s great throat as it opened its mouth
towards him. It made a wild and sickening cry;
it raised one foot as though to strike, then it beat
the air and struck once at the head of the prostrate
form; then, with a gurgling sound, spitting out a
flood of hot blood, it collapsed, rolled slowly on
one side. Paullinus, watching it intently and
still holding the pole, thrust it further in with
all his might. It quivered all over, and in a
moment lay still. Paullinus made haste to drag
the priest out from beneath but he saw
that all was over; the last blow of the beast had
battered in the skull and besides that the
body was horribly mangled and crushed. The limbs
of the priest were heavy and relaxed; his hands were
folded together as though in prayer, and he drew one
or two little fluttering breaths, but never opened
his eyes.
Paullinus was like one in a dream
at this sudden horror; but he kept his senses; once
or twice the great beast moved, and drummed on the
pavement with a horny paw. So Paullinus drew the
prostrate body of the priest outside the screen and
closed the door. Then he went with swift steps
out of the temple and to the water’s edge; he
drew up a little water in his hand, looking into the
dark and cool moat. Then he came back with a
purpose in his mind. He sprinkled the water on
the poor mangled brow; and then, choosing the name
of the Apostle whom Jesus most loved, he said, “John,
I baptize thee, in nomine, &c.” It
was like a prisoner’s release; the straining
hands relaxed, and with a sigh the new-made Christian
presently died. “I doubt I have done right,”
said Paullinus to himself. “He was coming
to the Saviour very swiftly, and I think was at His
feet; and if he was not in heart a Christian, the
Lord will know when he meets Him in the heavenly places.”
When Paullinus went back to the hut
he found a rough mattock. First he dug a great
hole; the earth was black and soft, and water oozed
soon into the depths; then with much painful labour
he dragged the great beast thither, and covered him
in from the eye of day; and then he toiled to dig
a grave for the priest once he stopped to
eat a little food, but he worked with unusual ease
and lightness. But the night came down on the
forest as he finished the grave for he did
not wish that the priest should lie within the dreadful
temple.
Then he went back, very weary but
not sad; his terrors and distresses had drawn slowly
off from his mind, as he worked in the still afternoon,
under the clear sky, all surrounded by woods; the earth
seemed like one who had come from a bath, washed through
and through by the drench of wholesome rains, and
the smell of the woods was sharp and sweet.
Paullinus slept quietly that night,
feeling very close to God; but in the morning, when
the dawn was coming up, he was awakened by a shouting
outside. His sleep had been so deep and still
that he hardly knew at first where he was, but it
all came swiftly back to him; and then the shouting
was repeated. Paullinus rose to his feet and went
slowly out.
On the edge of the water, where the
causeway crossed it, he saw two men standing, that
from their dress seemed to be great chiefs. Behind
them, with his hands bound, and attached by a rope
held in the hand of one of the chiefs, was a young
man of a wild and fierce aspect, in the dress of a
serf, a rough tunic and leggings. His head was
bare, and he looked around him in dismay, like a beast
in a trap. Behind, at the edge of the clearing,
stood four soldiers silent, with bows strung and arrows
fitted to the string. Over the whole group there
seemed to be the shadow of a stern purpose. At
the appearance of Paullinus, the two chiefs hurriedly
bent together in talk, and looked at him with astonishment.
Paullinus came down to the water’s edge, when
one of the chiefs said, “We have come for the
priest; where is he? For he must do his office
upon this man, who hath slain one of his kin by stealth.”
“It is too late,” said
Paullinus; “he is dead, and waits for burial.”
Then the chiefs seemed again to confer
together, and one of them, with a strange reverence,
said, “Then you are the new priest of the temple?
And yet it seems strange, for you are not of our nation.”
“Nay,” said Paullinus,
“I am a wanderer, a Roman. It was not I
who slew him it was the great beast who
lived in the den yonder; and the beast have I slain but
come over and let me tell you all the tale.”
So he made haste to put out the bridge,
and the two chiefs came over in silence, leaving the
prisoner in the hands of the guards who surrounded
him. Paullinus led them to the temple, which he
could hardly prevail upon them to enter, and showed
them the dead body, which was a fearful sight enough;
then he showed them the broken gate and the empty
den, and then he led them to the mound where the beast
lay buried, and offered if they would to uncover the
body. “Nay, we would not see him,”
said the elder chief in a low voice; “it is
enough.”
Paullinus then led them to the hut
and told them the story from beginning to end.
The chiefs looked at him with surprise when he told
them of the beast’s death, and one of them said,
“I doubt, sir, you slew him by Roman magic for
he was exceedingly strong, and you look not much of
a warrior.” “Nay,” said Paullinus,
smiling, “I doubt he was his own death, as is
often the end of evil he leapt upon the
pole: I did but hold it, and the Lord made my
hand strong.”
When he had done the story the chiefs
spoke together a little in a low tone. Then one
of them said, “This is a strange tale, sir.
And it seems to us that you must be a man whom the
gods love, for you stayed here a night with the priest who
was a fierce man and no friend of strangers and
received no hurt. And then you have slain the
Hound of Death, unarmed. But we will ask you
to go with us, for we cannot decide so grave a matter
until we have taken counsel with our tribe. Be
assured that you shall be used courteously.”
“I will go very willingly,”
said Paullinus. “My God did indeed send
me hither to do a work which He had prepared for me
to do, and I would serve His will in all things.”
So they first buried the body of the
priest in his grave, and then they went together to
the village, and messages were sent to the chiefs
of the tribe, who came in haste, ten great warriors;
and they sat and debated long in low voices.
And Paullinus sat without wondering that he could
feel so calm, for he knew that he was in jeopardy.
So when they had talked a long while
they called Paullinus into the council, and the oldest
chief, an ancient warrior with silver hair, much bowed
with age, told him that they saw that he was a man
favoured of God. “I hide it not from you,”
he said, “that some of my brethren here would
have it that death should be your portion, because
you have meddled with sacred and secret things.
But I think that it is clear that you have done no
wrong, or otherwise you would have been slain; you
spoke but now of the God you serve, and we would hear
of Him; for now that the priest is dead and the beast
dead, we say with reverence that a cloud is lifted
from us, and that we have served dark gods too long.”
So Paullinus spoke of the Father’s
love and the coming of the Saviour on to the earth;
and when he had finished the chiefs thanked him very
courteously, and then they asked him to abide with
them and speak again of the matter. So Paullinus
abode there and made many friends, as his manner was.
Then came a day when the chiefs again
held council, and they told Paullinus that if he would,
he should be the priest of the temple and teach what
he would there, and that the temple should be cleansed;
and they said that they would not ask him to be the
slayer of such as had killed a man, for that, they
said, seems to belong rather to a warrior than a priest.
So Paullinus said that he would abide
with them, but that he must first go and be made a
priest after his own order; and he departed, but soon
returned, and the Temple of Death was made a Church
of Christians.
Paullinus is an old man now; you may
see him walk at evening beside the water, under the
shadow of the church. The images have been broken
and defaced; but Paullinus often stops beside a mound,
and thinks of the bones of the great beast that lie
whitening below and then he stands beside
a grave which bears the name of John, and knows that
his brother, that did evil in the days of his ignorance,
but that suffered sore, will be the first to meet
him in the heavenly country, with the light of God
about him; “and perhaps,” says Paullinus
to himself, “he will bear a palm in his hand.”