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"It was because little Hena was the bravest of all her companions, she almost perished in the attempt to save Janed, the daughter of Wor, who, as she was gathering shells on the rocks along the shore of Glen'-Hek, fell into the water and was being carried away by the waves," said Mikael the armorer, tenderly contemplating his sister.
"Those oxen carried on their necks leathern collars trimmed with little brass bells like this one?" continued the "horse-dealer," fumbling in his pocket, out of which he drew a little brass bell that he held up before me. I recognized it. It had been made by my brother Mikael, the armorer, and bore the mark with which he stamped all the articles of his fashioning.
"By Hesus; we must get that poniard back," said Albinik, retracing his steps toward the tree. "You have need of a weapon, and this one my brother Mikael forged and tempered himself. It will pierce a sheet of copper." "Oh; I shall find it, Albinik. In that well-tempered little blade of steel one has an answer for all, and in all languages."
You would think the horse's bits, the chariot ornaments, the superb casques of war that Mikael manufactures to be of silver! He has just finished a casque the point of which represents an elk's head with its horns.... There is nothing more magnificent!"
Joel and Margarid, their three sons, Guilhern, Albinik and Mikael, Guilhern's wife and little children all of whom so dearly loved Hena, all her relatives and all the members of her tribe held one another in a close embrace, and said to one another: "There is Hena.... There is our Hena!"
For helmet I had a bonnet of fur, for breastplate a jacket of boar-hide, and strips of leather were wrapped around my legs where the breeches did not cover them. Mikael was armed with a tipped staff and a saber, and carried a light shield on his left arm. "Leap on the crupper!"
When the tide of the combat again carried Mikael and myself near our father, he was wounded. I overcame one of the brenn's assailants by trampling him under my horse's feet; then we were again separated from my father. Mikael and myself knew nothing of the other movements of the battle. Engaged in the conflict before us, we had no other thought than to tumble the Iron Legion into the river.
The other foot-soldiers of the Mahrek-Ha-Droad fought in the same manner, each one beside his own horseman. "Brother, you are wounded," I said to Mikael. "See, your blouse is red." "You too, brother," he responded. "Look at your bloody breeches." And, in truth, in the heat of combat, we do not feel these wounds. My father, chief of the Mahrek-Ha-Droad, was not accompanied by a foot-soldier.
The sight which met them at first made me believe I was seized with one of those frightful nightmares from which escape is vain. It was the horrible reality. Twenty paces from me I saw the car in which my mother, Henory my wife, Martha the wife of Mikael, their children, and several young women and girls of the family had taken refuge.
Upon entering the house, and even before embracing their mother, the new arrivals stepped to the altar and approached their lips to the seven small twigs of mistletoe that stood dipped in the copper bowl on the large stone. They there noticed a lifeless body covered with oak branches, near which Julyan still sat. "Good evening, Julyan," said Mikael. "Who is dead?"
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