pace. They were the chiefs and elders of the town and tribe of
Vannes, all white-haired fathers.[22] Among them, marching last, I
distinguished two druids and a bard of the college of the forest of
Karnak, marked, the first by their long white robes, the second by his
tunic striped with purple. Then appeared more Roman infantry; finally,
between two escorts of white-robed Numidian cavalry, Caesar, on
horse-back, in the midst of his officers. I recognized the scourge of
Gaul by his armor, which was the same he wore when, aided by my brother
Mikael the armorer, I was carrying him off in full panoply on my horse.
Oh, how at the sight of the man I cursed anew my stupid astonishment,
that so unfortunately proved the safety of my country's butcher.

Caesar drew rein a short distance from the platform, and made a sign
with his hand. Immediately the twenty-five prisoners, the bard and
druids passing last, mounted with calm tread the steps of the scaffold.
One by one they placed their white heads on the block, and each one of
the venerable heads, stricken off by the axe of the Moor, rolled at the
feet of the bound captives.

The bard and the two druids were the only ones left. The three rushed
together in a final embrace, they raised their faces and their hands
towards heaven, and intoned in a loud voice the song of Hena, the virgin
of the isle of Sen, uttered at the hour of her voluntary sacrifice on
the rocks of Karnak, that song which had been the signal for the rising
of Brittany against the Romans:

"Hesus, Hesus! By the blood which is about to flow, clemency for Gaul!"

"Gauls, by the blood which is about to flow, victory to our arms!"

And the bard added:

"The Chief of the Hundred Valleys is safe. There is hope for our arms!"

Thereupon all the Gallic captives, men, women, and children present at
the execution, all together repeated the last words of the druids,
acclaiming them with so powerful a voice that the air shook even in my
prison. After that supreme chant, the three placed their sacred heads in
turn upon the block, and went the same way as the elders of Vannes. As
the bard's and the druids' heads rolled upon the scaffold, all the
captives took up the war-cry of the druids--"Strike the Roman! Strike at
the head!"--in a voice so fierce and menacing that the legionaries,
lowering their lances, hurriedly surrounded the unarmed and chained
prisoners in a circle of iron, bristling with lance heads. But that
mi