"By Woden," said he, "but you are a fit wife for any chief. Little spitfire--but I like such play. Trust me, I love thee none the less for that blow. Some day I will tame thee, and then, by the G.o.ds, we shall make a mighty pair."

"Never," cried Ineld fiercely.

And, breaking away, she ran to the mansion, and hid herself in the women's quarters, where even Alman dared not follow.

That day the Prince of Mouselow rode away immensely pleased with himself; he loved to see a maid full of fight, so he said, and he promised himself that Ineld should love him by and by. But the days went past, and do what he would, he could never persuade the maiden to grant him an interview alone.

His spirit chafed at the prolonged delay, and at length he determined upon bolder measures. He lay in wait in the woodland near the home of Ineld, and in due course his patient waiting was rewarded. The fair maiden appeared, and, first looking timidly around, as though to make sure she was un.o.bserved, made her way through the glade to a spot near a fern-covered spring.

Alman chuckled to himself with glee, and silently he kept pace with the maiden, although remaining concealed the while.

When Ineld stopped, and showed unmistakable signs of going no further, the Prince of Mouselow emerged from the undergrowth behind which he had been hidden, and, with a laugh of triumph, stood before her.

"Now, my little vixen," said he, "I have won you at last. Maids so coy as you must be wooed in rough fashion. And, once inside my mountain fortress, I doubt not your consent to wed Alman will soon be forthcoming."

So saying, he made to carry her to the spot where his steed was tethered, for he would win his bride by force, even as he had won his wealth and lands.

Ineld screamed shrilly in terror, and the Prince clapped his rough hand upon her lips to stifle the cries.

"Cease such idle wailing," said he. "The wood is deserted, no one can hear, nor would it greatly matter if they could. I hold thee now, and no man in all the land shall rob me of my prize."

"Be not so sure of that," said a voice at his shoulder, so suddenly and unexpectedly that Alman dropped the girl, who immediately, with a joyful cry, sprang to the side of the new comer.

"Lewin--sweetheart," cried she--then could say no more by reason of the caress which her deliverer bestowed upon her.

"Ah," cried Alman--a light breaking on him, as he recognised the youthful Lewin, Prince of Melandra. "So 'tis a lover's tryst I have marred by my presence. Well, let us see who is the better man--Lewin or Alman, and the winner takes the maid."

He loosened the short axe at his side, and, without pause, rushed on Lewin, waving the weapon aloft. Scarce had the youth time to thrust the maid behind him and draw his blade when the axe fell; but the sword of Lewin was swift to parry, and at the same instant he sprang aside. The axe missed him by a hairsbreadth, but the sword was shattered by the stroke, and the Prince of Melandra stood weaponless--at the mercy of Alman.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INSCRIBED ROMAN STONE FOUND AT MELANDRA CASTLE.]

The Prince of Mouselow laughed, and again raised his axe to make an end, but Lewin, disdaining to fly, faced him calmly, awaiting death without a tremour. His cool and gallant bearing touched the fierce robber, and he dropped his arm.

"I could slay thee easily," said he, "but I soil not my fame so. Thou art a brave man, and above all the chiefs about, hast hitherto opposed me with credit to thyself. I give thee thy life--the maiden goes with me. But this chance I give thee. Rally thy men and meet me now in battle array--Melandra against Mouselow, and we will fight for a n.o.ble prize--the lordship of all the land of Longdendale, and the fair Ineld for a queen. Thou may'st trust me. The maid stays in my keeping, but I touch her not until the battle has been fought and won."

Lewin advanced and took the hand of Alman.

"I trust thee, Prince." said he. "'Tis a n.o.ble act. Get thee to thy stronghold with the maiden, for soon the axe of Lewin will be knocking at thy door."

Then, turning to the trembling girl, he whispered:

"Fear not, Ineld, I come quickly. Ere another hour is pa.s.sed the war-song of Lewin will echo through the hills."

Then he was gone.

An hour later Alman stood on the rampart of Mouselow, and gazed in the direction of Melandra. The warrior by his side pointed to a dancing light which played upon the distant fields and seemed to move on Mouselow. It was the sunlight reflected from a host of shields and spears.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PREHISTORIC SPEAR HEAD FOUND NEAR MOUSELOW CASTLE]

"They come, my lord," said he. And Alman answered:

"This Lewin keeps his word. The fight will be such as a soldier loves.

Now get to your arms."

The Prince of Mouselow watched the approach of the foe with gladness.

Rude and tyrannous though he might be, he was yet a brave man, and asked for nothing better than a worthy foe and a fair field. It mattered little to him if death came in the conflict. His fathers had all died fighting, and he, too, longed to die in the thick of the fray. He loved fighting for fighting's sake, and in the l.u.s.t for the conflict he even forgot the fair Ineld--the prize for which he fought.

Placing himself at the head of his men, he led them out of the fort, and soon the two forces were in touch with each other. The Prince of Melandra was at the head of his own troops, and as the two armies closed he gave forth his war shout and called upon his men to charge.

The warriors clashed their axes and shields together, and cried aloud:

"Lewin we will follow thee to death. Lead on!"

And thus the great fight begun.

The battle lasted through the day, and it seemed almost certain that the superior force of the Prince of Mouselow would win. But the men of Melandra fought like heroes; they stubbornly maintained their ground, and, as the day pa.s.sed, the battle was still undecided.

Throughout the combat Lewin seemed to bear a charmed life. He was ever in the thick of battle, and where his axe descended there death reigned in the foemen's ranks. But towards the evening he realised that his rapidly thinning ranks were in danger of being enveloped by the greater number of the foe, and that if the battle was to be saved, it would require a superhuman effort.

Then, knowing that where he led his men would surely follow, he raised his war shout, and, with a mighty rush, charged single-handed on the foe. He was surrounded in an instant, and a score of blows were showered at his head. The peril of their chief so incensed the men of Melandra that they became like madmen, and swept onwards with a charge that nothing could withstand. This was exactly what Lewin had looked for, and, hoping to render the effect of the charge doubly sure, he still pushed on, making for the standard where Alman fought.

The Prince of Mouselow rallied his men about him, and, shoulder to shoulder, they stood to repel the onslaught. But the rush of Lewin was too fierce, the men of Mouselow were scattered like chaff, and Alman himself fell pierced by a score of blades.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRINCESS INELD.]

With the fall of Alman the battle ended, his men fled from the field, and their dying chief turned and laughed as he watched them fly.

"They run," said he--"the dogs. And yet--they fought bravely. Well, let them run. Ho. Lewin, the day is thine. Ineld is thine, and I--I die. Tell her I died as a brave man should--face to the foe. Valhalla calls me. Lewin, farewell."

So he died.

The old chronicle tells us that he died as the sun set, and his spirit pa.s.sed away with the dying beams to the eternal land of rest. It is said that so keen was the conflict, and so great was the bloodshed, that one part of the battlefield was afterwards termed Redgate in perpetual commemoration of the day. The spot whereon Alman died was called Almansdeath, a name it still retains.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

There are many traditions which speak of the fierce encounters between the forces of Melandra and Mouselow. They are, however, extremely vague, and it is difficult to say whether the story of Alman refers to a battle between the Romans and the Britons, or a struggle of the later Saxon period. For the purpose of this narrative I have adopted the latter date. It may be added that Melandra has been a favourite theme with local writers. The following fragments from the pen of Thomas Barlow, the Longdendale poet, will serve as ill.u.s.trations of the way in which the "castle" has been the subject of song and romance.

And well I loved the roaring flood-- The wind, when whistling through the wood, Below where once Melandra stood, With turrets high; And often stray'd at eve, to brood On days gone by;

In which, traditions old declare, Melandra flourish'd, free and fair, And glisten'd in the morning air, Anent the sun; Ere Time, who swept the ruins bare, His freaks begun.

When lordly knight, at dawn of day, Led forth his train--a proud array Of stalwart warriors blithe and gay With martial fire; Whose arms upheld the feudal sway Of knight and squire.

When martial music could entrance, And prompt the love inspiring glance, Till knights and ladies would advance, Quick-step or slow; In halls where hung the sword and lance, And good yew bow.

In fancy oft I saw the throng, And heard the aged minstrel's song, As, softly sweet, he did prolong, His tender strain; With themes of love or war his tongue Could audience gain.

When deeds of arms his song would claim, He sang Melandra's knightly fame, And hung with reverence on the name His chieftain bore, Till tears reveal'd the ardent flame That fired his lore.