The Legend Of Alman's Death: A Tale Of Melandra Castle

When the Roman general, Julius Agricola completed the subjugation of
the Britons, he began to prepare for a permanent occupation of the
country by erecting a series of strong military stations or forts
throughout the entire kingdom. A number of these fortresses were built
in Cheshire, Lancashire, and Derbyshire, and among the rest was
Melandra Castle, erected on the banks of the river Etherow, in what is
now known as the township of Gamesley. This fort was established about
the end of the first century of the Christian era; it was well built
and was of considerable size; moreover its importance was increased
because it commanded the hill country north and east of Longdendale.
It proved an admirable means of driving back the raids which the
scattered hill-tribes were fond of making on the rich lands of the
valley. The Romans originally called the fort "Zedrotalia," but, on
account of its standing in a district where oak trees were plentiful,
it came to be known by its present name. Melandra is said to be a
Roman name derived from the Greek MELANDRYON, which signifies "The
heart of oak," or "The heart in the oak," and is supposed to have
reference to the fact that the forests of Longdendale were noted for
their splendid oaks at the time when the Romans built their station.

The site of the Castle has been excavated during the years 1899-1905,
and the result of this has been the securing of ample proof that
Melandra was a station of great strength and importance. The
foundations of walls of considerable thickness, with the masonry still
solid and straight as on the day when it was laid, have been
unearthed. Pieces of pottery, broken weapons, and coins have
been found. There is also an inscribed stone containing the
inscription--"Cohortis Primæ Frisianorum Centurio Valerius Vitalis."
Dr. Watson, the eminent antiquary, translates this into "The Cohort of
the First Frisians, Centurion Valerius Vitalis." The Frisians were
troops attached to the renowned Twentieth Legion--the "Valiant and
Victorious"--and Valerius Vitalis is the only one of the Roman
commanders whose name has been handed down.

Across the valley, some distance from Melandra, is a hill called
Mouselow. This hill is supposed to have been a stronghold of the
Ancient Britons. It forms a position of great natural strength, and
was well adapted for military occupation in the days anterior to
gunpowder and artillery. Several pre-historic weapons have been
discovered near.

For a considerable time after the erection of Melandra Castle, the
Roman garrison was much harassed by the activity of a chieftain who
was encamped on Mouselow. This chief watched his opportunity, and
rallying to his side the few fighting men of the Britons who were
left, darted down on detached bands of the Roman soldiery, and left
not one alive to tell the tale. Thus from the earliest days, it seemed
fated that there was to be strife and enmity between the two
strongholds. Even when the Romans had finally driven out the Britons,
and razed the original building of Mouselow to the ground, the
struggle did not cease; for after a time the legions were forced to
leave the country, and no sooner had they turned their backs than the
native chiefs were quarrelling over the spoils. One chief took
possession of Melandra and became prince of that place, and a rival
chief rebuilt the fort on Mouselow and took the title of Prince of
Mouselow.

After a time came the Saxon invasion--bands of freebooters from the
continent landed on these shores, and pillaged where they listed, some
returning to their own land with the spoil they had won, others
settling on the lands of the chiefs they had defeated and slain. Among
the latter class was a Saxon chief named Alman--a brave, though
ruthless warrior, who, after some fierce fighting put to death the
Prince of Mouselow, and established himself in that mountain
stronghold. Thereafter the country of Longdendale was never free from
the depredations of this chief; his robber bands harassed the valleys,
and no man's property was safe if it happened to attract the attention
of the new Prince of Mouselow. He terrorised the native chiefs, who
were nearly all reduced to a state of vassalage by him; indeed, of all
those chiefs, the Prince of Melandra alone maintained his former state
of independence, and this principally because he was fortunate enough
to hold a castle built by the Romans, which, as may be readily
supposed, was the strongest fortress in that part of the country.
Affairs were in this state when there occurred those incidents which
form the substance of this legend.

Now Alman had set his heart upon winning the daughter of a
neighbouring chief for his bride. She was named Ineld, and her father
was the Lord of Woley--which at that time was a fair-sized town. He
was a brave old man, but his forces had been defeated, and his
territory ravaged by Alman's soldiers, so he was somewhat afraid of
the Prince of Mouselow, and more than half inclined to bestow his
daughter's hand upon Alman without ever consulting the girl's wishes
at all.

But it chanced that Ineld had views of her own upon the subject, and
Alman and his robber ways were not to her liking. She had heard things
of Alman and his doings which made the blood run cold.

One day there had come to her father's gate an old woman, who craved
an audience of the chief.

"Why are thine eyes so heavy with mourning?" asked the Lord of Woley.
And the old dame made answer:

"O Chief, I am a widow, and the only stay and comfort of my old age
was my son--an only child. He kept me from beggary and want. He loved
a maiden, and hoped shortly to make her his wife, and even to-day they
talked together by the roadside. But it chanced that the Prince of
Mouselow rode by with his retinue, and, happening to catch sight of
the maid, he ordered his guards to seize her and carry her to the
castle. My son interfered, and in an instant the Prince of Mouselow
slew him with his own hand. And now, O chief, I cry aloud to thee for
justice."

And another day one of her father's serfs had come in weeping.

"My lord," he cried, "I am heavy of heart. I have suffered a great
wrong, and I look to thee for redress. My farm, as thou knowest, is on
the boundary of the Prince of Mouselow's territory, and to-day, in my
absence, his men came and carried off my cattle and much store of
corn. Also, when my wife, who is very fair, remonstrated with them,
they seized her and carried her away to their prince, and my little
child they slew with the sword."

These things had Ineld heard, and they in no way predisposed her in
favour of Alman, nor did the appearance of the chief when he came
a-wooing, alter her first opinions of him. He was a rough, boisterous
man, who drank deep, and swore loud oaths--fine and handsome of
outward appearance, but a man lacking that refinement which most women
prefer to see in men.

Having disclosed his intention to the Lord of Woley, Alman made his
way to the fair Ineld's side, but so used was he to wooing by force
that he could not even now altogether rid himself of his blunt,
repulsive manner.

"Ah, my May," cried he, stealing behind the maid, and flinging his arm
roughly about her waist, "one kiss from those rosy lipe of thine, and
then we will talk of love."

He laughed as the startled Ineld struggled to free herself from his
grasp, but a scowl of anger swept over his face as, with her little
hand, she struck him heavily upon the coarse lips which he had thrust
near her face.

Then he laughed again, and even swore.

"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 gods, 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 unobserved, 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.

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 noble
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 noble 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 passed 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.


"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 lust 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 passed, 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.

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
passed 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.