This stronghold had only one entrance, a sort of gateway of rocks, in
front of which was a long steep, narrow path. Here the hill men stood,
to resist the attack and hold their prizes.

It was a case of a very few defenders, assaulted by a multitude, and
the battle was long and bloody. The hill men scorned to surrender and
shot their arrows and hurled their javelins with desperate valor. They
battled all day from sunrise until the late afternoon, when shadows
began to lengthen. The stars, one by one came out and both parties,
after setting sentinels, lay down to rest.

In the morning, again, charge after charge was made. Sword beat
against shield and helmet, and clouds of arrows were shot by the
archers, who were well posted in favorable situations, on the rocks.
Long before noon, the field below was dotted and the narrow pass was
choked with dead bodies. In the afternoon, after a short rest and
refreshed with food, the valley men, though finding that only four of
the hill fighters were alive, stood off at a distance and with their
long bows and a shower of arrows left not one to breathe.

Now, thought the victors, we shall get our maidens back again. So,
taking their time to wash off the blood and dust, to bind up their
wounds, and to eat their supper, they thought it would be an easy job
to load up all the girls on their ox-carts and carry them home.

But the valley brides, thus suddenly made widows, were too true to
their brave husbands. So, when they had seen the last of their lovers
quiet in death, they stripped off all their ornaments and fur robes,
until all stood together, each clad in her own innocence, as pure in
their purpose as if they were a company of Druid priestesses.