Chapter VIII: The Valley of Lokfern

Decimated by the conflagration of the moor of Kennor, the Frankish army flees in disorder in the direction of the valley of Lokfern, that lies slightly below the vast plateau on which an hour before the three Frankish divisions have joined, confident that their trials are ended. Escaped from the disaster of the conflagration and carried onward by the impetuosity of their steeds, a portion of the Frankish cavalry that follows Louis the Pious in his precipitate flight, arrives at the confines of the plateau. Driven by a terror that left them no thought but to outstrip one another, the fleeing riders seem to give no heed to the sight that unfolds before them. At the foot of the slope that they are about to descend, stands the numerous Breton cavalry, drawn up in battle array, under the command of Morvan and Vortigern. It is only a cavalry of rustics, yet intrepid, veterans in warfare, perfectly mounted. Carried by the headlong course of their horses beyond the edge of the plateau and down the slope to the valley, the Franks rush in confused order upon the Breton cavalry that is drawn up as if to bar their passage; they rush onward, either unable to restrain their still frightened steeds, or conceiving a vague hope of crushing the opposing Bretons under the irresistible violence of their impetuous descent. The Breton cavalry, however, instead of waiting for the Franks, quickly parts in two corps, one commanded by Morvan, the other by Vortigern. One corps seems to flee to the right, the other to the left. The space from the foot of the hill to the river Scoer being thus left free by the sudden and rapid manoeuvre of the Gauls, most of the Frankish horsemen find themselves hardly able to rein in their horses in time to escape falling into the water. A moment of disorder follows. It is turned to advantage by Morvan and Vortigern. The Frankish riders being dispersed and engaged with their steeds, Vortigern and Morvan turn about and fall upon them. They take the foe upon the flanks, right and left; charge upon them with fury; make havoc among them. Most of them are sabred to death, or have their heads beaten in with axes, others are driven into the river. During the fierce melee, the remnant of the infantry of Louis the Pious, still fleeing from the furnace of the moor of Kennor, arrives upon the spot in disorder. Trained in the trade of massacre, they promptly reform their ranks and pour down upon the Breton cavalry. At first victorious, these are finally crushed, overwhelmed by vastly superior numbers. On the other side of the river the rustic Gallic infantry still continue to hold their ground--husbandmen, woo-men and shepherds armed with pikes, scythes and axes, and many of them supplied with bows and slings. Behind this mass of warriors, and within an enclosure defended by barricades of heaped up trunks of trees and ditches, are assembled the women and children of the combatants. All their families have fled distracted before the invaders, carrying their valuables in their flight, and now await with indescribable agony the issue of this last battle.

Weep! Weep, Brittany! and yet be proud of your glory! Your sons, crushed down by numbers, resisted to their last breath; all have fallen wounded or dead in defence of their freedom!

The river is fordable for infantry at only one place. The monk who accompanies Neroweg points out the passage to the troops of Louis the Pious. They cross it immediately after the annihilation of the cavalry of Morvan. The Armoricans who are drawn up on the opposite bank of the Scoer heroically defend the ground inch by inch, man to man, ever falling back toward the fortified enclosure that is the last refuge of our families. Marching over heaps of corpses, the soldiery of Louis the Pious finally assail the fortified enclosure, all its defenders having been killed or wounded. The enclosure is taken. According to their custom, the Franks slaughter the children, put the women and maids to the torture of infamous treatment, and lead them away captive to the interior of Gaul. Ermond the Black, a monk and familiar of Louis the Pious in this impious war, wrote its account in Latin verse. The death of Morvan is narrated in the poem as follows:

"Then presently the cry runs through the ranks
That Morvan's head, the Breton chieftain's head,
Has been brought in unto the Frankish King:
To see it haste the Franks; they shout with joy
At prospect to behold the grisley sight.
From hand to hand the bloody head is passed,
Marred with the sword that hewed it from its trunk.
Witchaire the Abbot next is called upon
T' identify the member, if it be
The head of Morvan, that redoubted chief.
He pours some water on the matted front,
He laves it, wipes the hair from off its brow,
And cries ''Tis Morvan--'tis his Gallic lour!'"

Thus Brittany, once lost to the Franks, is placed anew under their sway.