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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13215 ***
+
+Edwy the Fair or the First Chronicle of Æscendune:
+
+A Tale of the Days of Saint Dunstan,
+
+by the Rev. A. D. Crake.
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE.
+ CHAPTER I. “THIS IS THE FOREST PRIMEVAL.”
+ CHAPTER II. THE HOUSE OF ÆSCENDUNE.
+ CHAPTER III. LEAVING HOME.
+ CHAPTER IV. LONDON IN THE OLDEN TIME.
+ CHAPTER V. TEMPTATION.
+ CHAPTER VI. LOWER AND LOWER.
+ CHAPTER VII. “THE KING IS DEAD!—LONG LIVE THE KING!”
+ CHAPTER VIII. THE CORONATION.
+ CHAPTER IX. GLASTONBURY ABBEY.
+ CHAPTER X. ELFRIC AND ALFRED.
+ CHAPTER XI. THE FLIGHT OF DUNSTAN.
+ CHAPTER XII. AT HIS WORST.
+ CHAPTER XIII. THE RETURN OF ALFRED.
+ CHAPTER XIV. EDWY AND ELGIVA.
+ CHAPTER XV. THE ROYAL GUEST.
+ CHAPTER XVI. NAKED THOUGH LOCKED IN STEEL.
+ CHAPTER XVII. THE SLEEP OF PEACE.
+ CHAPTER XVIII. THE BATTLE.
+ CHAPTER XIX. EARTH TO EARTH, AND DUST TO DUST.
+ CHAPTER XX. “AND THE DOOR WAS SHUT.”
+ CHAPTER XXI. “UNDER WHICH KING? “
+ CHAPTER XXII. LOVE STRONG AS DEATH.
+ CHAPTER XXIII. VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY.
+ CHAPTER XXIV. SOW THE WIND, AND REAP THE WHIRLWIND.
+ CHAPTER XXV. “FOR EVER WITH THE LORD.”
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+It has been the aim of the Author, in a series of original tales told
+to the senior boys of a large school, to illustrate interesting or
+difficult passages of Church History by the aid of fiction. Two of
+these tales—“Æmilius,” a tale of the Decian and Valerian persecutions;
+and “Evanus,” a tale of the days of Constantine—he has already
+published, and desires gratefully to acknowledge the kindness with
+which they have been received.
+
+He is thus encouraged to submit another attempt to the public, having
+its scene of action in our own land, although in times very dissimilar
+to our own; and for its object, the illustration of the struggle
+between the regal and ecclesiastical powers in the days of the
+ill-fated and ill-advised King Edwy.
+
+Scarcely can one find a schoolboy who has not read the touching legend
+of Edwy and Elgiva—for it is little more than a legend in most of its
+details; and which of these youthful readers has not execrated the
+cruelty of the Churchmen who separated those unhappy lovers? While the
+tragical story of the fate of the hapless Elgiva has been the theme of
+many a poet and even historian, who has accepted the tale as if it were
+of as undoubted authenticity as the Reform Bill.
+
+The writer can well remember the impression the tale made upon his
+youthful imagination, and the dislike, to use a mild word, with which
+he ever viewed the character of the great statesman and ecclesiastic of
+the tenth century, Dunstan, until a wider knowledge of history and a
+more accurate judgment came with maturer years; and testimonies to the
+ability and genius of that monk, who had been the moving spirit of his
+age, began to force themselves upon him.
+
+Lord Macaulay has well summed up the relative positions of Church and
+State in that age in the following words: “It is true that the Church
+had been deeply corrupted by superstition, yet she retained enough of
+the sublime theology and benevolent morality of her early days to
+elevate many intellects, and to purify many hearts. That the sacerdotal
+order should encroach on the functions of the chief magistrate, would
+in our time be a great evil. But that which in an age of good
+government is an evil, may in an age of grossly bad government be a
+blessing. It is better that men should be governed by priest craft than
+by brute violence; by such a prelate as Dunstan, than by such a warrior
+as Penda.”
+
+The Church was indeed the salt of the earth, even if the salt had
+somewhat lost its savour; it was the only power which could step in
+between the tyrant and his victim, which could teach the irresponsible
+great—irresponsible to man—their responsibility to the great and awful
+Being whose creatures they were. And again, it was then the only home
+of civilisation and learning. It has been well said that for the
+learning of this age to vilify the monks and monasteries of the
+medieval period, is for the oak to revile the acorn from which it
+sprang.
+
+The overwhelming realisation of these facts, the determination to set
+up the dominion of truth and justice which they held to be identical
+with that of the Church, as that was identical with the kingdom of God,
+supplies the key to the lives and characters of such men as Ambrose,
+Cyril, Dunstan, and Becket. They each came in collision with the civil
+power; but Ambrose against Justina or even Theodosius, Cyril against
+Orestes, Dunstan against Edwy, Becket against Henry Plantagenet—each
+represented, in a greater or less degree, the cause of religion, nay of
+humanity, against its worst foes, tyranny or moral corruption.
+
+Yet not one of these great men was without his faults; this is only to
+say he was human; but more may be admitted—personal motives would mix
+themselves with nobler emotions. Self would assert her fatal claims,
+and great mistakes were sometimes made by those who would have
+forfeited their lives rather than have committed them, had they known
+what they were doing. Yet, on the whole, their cause was that of God
+and man, and they fought nobly. Shall we asperse their memories because
+they “had this treasure in earthen vessels”?
+
+The tale itself is intended to depict what the writer believes to be
+the true relative positions of Edwy and the great ecclesiastic;
+therefore he will not attempt to deal with the subject here. It will be
+noticed however, that he has shorn the narrative of the dread
+catastrophe with which it terminated in all the histories of our
+childhood. Scarcely any writer has made such wise research into the
+history of this period as Mr. E. A. Freeman, and the author has adopted
+his conclusions upon this point. With him he has therefore admitted the
+marriage of Edwy with Elgiva, although it was an uncanonical marriage
+beyond all doubt, and has given her the title of queen, which she bore
+in a document preserved by Lappenburg. But, in agreement with the same
+authority, the writer feels most happy to be able to reject the story
+of Elgiva’s supposed tragical death. All sorts of stories are told by
+later writers, utterly contradictory and confused, of a woman killed by
+the Mercians in their revolt. This could not be Elgiva, for she was not
+divorced till the rebellion was over; and even the sad tale that she
+was seized by the officers of Odo, and branded to disfigure her beauty,
+rests on no good authority. In spite of the reluctance with which men
+relinquish a touching tragedy, the calumny should be banished from the
+pages of historians; and it is painful to see it repeated, as if of
+undoubted authenticity, in a recent popular history for children by one
+of the greatest of modern novelists.
+
+Edwy’s character has cost the writer much thought. He has endeavoured
+to paint him faithfully—not so bad as all the monastic writers of the
+succeeding period (the only writers with few exceptions) describe him;
+but still such a youth as the circumstances under which he became
+placed would probably have made him—capable of sincere attachment,
+brave, and devoted to his friends, yet careless of all religious
+obligations; bitterly hostile to the Church, that is to Christianity,
+for the terms were then synonymous; and reckless of obligations, or of
+the sanctity of truth and justice.
+
+His measures against St. Dunstan, as they are related in the tale, have
+the authority of history; although it is needless to say that the
+agents are in part fictitious characters. The writer’s object has been
+to subordinate fiction to history, and never to contradict historic
+fact; if he has failed in this intention, it has been his misfortune
+rather than his fault; for he has had recourse to all such authorities
+as lay in his reach.i Especially, he is glad to find that the character
+he had conceived as Edwy’s perfectly coincides with the description
+given by Palgrave in his valuable History of the Anglo-Saxons:
+
+“Edwy was a youth of singular beauty, but vain, rash, petulant,
+profligate, and surrounded by a host of young courtiers, all bent on
+encouraging and emulating the vices of their master.”
+
+Another object of the tale has been to depict the trials and
+temptations, the fall and the recovery, of a lad fresh from a home full
+of religious influences, when thrown amidst the snares which abounded
+then as now. The motto, “Facilis descensus Averno,” etc, epitomises the
+whole story.
+
+In relating a tale of the days of St. Dunstan, the author has felt
+bound to give the religious colouring which actually prevailed in that
+day. He has found much authority and information in Johnson’s
+Anglo-Saxon Canons, especially those of Elfric, probably
+contemporaneous with the tale. He has written in no controversial
+spirit, but with an honest desire to set forth the truth.
+
+It may be objected that he has made all his characters speak in very
+modern English, and has not affected the archaisms commonly found in
+tales of the time. To this he would reply, that if the genuine language
+were preserved, it would be utterly unintelligible to modern
+Englishmen, and therefore he has thought it preferable to translate
+into the vernacular of today. The English which men spoke then was no
+more stilted or formal to them than ours is to us.
+
+Although he has followed Mr. Freeman in the use of the terms English
+and Welsh, as far less likely to mislead than the terms Saxons and
+Britons, and far truer to history, yet he has not thought proper to
+follow the obsolete spelling of proper names; he has not, e. g., spelt
+Edwy, Eadwig or Elgiva, Ælfgifu. Custom has Latinised the appellations,
+and as he has rejected obsolete terms in conversation, he has felt it
+more consistent to reject these more correct, but less familiar,
+orthographies.
+
+The title, “First Chronicle of Æscendune,” has been adopted, because
+the tale here given is but the first of a series of tales which have
+been told, but not yet written, attaching themselves to the same family
+and locality at intervals of generations. Thus, the second illustrates
+the struggle between Edmund Ironside and Canute; the third, the Norman
+Conquest; etc. Their appearance in print must depend upon the
+indulgence extended to the present volume.
+
+In conclusion, the writer dedicates this book with great respect to
+Mrs. Trevelyan, authoress of “Lectures upon the History of England;”
+whose first volume, years ago, first taught him to appreciate, in some
+degree, the character of St. Dunstan.
+
+All Saints’ School, Bloxham,
+
+_Easter_ 1874.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+“THIS IS THE FOREST PRIMEVAL.”
+
+
+IT was a lovely eventide of the sunny month of May, and the declining
+rays of the sun penetrated the thick foliage of an old English forest,
+lighting up in chequered pattern the velvet sward thick with moss, and
+casting uncertain rays as the wind shook the boughs. Every bush seemed
+instinct with life, for April showers and May sun had united to force
+each leaf and spray into its fairest development, and the drowsy hum of
+countless insects told, as it saluted the ears, the tale of approaching
+summer.
+
+Two boys reclined upon the mossy bank beneath an aged oak; their dress,
+no less than their general demeanour, denoted them to be the sons of
+some substantial thane. They were clad in hunting costume: leggings of
+skin over boots of untanned leather protected their limbs from thorn or
+brier, and over their under garments they wore tunics of a dull green
+hue, edged at the collar and cuffs with brown fur, and fastened by
+richly ornamented belts: their bows lay by their sides, while quivers
+of arrows were suspended to their girdles, and two spears, such as were
+used in the chase of the wild boar, lay by them on the grass. They had
+the same fair hair, which, untouched by the shears, hung negligently
+around neck and shoulder; the same blue eyes added an indescribable
+softness to the features; they had the same well-knit frames and agile
+movements, but yet there was a difference. The elder seemed possessed
+of greater vivacity of expression; but although each well-strung muscle
+indicated physical prowess, there was an uncertain expression in his
+glance and in the play of his features, which suggested a yielding and
+somewhat vacillating character; while the younger, lacking the full
+physical development, and somewhat of the engaging expression of his
+brother, had that calm and steady bearing which indicated present and
+future government of the passions.
+
+“By Thor and Woden, Alfred, we shall be here all night. At what hour
+did that stupid churl Oscar say that the deer trooped down to drink?”
+
+“Not till sunset, Elfric; and it wants half an hour yet; see, the sun
+is still high.”
+
+“I do think it is never going to set; here we have been hunting,
+hunting all the day, and got nothing for our pains.”
+
+“You forget the hare and the rabbit here.”
+
+“Toss them to the dogs. Here, Bran, you brute, take this hare your
+masters have been hunting all day, for your dinner;” and as he spoke he
+tossed the solitary victim of his own prowess in the chase to the huge
+wolfhound, which made a speedy meal upon the hare, while Alfred threw
+the rabbit to the other of their two canine companions.
+
+“I would almost as soon have lost this holiday, and spent the time with
+Father Cuthbert, to be bored by his everlasting talk about our duties,
+and forced to repeat ‘_hic, hæc, hoc_,’ till my head ached. What a long
+homily ii he preached us this morning —and then that long story about
+the saint.”
+
+“You are out of spirits. Father Cuthbert’s tales are not so bad, after
+all you seemed to like the legend he told us the other night.”
+
+“Yes, about our ancestor Sebbald and his glorious death; there was
+something in that tale worth hearing; it stirred the blood—none of your
+moping saints, that Sebbald.”
+
+“I once heard another legend from Father Cuthbert, about the burning of
+Croyland Abbey, and how the abbot stood, saying mass at the altar,
+without flinching or even turning his head, when the Danes, having
+fired the place, broke into the chapel. Do you not think it wanted more
+bravery to do that in cold blood than to stand firm in all the
+excitement of a battle?”
+
+“You are made to be a monk, Alfred, and I daresay, if you get the
+chance, will be a martyr, and get put in the calendar by-and-by. I
+suppose they will keep your relics here in the priory church, and you
+will be St. Alfred of Æscendune; for me, I would sooner die as the old
+sea kings loved to die, surrounded by heaps of slain, with my sword
+broken in my hand.”
+
+It was at this moment that their conversation was suddenly interrupted
+by a loud crashing of boughs in the adjacent underwood, a rush as of
+some wild beast, a loud cry in boyish tones—“Help! help! the wolf! the
+wolf!”
+
+Elfric jumped up in an instant, and rushed forward heedless of danger,
+followed closely by his younger brother, who was scarcely less eager to
+render immediate assistance.
+
+The cries for help became more and more piercing, as if some pressing
+danger menaced the utterer. Elfric, who, in spite of his flippant
+speech, was by no means destitute of keen sympathies and self devotion,
+hurried forward, fearless of danger, bounding through thicket and
+underwood, until, arriving upon a small clearing, the whole scene
+flashed upon him.
+
+A huge grey wolf, wounded and bleeding, was about to rush for the
+second time upon a youth in hunting costume, whose broken spear, broken
+in the first encounter with the beast he had disturbed, seemed to
+deprive him of all chance of success in the desperate encounter
+evidently impending. His trembling limbs showed his extreme
+apprehension, and the sweat stood in huge drops on his forehead; his
+eyes were fixed upon the beast as if he were fascinated, while the
+shaft of his spear, presented feebly against the coming onslaught,
+showed that he had lost his self possession, for he neglected the bow
+and arrows which were slung at his side—if indeed there was time to use
+them.
+
+The beast sprang, but as he did so another spear was stoutly presented
+to meet him, and he literally impaled himself in his eager spring on
+the weapon of Elfric.
+
+Still, such was his weight that the boy fell backward beneath the
+mighty rush, and such the tenacity of life that, though desperately
+wounded, even to death, the beast sought the prostrate lad with teeth
+and claws, in frantic fury, until a blow from the hunting knife, which
+Elfric well knew how to use, laid the wolf lifeless at his side.
+
+Breathless, but not severely injured, he rose from the ground covered
+with blood; his garments torn, his face reddened by exertion, and
+paused a moment, while he seemed to strive to repress the wild beatings
+of his heart, which bounded as if it would burst its prison.
+
+But far more exhausted was the other combatant, yet scarcely so much by
+exertion as by fear, of which he still bore the evident traces. After a
+few moments he broke the silence, and his words seemed incoherent.
+
+“Where is my horse? the beast threw me—I wish the wolves may get him—I
+fear you are hurt; not much, I hope; where can those serfs be? Fine
+vassals, to desert their master in peril. I’ll have them hung. But, by
+St. Cuthbert, you are all covered with blood.”
+
+“’Tis that of the wolf, then, for I have scarcely a scratch: one of the
+beast’s claws ripped up my sleeve, and the skin with it; that was all
+he could do before he felt the cold steel between his ribs.”
+
+“Not a moment too soon, or he would have killed you before we could
+interfere; why, as you rolled together, I could hardly see which was
+boy and which was wolf. But where’s my horse? Did you see a white horse
+rush past you?”
+
+“We heard a rush as of some wild animal.”
+
+“Wild enough. I was riding through the glade, and my attendants were on
+in front, when we stumbled on this wolf, crouched under that thicket.
+The horse started so violently that it threw me almost upon the monster
+you have killed.”
+
+Here the speaker paused, and blew impatient blasts upon a horn which
+had been slung round his neck. They were soon answered, and some
+attendants, dressed in semi-hunting costume, made their appearance with
+haste and confusion, which showed their apprehensions.
+
+“Guthred! Eadmer! Why did you get so far away from me? I might have
+been killed. Look at this monstrous wolf; why, its teeth are dreadful.
+It broke my spear, and would have had me down, but for this—this youth.
+
+“I forgot, I haven’t asked to whom I am indebted. Aren’t you two
+brothers?”
+
+“Our father is the Thane of Æscendune. His hall is not far from here.
+Will you not go home with us? We have plenty of room for you and
+yours.”
+
+“To be sure I will. Æscendune? I have heard the name: I can’t remember
+where. Have you horses?”
+
+“No; we were hunting on foot, and expecting to let fly our shafts at
+some deer. May I ask, in return, the name of our guest?”
+
+Before the youth could answer, one of the attendants strode forward,
+and with an air of importance replied, “You are about to receive the
+honour of a visit from the future lord of Britain, Prince Edwy.”
+
+“Keep your lips closed till I give you leave to open them, Guthred. You
+may leave me to announce myself.
+
+“I shall be only too glad to go with you both; and these two huntsmen
+deserve to be left in the forest to the mercy of your wolves.”
+
+Somewhat startled to find that they had saved the future Basileus or
+King of Britain—the hope of the royal line of Cerdic —the brothers led
+their guest through the darkening forest until the distant light of a
+clearing appeared in the west, and they emerged from the shadow of the
+trees upon the brow of a gentle hill.
+
+Below them lay the castle (if such it should be called) of their father
+the Thane of Æscendune. Utterly unlike the castellated buildings which,
+at a later period, formed the dwellings of the proud Norman nobility,
+it was a low irregular building, the lower parts of which were of
+stone, and the upper portions, when there was a second story, of thick
+timber from the forest.
+
+A river, from which the evening mist was slowly rising, lay beyond, and
+supplied water to a moat which surrounded the edifice, for in those
+troublous times few country dwellings lacked such necessary protection.
+The memory of the Danish invasions was too recent; the marauders of
+either nation still lurked in the far recesses of the forest, and
+plundered the Saxon inhabitant or the Danish settler indiscriminately,
+as occasion served.
+
+On the inner side of the moat a strong palisade of timber completed the
+defence. One portal, opening upon a drawbridge, formed the sole
+apparent means of ingress or egress.
+
+Passing the drawbridge unquestioned, the boys entered the courtyard,
+around which the chief apartments were grouped. Before them a flight of
+stone steps led to the great hall where all the members of the
+community took their meals in common, and where, around the great fire,
+they wiled away the slow hours of a winter evening.
+
+On each side of the great hall stood the bowers, as the small
+dormitories were called, furnished very simply for the use of the
+higher domestics with small round tables, common stools, and beds in
+recesses like boxes or cupboards. Such were commonly the only sleeping
+chambers, but at Æscendune, as generally in the halls of the rich, a
+wide staircase conducted to a gallery above, from each side of which
+opened sleeping and sitting apartments allotted to the use of the
+family. It was only in the houses of the wealthy that such an upper
+floor was found.
+
+On the right hand, as they entered the courtyard, stood the private
+chapel of the household, where mass was said by the chaplain, to whom
+allusion has been already made, as the first duty of the day, and where
+each night generally saw the household again assembled for compline or
+evening prayers.iii On the left hand were domestic offices.
+
+Upon the steps of his hall stood Ella, the Thane of Æscendune, the
+representative of a long line of warlike ancestors, who had occupied
+the soil since the Saxon conquest of Mercia.
+
+He was clad in a woollen tunic reaching to the knee, over which a cloak
+fastened by a clasp of gold was loosely thrown; and his feet were clad
+in black pointed boots, while strips of painted leather were wound over
+red stockings from the knee to the ankle.
+
+“You are late, my sons,” he said, “and I perceive you have brought us a
+visitor. He is welcome.”
+
+“Father,” said Elfric, in a voice somewhat expressive of awe, “it is
+Prince Edwy!”
+
+The thane had in his earlier days been at court, and had known the
+murdered Edmund, the royal father of his guest, intimately. It was not
+without emotion, therefore, that he welcomed the son to his home, and
+saluted him with that manly yet reverential homage their relative
+positions required of him.
+
+“Welcome, thrice welcome, my prince,” he said, “to these humble halls.”
+He added, with some emotion, “I could think the royal Edmund stood
+before me, as I knew him while yet myself a youth.”
+
+The domestics, who had assembled, gazed upon their visitor with country
+curiosity, yet were not wanting in rude but expressive courtesy; and
+soon he was conducted to the best chamber the house afforded, where
+change of raiment and every comfort within the reach of his host was
+provided, while the cooks were charged to make sumptuous additions to
+the approaching supper.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+THE HOUSE OF ÆSCENDUNE.
+
+
+The earlier fortunes of the house of Æscendune must here obtrude
+themselves upon the notice of the reader, in order that he may more
+easily comprehend the subsequent pages of our veritable history.
+
+Sebbald, the remote ancestor of the family, was amongst the earliest
+Saxon conquerors of Mercia. He fell in battle with the Britons, or
+Welshmen as our ancestors called them, leaving sons valiant as their
+sire, to whom were given the fertile lands lying between the river Avon
+and the mighty midland forests, to which they gave the name
+“Æscendune.”
+
+They had held their own for three hundred years with varying fortunes;
+once or twice home and hearth were desolated by the fierce tide of
+Danish invasion, but the wars subsided, and the old family resumed its
+position, amidst the joy of their dependants and serfs, to whom they
+were endeared by a thousand memories of past benefits.
+
+But a generation only had passed since the shadow of a great woe fell
+on the family of Æscendune.
+
+Offa, who was then the thane, had two sons, Oswald the elder, and Ella
+the younger, with whom our readers are already acquainted.
+
+The elder possessed few of the family virtues save brute courage. He
+was ever rebellious, even in boyhood, and arrived at man’s estate in
+the midst of unsettled times of war and tumult. Weary of the restraints
+of home, he joined a band of Danish marauders, and shared their
+victories, enriching himself with the spoils of his own countrymen.
+Thus he remained an outlaw, for his father disowned him in consequence
+of his crime, until, fighting against his own people in the great
+battle of Brunanburgh, iv where Athelstane so gloriously conquered the
+allied Danes, Scots, and Welsh, he was taken prisoner.
+
+The victor king sat in judgment upon the recreant, surrounded by his
+chief nobility and vassal kings. The guilt of the prisoner was evident,
+nay undenied, and the respect in which his sire was held alone delayed
+the doom of a cruel death from being pronounced upon him.
+
+While the council yet deliberated, Offa appeared amongst them, and,
+like a second Brutus, took his place amongst his peers. Disclaiming all
+personal interest in the matter, he sternly proposed that the claims of
+justice should be satisfied.
+
+Yet they hesitated to shed Oswald’s blood: the alternative they adopted
+was perhaps not more merciful—although a common doom in those times.
+They selected a crazy worm-eaten boat, and sent the criminal to sea,
+without sail, oar, or rudder, with a loaf of bread and cruse of water,
+the wind blowing freshly from off the land.
+
+Oswald was never heard of again; but after his supposed death,
+information was brought to his father that the outlaw had been married
+to a Danish woman, and had left a son—an orphan—for the mother died in
+childbirth.
+
+Offa resolved to seek the boy, and to adopt him, as if in reparation
+for the past. The effort he had made had cost him a bitter pang, and
+the father’s heart was well-nigh broken. For a time the inquiries were
+unsuccessful. It was discovered that the mother was dead, that she had
+died before the tragedy, but not a word could be learned respecting the
+boy, and many had begun to doubt his existence, when, after years had
+elapsed, one of the executioners of the cruel doom deposed on his
+deathbed that a boy of some ten summers had appeared on the beach, had
+called the victim “father,” and had so persistently entreated to share
+his doom, that they had allowed him to do so, but had concealed the
+fact, rightly fearing blame, if not punishment. The priest who had
+attended his dying bed, and heard his last confession, bore the tidings
+to Offa at the penitent’s desire.
+
+The old thane never seemed to lift up his head again: the sacrifice his
+sense of duty had exacted from him had been too great for a heart
+naturally full of domestic affection, and he sank and died after a few
+months in the arms of his younger and beloved son Ella.
+
+The foundation of the neighbouring priory and church of St. Wilfred had
+been the consolation of his later years, but the work was only half
+completed at his death. It was carried on with equal zeal by Ella, now
+the Thane of Æscendune.
+
+He married Edith, the daughter of a rich thane of Wessex, and the
+marriage proved a most happy one.
+
+Sincerely religious, after the fashion of their day, they honoured God
+with their substance, enriched the church of St. Wilfred, where the
+dust of the aged Offa awaited the resurrection of the just, and
+continued the labour of building the priory. Day after day they were
+constant in their attendance at mass and evensong, and strove to live
+as foster parents to their dependants and serfs.
+
+The chief man in his hundred, Ella acted as reeve or magistrate,
+holding his court for the administration of justice each month, and
+giving such just judgment as became one who had the fear of God before
+him. No appeal was ever made from him to the ealdorman (earl) or
+scirgerefa (sheriff) and the wisdom and mercy of his rule were
+universally renowned.
+
+His land was partly cultivated by his own theows, who were in those
+days slaves attached to the soil, and partly let out to free husbandmen
+(or ceorls) who owed their lord rent in kind or in money, and paid him,
+as “his men,” feudal service.
+
+Around his hospitable board the poor of the district found sustenance,
+while work was made for all in draining meres, mending roads, building
+the priory, or in the various agricultural labours of the year.
+
+In the first year of King Edmund the lady Edith presented her lord with
+his first-born son, to whom in baptism they gave the name Elfric, and a
+year later Alfred was born, and named after the great king. One
+daughter, named Edgitha, completed the fruits of their happy union, and
+in their simple fashion they strove to train their children in the fear
+of the Lord.
+
+We will now resume the thread of our story.
+
+It was now the hour of eventide, and the time for “laying the board”
+drew near. From forest and field came in ceorl and theow, hanging up
+their weapons or agricultural implements around the lower end of the
+hall. Meanwhile the domestics brought in large tressels, and then huge
+heavy boards, which they arranged so as to form the dining table,
+shaped like the letter T, the upper portion being furnished with the
+richest dainties for the family and their guest, the lower with simpler
+fare for the dependents.
+
+A wild boar caught in the forest formed the chief dish, and was placed
+at the upper end, while mutton and beef; dressed in various ways,
+flanked it on either side.
+
+The thane, Ella, occupied the central seat at the high table: his
+chair, rudely carved, had borne the weight of his ancestors before him;
+on his left hand was seated the once lovely Edith. Age had deprived her
+of her youthful beauty, but not of the sweet expression which told of
+her gentleness and purity of heart; they had left their impress on each
+line of her speaking countenance; and few left her presence unimpressed
+with respect and esteem.
+
+On his right hand sat Prince Edwy, “Edwy the fair” men called him, and
+right well he deserved the name. His face was one which inspired
+interest at a glance: his large blue eyes, his golden hair which
+floated over his shoulders, his sweet voice, his graceful bearing, all
+united to impress the beholders.
+
+Elfric, Alfred, and their sister Edgitha, completed the company at the
+high table.
+
+The hungry crowd of ceorls and serfs, who were, as we have said, fresh
+from field or forest, sat at the lower table, which was spread with
+huge joints of roasted meat, loaves of bread, wedges of cheese, piles
+of cabbage or other vegetables, rolls or coils of broiled eels, and
+huge pieces of boiled pork or bacon.
+
+Around the table sat the hounds and other dogs, open jawed, waiting
+such good luck as they might hope to receive at the hands of their
+masters, while many “loaf eaters,” as the serfs were called who fed at
+their master’s table, stood with the dogs, or sat on the rush-strewn
+floor, for want of room at the board.
+
+It was marvellous to see how the food disappeared, as hand after hand
+was stretched out to the dishes, in the absence of forks—a modern
+invention—and huge horns of ale helped the meat downwards.
+
+Game, steaks of beef and venison on spits, were handed round. The
+choicer joints were indeed reserved for the upper board, but profusion
+was the rule everywhere throughout the hall, and there was probably not
+a serf; nay, not even a dog, whose appetite was not fully satisfied
+before the end of the feast.
+
+The prince seemed thoroughly to have recovered his spirits, somewhat
+damped perhaps before by his adventure with the wolf; and exerted his
+talents to make himself agreeable. He had seen life on an extended
+scale, young as he was, and his anecdotes of London and the court, if a
+little wild, were still interesting. Elfric and Alfred listened to his
+somewhat random talk, with that respect boys ever pay to those who have
+seen more of the wide world than themselves—a respect perhaps
+heightened by the high rank of their princely guest, who was, however,
+only a month or two older than Elfric.
+
+As they heard of the marvels of London, and of the court, home and its
+attractions seemed to become dim by comparison, and Elfric especially
+longed to share such happiness.
+
+Their father seemed to wish to change the conversation, as he asked the
+prince whether he had been long in Mercia.
+
+Edwy replied, “Nay, my host; this is almost my first day of perfect
+freedom, and I only left London, and my uncle the king, a few days
+back. Dunstan has gone down to Glastonbury, for which the Saints be
+thanked, and I am released for a few days from poring over the musty
+old manuscripts to which he dooms me.”
+
+“It is well, my prince, that you should have a preceptor so well
+qualified to instruct you in the arts your great ancestor King Alfred
+so nobly adorned.”
+
+“Ah yes, Alfred,” said Edwy, yawning; “but you know we can’t all be
+saints or heroes like him: for my part, I sometimes wish he had never
+lived.”
+
+The astonished looks of the company seemed to demand further
+explanation.
+
+“Because it is always, ‘Alfred did this,’ and ‘Alfred did that.’ If I
+am tired of ‘_hic, hæc, hoc_,’ I am told Alfred was never weary; if I
+complain of a headache, Dunstan says Alfred never complained of pain or
+illness, but bore all with heroic fortitude, and all the rest of it. If
+I want a better dinner than my respected uncle gives us on fast days in
+the palace, I am told Alfred never ate anything beyond a handful of
+parched corn on such days; if I lose my temper, I am told Alfred never
+lost his; and so on, till I get sick of his name; and here it greets me
+in the woods of Mercia.”
+
+“I crave pardon, my liege,” said Ella, who hardly knew whether to smile
+or frown at the sarcastic petulance of his guest, who went on with a
+sly smile—“And now old Dunstan does not know where I am. He left me
+with a huge pile of books in musty Latin, or crabbed English, and I had
+to read this and to write that, as if I were no prince, but a
+scrivener, and had to get my living by my pen; but as soon as he was
+gone I had a headache, and persuaded my venerable uncle the king,
+through the physician, that I needed change of air.”
+
+“But what will Dunstan say?”
+
+“Oh, he must fight it out with Sigebert the leech, and Sigebert knows
+which side his bread is buttered.”
+
+The whole tone of Edwy indicated plainly that the headache was but a
+pretence, but he spoke with such sly simplicity that the boys could not
+help joining in his contagious laughter; sympathising, doubtless, in
+his love of a holiday in the woods.
+
+“Your headache is not gone yet, I trust, my prince,” said Elfric.
+
+“Why?” said Edwy, turning his eyes upon him with a smile.
+
+“Because we have splendid woods near here for hunting, and I must have”
+(he whispered these words into Edwy’s ear) “a headache, too.”
+
+Edwy quite understood the request conveyed in these words, and turning
+to the old thane requested him to allow his boys to join the sport on
+the morrow as a kind of bodyguard, adding some very complimentary words
+on the subject of Elfric’s courage shown in the rescue that afternoon.
+
+“Why, yes,” said the old thane, “I have always tried to bring up the
+boys so as to fear neither man nor beast, and Elfric did indifferently
+well in the tussle. So he has earned a holiday for himself and brother,
+with Father Cuthbert’s leave,” and Ella turned to the ecclesiastic.
+
+“They are good boys,” said the priest, “only, my lord, Elfric is
+somewhat behind in his studies.”
+
+Elfric’s looks expressed his contempt of the “studies,” but he dared
+not express the feeling before his father.
+
+“But I trust, my prince,” said Ella, “that we shall not keep you from
+your duties at court. Dunstan is a severe, although a holy man.”
+
+“Oh, he is gone to have another encounter with the Evil One at
+Glastonbury, and is fashioning a pair of tongs for the purpose,” said
+Edwy, alluding to the legend already current amongst the credulous
+populace; “and I wish,” he muttered, “the Evil One would get the best
+of it and fly away with him. But” (in a louder tone) “he cannot return
+for a month, which means a month’s holiday for me.”
+
+Ella could interpose no further objection, although scarcely satisfied
+with the programme.
+
+The conversation here became general. It turned upon the subject of
+hunting and war, and the enthusiasm of young Edwy quite captivated the
+thane, who seemed to see Edmund, the father of the young prince, before
+his eyes, as he had known him in his own impetuous youth. Dear, indeed,
+had that prince been to Ella, both before and after his elevation to
+the throne, and as he heard the sweet boyish voice of Edwy, his
+thoughts were guided by memory to that ill-omened feast at
+Pucklechurch, where the vindictive outlaw Leolf had murdered his king.
+The sword of Ella had been amongst those which avenged the crime on the
+murderer, but they could not call back the vital spark which had fled.
+“Edmund the Magnificent,” as they loved to call him, was dead. v
+
+So, as Ella listened, he could hardly help condoning the wild speeches
+of the young prince in deference to the memory of the past.
+
+And now they removed the festive board from the hall, while kneeling
+serfs offered basin and towel to the thane and his guest to wash their
+hands. Wine began to circulate freely in goblets of wood inlaid with
+gold or silver; the clinking of cups, the drinking of healths and
+pledges opened the revel, cupbearers poured out the wine. The glee-wood
+(harp) was introduced, while pipes, flutes, and soft horns accompanied
+its strains. So they sang—
+
+Here Athelstane king,
+Of earls the lord,
+To warriors the ring-giver
+Glory world-long
+Had won in the strife,
+By edge of the sword,
+At Brunanburgh.
+
+
+And Ella—who had stood by his father’s side in that dread field where
+Danes, Scots, and Welshmen fled before the English sword—listened with
+enthusiasm, till he thought of his brother Oswald, when tears,
+unobserved, rolled down his cheeks.
+
+Not so with the boys. They had no secret sorrow to hide, and they
+listened like those whose young blood boils at the thought of mighty
+deeds, and longed to imitate them. And when the gleeman finished his
+lengthy flight of music and poesy, they applauded him till the roof
+rang again.
+
+Song followed song, legend legend, the revelry grew louder, while the
+lady Edith, with her daughter, retired to their bower, where they
+employed their needles on delicate embroidery. A representation in
+bright colours of the consecration of the church of St. Wilfred
+occupied the hands of the little Edgitha, while her mother wove sacred
+pictures to serve as hangings for the sanctuary of the priory church.
+
+But soon the tolling of the bell announced that it was the compline
+hour, nine o’clock, and that hour was never allowed to pass unobserved
+at Æscendune, but formed the termination of the labour or the feast,
+after which it was customary for the whole household to retire, as well
+they might who rose with the early dawn.
+
+Neither was it passed by on this occasion, although the boys looked
+very disappointed, for they would fain have listened to song or legend
+till midnight, if not later.
+
+“Come, my children,” said the thane; “we must rise early, so let us all
+commit ourselves to the keeping of God and His holy angels, and seek
+our pillows.”
+
+So the whole party repaired to the chapel, where the chaplain said the
+compline office or night song, after which Ella saluted his royal guest
+with reverent affection, and bestowed his paternal benediction upon his
+children. Then the whole party separated for the night.
+
+The household was speedily buried in sleep, save the solitary sentinel
+who paced around the building. Not that danger was apprehended from any
+source, but precaution had become habitual in those days of turmoil.
+Occasionally the howl of the wolf was heard from the woods, and the
+sleepers half awoke, then dreamt of the chase as the night flew by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+LEAVING HOME.
+
+
+The sun arose in a bright and cloudless sky on the following morning,
+and his first beams aroused every sleeper in the hall of Æscendune from
+his couch of straw, for softer material was seldom or never used for
+repose. Even the chamber in which the prince slept could not be called
+luxurious: the bed was in a box-like recess; its coverlets, worked
+richly by the fair hands of the ladies, who had little other
+occupation, covered a mattress which even modern schoolboys would call
+rough and uncomfortable.
+
+The wind played with the tapestry which represented the history of
+Joseph and his brethren, as it found its way in through crevices in the
+ill-built walls. There were two or three stools over which the thane’s
+care for his guest had caused coverlets to be thrown; a round table of
+rough construction stood like a tripod on three legs, upon which stood
+the unwonted luxury of ewer and basin, for most people had to perform
+their ablutions at the nearest convenient well or spring.
+
+Leaving this chamber in good time, Prince Edwy acompanied his new
+friends to the priory church, where they heard mass before the sun was
+high in the heavens, after which they returned to the hall to take a
+light breakfast before they sought the attractions of the chase in the
+forest. Full of life they mounted their horses, and galloped in the
+wild exuberance of animal spirits with their dogs through the leafy
+arches of the forest, startling the red deer, the wolf, or the wild
+boar. Soon they roused a mighty individual of the latter tribe, who
+turned to bay, when the boys dismounted and finished the affair with
+their boar spears, not without some personal danger, and the loss of a
+couple of dogs.
+
+Onward again they swept, past leafy glades of beech trees, where the
+swineherd drove his half-tame charges, or where the woodcutters plied
+their toil, and loaded their rude carts or hand barrows with fuel for
+the kitchen of the hall; past rookeries, where the birds made the air
+lively by their noise; over brook, through the half-dry marsh, until
+they came upon an old wolf; whom they followed and slew for want of
+better game, not without a desperate struggle, in which Elfric, ever
+the foremost, got a much worse scratch than on the preceding day.
+
+But how enjoyable the sport was, how sweet to breathe the bright pure
+air of that May day; how grand to outstrip the wind over the yielding
+turf, and at last to carry home the trophies of their prowess; the
+scalp of the wolf, the tusks of the boar, leaving the serfs to bring in
+the succulent flesh of the latter, while the hawks and crows fed upon
+the former.
+
+And then with what appetite they sat down to their “noon meat,” taken,
+however, at the late hour of three, after which they wandered down to
+the river and angled for the trout which abounded in the clear stream.
+
+The youthful reader will not wonder that such attractions sufficed to
+detain Edwy several days, during which he was continually hunting in
+the adjacent forests, always attended by Elfric, and sometimes by
+Alfred. To the elder brother he seemed to have conceived a real liking,
+and expressed great reluctance to part with him.
+
+“Could you not return with me to court,” he said, “and relieve the
+tedium of old Dunstan’s society? You cannot think what pleasures London
+affords; it is life there indeed—it is true there are no forests like
+these, but then, in the winter, when the country is so dreary, the town
+is the place.”
+
+“My father will never consent to my leaving home,” returned Elfric, who
+inwardly felt his heart was with the prince.
+
+“We might overcome that. I am to have a page. You might be nominally my
+page, really my companion; and should I ever be king, you would find
+you had not served me in vain.”
+
+The idea had got such strong possession of the mind of Edwy, that he
+ventilated it the same night at the supper table, but met with scant
+encouragement. Still he did not despair; for, as he told Elfric, the
+influence of his royal uncle, King Edred, might be hopefully exerted on
+their joint behalf.
+
+“I mean to get you to town,” he said. “I shall persuade my old uncle,
+who is more a monk than a king, that you are dreadfully pious, attached
+to monkish Latin, and all that sort of thing, so that he will long to
+get you to town, if it is only to set an example to me.”
+
+“But if he does not find that I answer his expectations?”
+
+“Oh, it will be too late to alter then; you will be comfortably
+installed in the palace; and, between you and me, he is but old and
+feeble, and has always had a disease of some kind. I expect he will
+soon die, and then who will be king save Edwy, and who in England shall
+be higher than his friend Elfric?”
+
+It was a brilliant prospect, as it seemed to boys of fifteen, for such
+was the mature age of the speakers.
+
+Shortly after the last conversation, an express came from the court to
+seek the young prince—the messenger had been long delayed from
+ignorance of the present abode of Edwy, who had carefully concealed the
+secret until he felt he could tarry no longer, fearing the wrath not
+only of the king, but of Dunstan, whom he dreaded yet more than his
+uncle.
+
+So he and his attendants, who had, like him, found pleasant
+entertainment at Æscendune, bade farewell to the home where he had been
+so hospitably entertained: and so ended a visit, pregnant with the most
+important results, then utterly unforeseen and unintended, to the
+family he had honoured by his presence.
+
+Some few weeks passed, and under the tuition of their chaplain, who was
+charged with their education, Elfric and Alfred had returned to their
+usual course of life.
+
+It would seem somewhat a hard one to a lover of modern ease. They rose
+early, as we have already seen, and before breaking their fast went
+with their father and most of the household to the early mass at the
+monastery of St. Wilfred, returned to an early meal, and then worked
+hard, on ordinary occasions at their Latin, and such other studies as
+were pursued in that primitive age of England. The midday meal was
+succeeded by somewhat severe bodily exercise, generally hunting the
+boar or wolf which still abounded in the forests, an excitement not
+unattended by danger, which, however, their father would never permit
+them to shun. He knew full well the importance of personal courage at
+an age when the dangers of hunting were only initiatory to the stern
+duties of war, and no Englishman could shun the latter when his country
+called upon him to take up arms. Nor were martial exercises unknown to
+the boys; the bow, it is true, was somewhat neglected then in England,
+but the use of sword, shield, and battle-axe was daily inculcated.
+
+“_Si vis pacem_,” Father Cuthbert said on such occasions, “_para
+arma._”
+
+Wearied by their exertions, whether at home or abroad, the brothers
+welcomed the evening social meal, and the rest which followed, when old
+Saxon legend or the harp of the gleeman enlivened the household fire,
+till compline sweetly closed the day.
+
+Swiftly and pleasantly were passing the weeks succeeding the visit of
+the prince, when a royal messenger appeared, bearing a letter sealed
+with the king’s signet. The old thane, who had passed his youth in more
+troublous times, and could scarcely read the Anglo-Saxon version of the
+Gospels, then extant, could not construe the monkish Latin in which it
+was King Edred’s good pleasure to write.
+
+So the chaplain, Cuthbert, read him the letter in which the king
+greeted his loyal and well-beloved subject, Ella of Æscendune, and
+begged of him, as a great favour, that he would send his eldest boy to
+court, to be the companion of the young prince, who had (the king said)
+conceived a great affection for Elfric.
+
+“I hear,” added Edred, “that your boy is a boy after his father’s
+heart, full of love for the saints, diligent in his studies, and I
+trust well qualified to amend by example the somewhat giddy ways of my
+nephew.”
+
+Ella felt that this latter commendation might be better bestowed upon
+Alfred, who, although far less full of boyish spirit and energy than
+his brother, was far more attached to his religious duties, as also far
+more attentive to the wishes of his parents; but his love for Elfric
+blinded him to more serious defects in the character of his son, or he
+might have feared their development in a congenial soil.
+
+So the father saw his boy alone, and communicated the contents of the
+letter. The news was indeed welcome to Elfric, who panted for travel
+and adventure and the freedom he fancied he should get in Edwy’s
+society. But Ella hardly perceived this, and enlarged upon the dangers
+to which his son would be exposed, and tried to put before the boy all
+the “pros “ and “cons” of the question faithfully.
+
+“He would not keep him back,” he said, “if he desired to leave home,”
+but as he uttered the words he felt his heart very heavy, for Æscendune
+would lose half its brightness in losing Elfric.
+
+But Elfric’s choice was already made, and he only succeeded in
+repressing his delight with great difficulty, in deference to the
+serious aspect and words of his revered sire. But his decision, for it
+was left to him, was unchanged, and he stammered forth his desire to be
+a man, and to see the world, in words mingled with expressions of his
+deep love for his parents, which he was sure nothing could ever change.
+
+Strange to say, now that the parental consent was gained, and no
+obstacle lay between him and the accomplishment of his ardent wish, he
+did not feel half so happy as he had expected to feel. Home affections
+seemed to increase as the hours rushed by which were to be his last in
+the bosom of his family; every familiar object became precious as the
+thought arose that it might be seen for the last time; favourites, both
+men and animals, had to be bidden farewell. There was the old forester,
+the gleeman, the warder, the gardener, the chamberlain, the cellarius,
+the cook (not an unimportant personage in Saxon households), the foster
+mother, his old nurse, and many a friend in the village. Then there
+were his favourite dogs, his pony, some pigeons he had reared; and all
+had some claim on his affection, home nurtured as he had been in a most
+kindly household.
+
+But the appointed day came, the horse which was to bear him away stood
+at the door, another horse loaded with his personal effects stood near,
+for carriages were then unknown, neither would the roads have permitted
+their use, so changed were the times since the Roman period.
+
+His father and mother, his brother and sister, stood without the
+drawbridge, where the last goodbye took place; tears started unbidden
+to his eyes—he was only fifteen—as he heard the parting blessing, and
+as his mother pressed him to her bosom.
+
+Alfred and his sister Edith seemed almost broken hearted at the
+parting. But Elfric tried to bear up, and the end came.
+
+The little cavalcade left the castle, two attendants, well armed and
+mounted, being his bodyguard.
+
+Again and again he looked back; and when, after a journey of two miles,
+the envious woods closed in, and hid the dear familiar home from his
+sight, a strange sense of desolation rushed upon him, as if he were
+alone in the world.
+
+The route taken by the cavalcade led them in the first place to
+Warwick, even then a flourishing Saxon town: this was the limit of
+Elfric’s previous wanderings, and when they left it for the south, the
+whole country was strange to him.
+
+The royal messenger had business at the cathedral city of Dorchester,
+at the junction of the Tame and Isis, and they did not take the more
+direct route by the Watling Street, the most perfect Roman road
+remaining. The land was but thinly peopled, forests covered the greater
+portion, and desolate marshes much of the remainder; thus, through
+alternate forest and marsh, the travellers advanced along the ruinous
+remains of an old Roman crossroad, which had once afforded good
+accommodation to travellers, but had been suffered to fall into utter
+ruin and decay by the neglect of their successors, our own barbarous
+ancestors.
+
+Originally it had been paved with stone, and causeways had been formed
+over marsh and mere, but the stones had been taken away, for the road
+formed the most accessible quarry in the neighbourhood. Here and there,
+however, it was still good, surviving the wear of centuries, and even
+the old mileposts of iron were still existing covered with rust, with
+the letters denoting so many Roman miles—or thousands of paces—still
+legible.
+
+A few hours’ riding from Warwick brought them at the close of the day
+in sight of Beranbyrig (Banbury), where three centuries earlier a
+bloody battle had been fought, vi wherein success—almost for the last
+time—visited the British arms, and saved the Celtic race from expulsion
+for twenty years.
+
+The spot was very interesting to Elfric, for here his ancestor Sebbald
+had fought by the side of the invading king, Cynric, the son of Cerdic,
+and had fallen “gloriously” on the field.
+
+“Look,” said Anlaf, the guide, “at that sloping ground which rises to
+the northwest. There the Welsh (Britons) stood, formed in nine strong
+battalions. In that hollow they placed their archers, and here their
+javelin men and cavalry were arranged after the old Roman fashion. Our
+Englishmen were all in one battalion, and charged them fiercely, when
+they were thrown into confusion by the cunning tricks of the Welsh, who
+made up in craft what they wanted in manly courage.
+
+“Look at this brook which flows to the river, it was running with blood
+that evening, and our men lay piled in huge heaps where they tried to
+scale the hill which you see yonder.”
+
+“And did the Welsh gain the day so easily?” said Elfric, sorrowfully.
+
+“I don’t wonder; they were fighting for their lives, and even a rat
+will fight if you get him into a corner; besides, they had all their
+best men here.”
+
+“Do you know where Sebbald fell?” said Elfric, referring to his own
+ancestor.
+
+“Just under this hillock, close by King Cynric, who fought like a lion
+to save the body, but was unable to do so. The Welsh were then gaining
+the day. Still, even his foes respected his valour, and gave your
+forefather a fair and honourable burial.”
+
+Leaving the battlefield, they entered the Saxon town, which was
+defended on one side by the Cherwell, on the other by a mound and
+palisade, with an outer ditch supplied by the river. Here they found
+hospitable entertainment, and left on the morrow for the town of
+Kirtlington.
+
+They left Beranbyrig early, and reached the village of Sutthun (King’s
+Sutton), where they perceived a great multitude of people collected
+around a well at the outskirts of the village.
+
+“What are these people doing?” asked Elfric.
+
+“Oh, do you not know?” replied Anlaf. “This is St. Rumbald’s well,” and
+he crossed himself piously.
+
+“Who was St. Rumbald?” asked Elfric innocently.
+
+“Oh, he was son of the king of Northumbria, and of his queen, the
+daughter of the old king Penda of Mercia, and the strange thing is that
+he is a saint although he only lived three days.”
+
+“How could that be?”
+
+“Why it was a miracle, you see. On the day after his birth he was taken
+to Braceleam (Brackley), where he was baptized, and after his baptism
+he actually preached an eloquent sermon to the people. They brought him
+back to Sutthun next day, where he died, having first blessed this
+well, so that many precious gifts of healing are shown thereat. His
+relics were removed first to Braceleam, then to Buccingaham
+(Buckingham), where his shrine is venerated by the faithful. But come,
+you must drink of the holy water.”
+
+So they approached the spot, and, after much labour to get at the well,
+drank of the water, which had a brackish taste, and proceeded on their
+journey southward through Kirtlington, then a considerable city,
+although now a small village. It was their intention to pass by the
+cathedral city of Dorchester, where Wulfstan was then bishop, where
+they arrived on the second night of their journey.
+
+It was the largest city Elfric had as yet seen, possessing several
+churches, of which only one now remains. The hand of the ruthless Danes
+had not yet been laid heavily upon it, and the magnificence of the
+sacred fanes, built by cunning architects from abroad, amazed the
+Mercian boy.
+
+There was the tomb of the great Birinus, the apostle of Mercia, who had
+founded the see in the year 630 A.D., and to whose shrine multitudes of
+pilgrims flocked each year. But the remains of Roman greatness most
+astonished Elfric. The ruins of the amphitheatre situate near the river
+Tame were grand even in their decay, and all the imaginative faculties
+of the boy were aroused, as one of the most learned inhabitants
+described the scenes of former days, of which tradition had been
+preserved, the gladiatorial combats, the wild beast fights.
+
+The heir of Æscendune found hospitality at the episcopal palace, where
+Wulfstan,vii once the turbulent Archbishop of York, held his court. The
+prelate seemed favourably impressed with his youthful guest, whom he
+dismissed with a warm commendation to Dunstan.
+
+They left the city early in the morning, and passed through Bænesington
+(Benson), which having been originally taken from the Welsh by the
+Saxon chieftain Cuthulf, in the year 571, became the scene of the great
+victory of Offa, the Mercian king, over Cynewulf of Wessex in the year
+777. One of Elfric’s ancestors had fought on the side of Offa, and the
+exploits of this doughty warrior had formed the subject of a ballad
+often sung in the winter evenings at Æscendune, so that Elfric explored
+the scene with great curiosity. Inferior to Dorchester, it was still a
+considerable town.
+
+Late at night they reached Reading, where they slept, and started early
+on the morrow for London, where they arrived on the evening of the
+fourth day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+LONDON IN THE OLDEN TIME.
+
+
+London, in the days of King Edred, differed widely from the stately and
+populous city we know in these days, and almost as widely from the
+elegant “_Colonia Augusta_,” or Londinium, of the Roman period. Narrow,
+crooked, and unpaved lanes wound between houses, or rather lowly
+cottages, built of timber, and roofed with thatch, so that it is not
+wonderful that a conflagration was an event to be dreaded.
+
+Evidence met the eye on every side how utterly the first Englishmen had
+failed to preserve the cities they had conquered, and how far inferior
+they were in cultivation, or rather civilisation, to the softer race
+they had so ruthlessly expelled; for on every side broken pedestal and
+shattered column appeared clumsily imbedded in the rude domestic
+architecture of our forefathers.
+
+St. Paul’s Cathedral rose on the hill once sacred to Diana but was
+wholly built within the ruins of the vast temple which had once
+occupied the site, and which, magnificent in decay, still surrounded it
+like an outwork. Further on were the wrecks of the citadel, where once
+the stern legionary had watched by day and night, and where Roman
+discipline and order had held sway, while the wall raised by
+Constantine, broken and imperfect, still rose on the banks of the
+river. Near the Ludgate was the palace of the Saxon king, and the ruins
+of an aqueduct overshadowed its humbler portal, while without the walls
+the river Fleet rolled, amidst vineyards and pleasant meadows dotted
+with houses, to join the mighty Thames.
+
+Edred, the reigning king of England, was the brother of the murdered
+Edmund, and, in accordance with the custom of the day, had ascended the
+throne on the death of his brother, seeing that the two infant sons of
+the late king, Edwy and Edgar, were too young to reign, and the idea of
+hereditary right was not sufficiently developed in the minds of our
+forefathers to suggest the notion of a regency. It must also be
+remembered that, within certain limits, there was an elective power in
+the Witenagemot or Parliament, although generally limited in its scope
+to members of the royal family.
+
+Edred was of very delicate constitution, and suffered from an inward
+disease which seldom allowed him an interval of rest and ease. Like so
+many sufferers he had found his consolation in religion, and the only
+crime ever laid to his charge (if it were a crime) was that he loved
+the Church too much. Still he had repeatedly proved that he was strong
+in purpose and will, and the insurgent Danes who had settled in
+Northumbria had owned his prowess. In the internal affairs of his
+kingdom he was chiefly governed by the advice of the great ecclesiastic
+and statesman, with whose name our readers will shortly become
+familiar.
+
+Upon the morning after the arrival of Elfric in London, Edwy, the young
+prince, and his new companion, sat in a room on the upper floor of the
+palace, which had but two floors, and would have been considered in
+these days very deficient in architectural beauty.
+
+The window of the room opened upon the river, and commanded a pleasant
+view of the woods and meadows on the Surrey side, then almost
+uninhabited, being completely unprotected in case of invasion, a
+contingency never long absent from the mind in the days of the sea
+kings.
+
+A table covered with manuscripts, both in Latin and Anglo-Saxon,
+occupied the centre of the room, and there Elfric was seated, looking
+somewhat aimlessly at a Latin vocabulary, while Edwy was standing
+listlessly at the window. The “library,” if it deserved the name, was
+very unlike a modern library; books were few, and yet very expensive,
+so that perhaps there was no fuller collection in any layman’s house in
+the kingdom. There were Alfred’s translations into Anglo-Saxon, the
+“_Chronicle of Orosius_,” or the history of the World; the “_History of
+the Venerable Bede_,” both in his original Latin and in English;
+Boethius on the “_Consolations of Philosophy_;” narratives from ancient
+mythology; extracts from the works of St. Augustine and St. Gregory;
+and the Apologues or Fables from Æsop.viii
+
+“Oh, put those stupid books aside,” exclaimed the prince; “this is your
+first day in town, and I mean to take a holiday; that surly old Dunstan
+should have left word to that effect last night.”
+
+“Will he not be here soon?”
+
+“Yes, he is coming this morning, the old bear, to superintend my
+progress, and I wish him joy thereof.”
+
+“What has he given you to do?” inquired Elfric.
+
+“Why, a wretched exercise to write out. There, you see it before you;
+isn’t it a nuisance?”
+
+“It is not very hard, is it?”
+
+“Don’t you think it hard? See whether you can do it!”
+
+Elfric smiled, and wrote out the simple Latin with ease, for he had
+been well instructed by Father Cuthbert at Æscendune.
+
+He had scarcely finished when a firm step was heard upon the stairs.
+
+“Hush,” said Edwy; “here comes Dunstan. Be sure you look solemn
+enough,” and he composed his own countenance into an expression of
+preternatural gravity.
+
+The door opened, and an ecclesiastic in the prime of life entered the
+room, one whose mien impressed the beholder with an indefinable awe.
+
+He was dressed in the Benedictine habit, just then becoming common in
+England, and his features were those of a man formed by nature to
+command, while they reconciled the beholder to the admission of the
+fact by the sad yet sweet smile which frequently played on the shapely
+countenance. He was now in the thirtieth year of his age, having been
+born in the first year of King Athelstane, and had been abbot of
+Glastonbury for several years, although his services as counsellor to
+King Edred had led him to spend much of his time in town, and he had
+therefore accepted the general direction of the education of the heir
+to the throne. Such was Dunstan.
+
+He seemed but little welcome to Edwy, and the benediction with which he
+greeted his pupil was but coldly received.
+
+Not appearing to notice this, he mildly said, “You must introduce your
+young companion to me, my prince. Am I not right in concluding that I
+see before me Elfric, heir to the lands of Æscendune?”
+
+Elfric blushed as he bent the knee to the great churchman to receive
+the priestly benediction with which he was greeted, but remained
+silent.
+
+“Father Cuthbert, whom I knew well years agone, has told me about you,
+and your brother Alfred; is not that his name?”
+
+“He is so named, my father.”
+
+“I am glad to perceive that my royal pupil has chosen so meet a
+companion, for Father Cuthbert speaks well of your learning. You write
+the Latin tongue, he tells me, with some little facility.”
+
+Elfric feared his powers had been overrated.
+
+“I trust you have resumed your studies after your long holiday,”
+continued Dunstan. “Youth is the season for sowing, age for reaping.”
+
+“I have had a very bad headache,” said Edwy, “and have only been able
+to write a page of Latin. Here it is, father.”
+
+And he extended the exercise Elfric had written to the abbot, who
+looked at the writing for one moment, and then glanced severely at the
+prince. The character was very like his own, but there was a
+difference.
+
+“Is this your handwriting, Prince Edwy?” he asked.
+
+“Of course. Elfric saw me write it, did you not?”
+
+Elfric was not used to falsehood; he could not frame his lips to say
+“Yes.”
+
+Dunstan observed his confusion, and he turned to the prince with a look
+in which contempt seemed to struggle with passive self-possession.
+
+“I trust, Edwy,” he said, “you will remember that the word of a king is
+said to be his bond, and so should the word of a prince be if he ever
+hopes to reign. I shall give Father Benedict charge to superintend your
+studies as usual.”
+
+He wished them a grave good morning, and left the room.
+
+As soon as the last sound of his steps had ceased, Edwy turned sharply
+to Elfric—“Why did you not say yes at once? Surely you have a tongue?”
+
+“It has never learnt to lie.”
+
+“Pooh! What is the harm of such a white lie as that would have been? If
+you cannot give the credit of a Latin exercise, which you happen to
+have written, to your future king, you must be selfish; it is my
+writing, if you give it me, isn’t it?”
+
+Elfric did not quite see the matter in that light, yet did not care to
+dispute the point; but his conscience was ill at ease, and he was glad
+to change the subject.
+
+“When can we go out?” he said, for he was anxious to see the city.
+
+“Oh, not till after the midday meal, and you must see the palace first;
+come now.”
+
+So they descended and traversed the various courts of the building; the
+dormitories, the great dining hall, the audience chambers where Edred
+was then receiving his subjects, who waited in the anteroom, which
+alone the two boys ventured to enter. Finally, after traversing several
+courts and passages, they reached the guardroom.
+
+Three or four of the “hus-carles” or household guards were here on
+duty. But in the embrasure of the window, poring over a map, sat one of
+very different mien from the common soldiers, and whose air and manner,
+no less than his dress, proclaimed the officer.
+
+“Redwald,” said the prince, advancing to the window, “let me make you
+acquainted with my friend and companion, Elfric of Æscendune.”
+
+The officer started, as if with some sudden surprise, but it passed
+away so quickly that the beholder might fancy the start had only
+existed in imagination, as perhaps it did.
+
+“This gallant warrior,” said Edwy to Elfric, “is my friend and
+counsellor in many ways; and if he lives there shall not be a thane in
+England who shall stand above him. You will soon find out his value,
+Elfric.”
+
+“My prince is pleased to flatter his humble servant,” said Redwald.
+
+But Elfric was gazing upon the soldier with feelings he could scarcely
+analyse. There was something in his look and the tone of his voice
+which struck a hidden chord, and awoke recollections as if of a
+previous existence.
+
+“Redwald,” as Edwy named him, was tall and dark, with many of the
+characteristics of the Danish race about him. His nose was slightly
+aquiline, his eyes hid beneath bushy eyebrows, while his massive jaw
+denoted energy of character—energy which one instinctively felt was
+quite as likely to be exerted for evil as for good.
+
+He was captain of the hus-carles, and had but recently entered the
+royal service. Few knew his lineage. He spoke the Anglo-Saxon tongue
+with great fluency, and bore testimonials certifying his valour and
+faithfulness from the court of Normandy, where the Northmen under Rollo
+had some half-century earlier founded a flourishing state, then ruled
+over by the noble Duke “Richard the Fearless.”
+
+Edwy seemed to be on intimate terms with this soldier of fortune; in
+fact, with all his proud anticipation of his future greatness, he was
+never haughty to his inferiors, perhaps we should say seldom, for we
+shall hereafter note exceptions to this rule. It would be a great
+mistake to suppose that the pomp and ceremony of our Norman kings was
+shared by their English predecessors: the manners and customs of the
+court of Edred were simplicity itself.
+
+After a few moments of private conversation with Redwald, the boys
+returned to their chamber to prepare for dinner.
+
+“You noted that man,” said Edwy; “well, I don’t know how I should live
+without him.”
+
+Elfric’s looks expressed surprise.
+
+“You will find out by and by; you have little idea how strictly we are
+kept here, and how much one is indebted to one’s servants for the gift
+of liberty, especially in Lent and on fast days, when one does not get
+half enough to eat, and must sometimes escape the gloom and starvation
+of the palace.”
+
+“Starvation?”
+
+“What else do you call it, when you get nothing but fish, fish, fish,
+and bread and water to help it down. My uncle is awfully religious. I
+can hardly stand it sometimes. He would like to spend half the day in
+chapel, but, happily for all the rest of us, the affairs of state are
+too urgent for that, so we do get a little breathing time, or else I
+should have to twist my mouth all of one side singing dolorous chants
+and tunes which are worse than a Danish war whoop, for he likes, he
+says, to hear the service hearty.”
+
+“But it helps you on with your Latin.”
+
+“Not much of that, for I sing anything that comes into my head; the
+singing men make such a noise, they can hear no one else, and I fancy
+they don’t know what a word of the Latin prayers means.”
+
+“But isn’t it irreverent—too irreverent, I mean. Father Cuthbert made
+me afraid to mock God, he told such stories about judgment.”
+
+“All fudge and nonsense—oh, I beg your pardon, it is all very godly and
+pious, and really I expect to be greatly edified by your piety in
+chapel. Pray, when shall you be canonised?”
+
+Elfric could not bear ridicule, and blushed for the second time that
+morning. Just then the bell rang for dinner, or rather was struck with
+a mallet by the master of the ceremonies.
+
+King Edred dined that day, as one might say, in the bosom of his
+family; only Dunstan was present, besides the boys Edwy, Edgar his
+younger brother, and Elfric. It was then that Elfric first saw the
+younger prince, a pale studious-looking boy of twelve, but with a very
+firm and intellectual expression of countenance. He was a great
+favourite with Dunstan, whom the boy, unlike his brother, regarded with
+the greatest respect and reverence.
+
+The conversation was somewhat stiff; Edred spoke a few kind words to
+the young stranger, and then conversed in an undertone with Dunstan,
+the whole dinner time; the princes themselves were awed by the presence
+of their uncle and his spiritual guide.
+
+But at last, like all other things, it was over, and with feelings of
+joy the boys broke forth from the restraint. The whole afternoon was
+spent in seeing the sights of London, and they all three, for Edgar
+accompanied them, returned to the evening meal, fatigued in body, but
+in high spirits. Compline in the royal chapel terminated the day, as
+mass had begun it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+TEMPTATION.
+
+
+But a few days had passed before Elfric learned the secret of Redwald’s
+influence over the young prince.
+
+The household of Edred was conducted with the strictest propriety.ix
+All rose with the lark, and the first duty was to attend at the early
+mass in the royal chapel. Breakfast followed, and then the king on
+ordinary days gave the whole forenoon to business of state, and he
+thought it his duty to see that each member of the royal household had
+some definite employment, knowing that idleness was the mother of many
+evils. So the young princes had their tasks assigned them by their
+tutor, as we have already seen, and the spare hours which were saved
+from their studies were given to such practice in the use of the
+national weapons as seemed necessary to those who might hereafter lead
+armies, or to gymnastic exercises which strengthened nerve and muscle
+for a time of need.
+
+In the afternoon they might ride or walk abroad, but a strict interdict
+was placed upon certain haunts where temptation might perchance be
+found, and they had to return by evensong, which the king generally
+attended in person when at home. Then, in winter, indoor recreations
+till compline, for it was a strict rule of the king that his nephews
+should not leave the palace after sundown.
+
+He further caused their tutor, who directed their education under the
+supervision of Dunstan—Father Benedict—whom we have already introduced,
+to see that they properly discharged all the duties of public and
+private devotion.
+
+But he did not see, in the excess of his zeal, that he was really
+destroying the prospects which were nearest his heart, and that there
+can be no more fatal mistake than to compel the performance of
+religious duties which exceed the measure of the youthful capacity or
+endurance.
+
+With Edgar, who was naturally pious, the system produced no evil
+result; but with Edwy the effect was most sad. He had become, as we
+have seen, deceitful; and a character, naturally fair, was undermined
+to an extent which neither the king nor Dunstan suspected.
+
+The reader may naturally ask how could Dunstan, so astute as he was,
+make this mistake, or at least suffer Edred to make it?
+
+The fact was that Dunstan understood the affairs of state better than
+those of the heart, and although well fitted for a guide to men of
+sincere piety, and capable of opposing to the wicked an iron will and
+inflexible resolution, he did not understand the young, and seemed to
+have forgotten his own youth. Sincerely truthful and straightforward,
+he hardly knew whether to feel more disgust or surprise at Edwy’s
+evident unfaithfulness. He little knew that unfaithfulness was only one
+of his failings, and not the worst.
+
+A few nights after Elfric’s arrival, when the palace gates had been
+shut for the night, the compline service said, the household guard
+posted, and the boys had retired to their sleeping apartments, he heard
+a low knock at his door. He opened it, and Edwy entered.
+
+“Are you disposed for a pleasant evening, Elfric?”
+
+“Such pleasure as there is in sleep.”
+
+“No, I do not mean that. We cannot sleep, like bears in winter, during
+all the hours which should be given to mirth. I am going out this
+evening, and I want you to go with me.”
+
+“Going out?”
+
+“Yes. Don’t stand staring there, as if I was talking Latin or something
+harder; but get your shoes on again—
+
+“No; you had better come down without shoes; it will make less noise.”
+
+“But how can we get out? I have not the least idea where you are
+going?”
+
+“All in good time. We shall get out easily enough. Are you coming?”
+
+Half fearful, yet not liking to resist the prince, and his curiosity
+pressing him to solve the secret, Elfric followed Edwy down the stairs
+to the lower hall, where Redwald was on guard. He seemed to await the
+lads, for he bowed at once to the prince and proceeded to the outer
+door, where, at an imperious signal from him, the warder threw the
+little inner portal open, and the three passed out.
+
+“Is the boat ready?” said Edwy.
+
+“It is; and trusty rowers await you.”
+
+Redwald led the way to the river’s brink, and there pointed out a skiff
+lying at a short distance from the shore. At a signal, the men who
+manned it pulled in and received the two youths on board, then pulled
+at once out into the stream.
+
+“How do you like an evening on the river?” said Edwy.
+
+“It is very beautiful, and the stars are very bright tonight; but where
+are we going?”
+
+“You will soon find out.”
+
+Finding his royal companion so uncommunicative, Elfric remained silent,
+trusting that a few minutes would unravel the mystery.
+
+But an hour had passed, during which the boat steadily progressed up
+stream, before the watermen pulled in for the shore, and a dark
+building loomed before them in dim shadow.
+
+“Here is the place,” said Edwy. “Be ready, my men, to take us back
+about midnight, or a little later;” and he threw some pieces of money
+amongst them.
+
+Passing through a large garden, they arrived at a porch before a stout
+door garnished with knobs of iron, which might bid defiance to thief or
+burglar.
+
+“Whose house is this?” asked Elfric.
+
+“Wait; you shall soon see.”
+
+The loud knocking Edwy made at the door soon brought some domestics,
+who, opening a small wicket, discovered the identity of their principal
+visitor, and immediately threw open the door.
+
+“Thanks,” said Edwy; “we were almost frozen.”
+
+Passing through a kind of atrium—for the old Roman fashion was still
+sometimes followed in this particular—the domestics ushered the
+visitors into a room brilliantly lighted by torches stuck in cressets
+projecting from the walls, and by huge wax candles upon a table spread
+for a feast. The light revealed a small but apparently select party,
+who seemed to await the prince: a lady, who appeared to be the mistress
+of the mansion; a young girl apparently about the age of Edwy, who,
+calling her his fair cousin, saluted her fondly; and two or three
+youths, whose gaudy dress and affected manners were strongly in
+contrast with the stern simplicity of the times.
+
+After saluting each person with the greatest freedom, Edwy introduced
+his companion.
+
+“Here is a young novice I have brought to learn the noble art of
+merrymaking, of wine and wassail. We have both been literally starved
+at the palace—I should say monastery—of Monk Edred today. It is Friday,
+and we have been splendidly dining upon salt fish served up on golden
+salvers. My goodness! the flavour of that precious cod is yet in my
+mouth. Food for cats, I do assure you, and served up to kings. What did
+you think of it, Elfric?”
+
+Elfric was ashamed to say that it had not been so very bad after all.
+Truth to say his conscience was uneasy, for he had been brought up to
+respect the fasts of the Church, and he saw a trial awaiting him in the
+luscious dishes before him.
+
+“What does it matter?” the reader may exclaim; “it is not that which
+goeth into the mouth which defileth a man,” etc.
+
+True, most wise critic, but it is that which goeth out; and if
+disobedience be not amongst the evils which defile, then Adam did not
+fall in Paradise when he ate the forbidden fruit. Elfric could not
+touch flesh on fast days without the instinctive feeling that he was
+doing wrong, and no one can sin against the conviction of the heart
+without danger.
+
+The party now seated themselves, and without any grace or further
+preface the feast began. Servants appeared and served up the most
+exquisite dishes, of a delicacy almost unknown in England at that day,
+and poured rich wines into silver goblets. It was evident that wealth
+abounded in the family they were visiting, and that they had expended
+it freely for the gratification of Edwy.
+
+Ethelgiva, the lady of the house, was of noble presence, which almost
+seemed to justify the claim of royal blood which was made for her. Tall
+and commanding, age had not bent her form, although her locks were
+already white. Her beauty, which must have been marvellous in her
+younger days, had attracted the attention of a younger son of the
+reigning house, and they were married at an early age, secretly,
+without the sanction of the king.
+
+The fruit of their union was Elgiva, a name destined to fill a place in
+a sad and painful tragedy; but we are anticipating, and must crave the
+reader’s pardon.
+
+Bright and cheerful indeed was the fair Elgiva at this moment. Her
+beauty was remarkable even in a land so famed for the beauty of its
+daughters; and the ill-advised Edwy may be pitied, if not altogether
+pardoned, for his infatuation, for infatuation it was in a day when the
+near tie of blood between them precluded the possibility of lawful
+matrimony, save at the expense of a dispensation never likely to be
+conceded, since the temperament of men like Odo, the Archbishop of
+Canterbury, and of Dunstan, was opposed to any relaxation of the law in
+the case of the great when such relaxation was unattainable by the poor
+and lowly.
+
+To return to our subject:
+
+The feast proceeded with great animation. At first Elfric hesitated
+when the meat was placed before him, but he withered, in his weakness,
+before the mocking smile of Edwy, and the sarcasm which played upon the
+lips of the rest of the company, who perceived his hesitation. So he
+yielded, and, shaking off all restraint, ate heartily.
+
+Dish followed dish, and the wine cup circulated with great freedom.
+Excited as he was, Elfric could but remark the loose tone of the
+conversation. Subjects were freely discussed which had never found
+admittance either in the palace of King Edred or at Æscendune, and
+which, indeed, caused him to look up with surprise, remembering in
+whose presence he sat.
+
+But, as is often the case in an age where opinion is severely repressed
+in its outward expression, and amongst those compelled against their
+will to observe silence on such subjects on ordinary occasions, all
+restraint seemed abandoned at the table of Ethelgiva. It was not that
+the language was coarse, but whether the conversation turned upon the
+restraints of the clergy, or the court, or upon the fashionable
+frivolities of the day—for there were frivolities and fashions even in
+that primitive age—there was a freedom of expression bordering upon
+profanity or licentiousness.
+
+Edred was mocked as an old babbler; Dunstan was sometimes a fool,
+sometimes a hypocrite, sometimes even a sorcerer, although this was
+said sneeringly; the clergy were divided into fools and knaves; the
+claims of the Church—that is of Christianity—derided, and the principle
+freely avowed—“Enjoy life while you can, for you know not what may come
+after.”
+
+Excited by the wine he had drunk, Elfric became as wild in his talk as
+the other young men, and as the intoxicating drink mounted to his
+brain, seemed to think that he had just learnt how to enjoy life.
+
+The ladies retired at last, and Edwy followed them. Elfric was on the
+point of rising too, but a hint from his companions restrained him. The
+wine cup still circulated, the conversation, now unrestrained,
+initiated the boy into many an evil secret he had never known earlier;
+and so the hours passed on, till Edwy, himself much flushed, came in
+and said that it was time to depart, for midnight had long been tolled
+from the distant towers of London.
+
+He smiled as he saw by Elfric’s bloodshot eyes and unsteady gait, as he
+rose, upsetting his seat, that his companion was something less master
+of himself than usual; he felt, it need hardly be said, no remorse, but
+rather regarded the whole thing as what might now be termed “a jolly
+lark.”
+
+“Shall you require bearers, or can you walk to the boat? I do not
+wonder you are ill, you have eaten too much fish today; it is a shame
+to make the knees weak through fasting in this style.”
+
+“I—I—am all right now.”
+
+“You will be better in the air.”
+
+So, bidding a farewell of somewhat doubtful character to his
+entertainers, Elfric was assisted to the boat. The air did not revive
+him, he felt wretchedly feverish and giddy, and could hardly tell how
+he reached the river.
+
+Reach it, however, he did, and the strong arms of the watermen impelled
+the boat rapidly down the tide, until it reached the stairs near the
+palace.
+
+Here Redwald was in waiting, and assisted them to land.
+
+“You are very late, or rather early,” he said.
+
+“Yes,” said Edwy, “but it has been a jolly evening, only poor Elfric
+has been ill, having of course weakened himself by fasting.”
+
+Redwald smiled such a scornful smile, and muttered some words to
+himself. Yet it did not seem as if he were altogether displeased at the
+state in which he saw Elfric. It may be added that Edwy was but little
+better.
+
+“You must keep silent,” said Redwald; “I believe the king and Dunstan
+are hearing matins in the chapel: it is the festival of some saint or
+other, who went to the gridiron in olden days.”
+
+The outer gate of the palace was cautiously opened, and, taking off
+their shoes, the youths ascended the stairs which led to their
+apartments as lightly as possible.
+
+“Send the leech Sigebert to us in the morning—he must report Elfric
+unwell—for he will hardly get up to hear Dunstan mumble mass.”
+
+“Perhaps your royal highness had better rest also.”
+
+“And bring suspicion upon us both? No,” said Edwy, “one will be enough
+to report ill at once; Dunstan is an old fox.”
+
+Poor Elfric could hardly get to bed, and, almost for the first time
+since infancy, he laid himself down without one prayer. Edwy left him
+in the dark, and there he lay, his head throbbing, and a burning thirst
+seeming to consume him.
+
+Long before morning he was very sick, and when the bell was sounded for
+the early mass it need hardly be said that he was unable to rise.
+
+Sigebert the physician, who, like Redwald, was in the confidence of the
+future king, Edwy, came in to see him, and asked what was the matter.
+
+“I am very sick and ill,” gasped Elfric.
+
+“I suppose you have taken something that disagreed with you—too much
+fish perhaps.” (with a smile).
+
+“No—no—I do not—”
+
+“I understand,” said the leech; “you will soon be better; meanwhile, I
+will account for your absence at chapel. Here, take this medicine; you
+will find it relieve you.”
+
+And he gave Elfric a mixture which assuaged his burning thirst, and
+bathed his forehead with some powerful essence which refreshed him
+greatly, whereupon the leech departed.
+
+Only an hour later, and Edred, hearing from the physician of Elfric’s
+sudden illness, came in to see the boy, whose bright cheerful face and
+merry disposition had greatly attracted him. This was hardest of all
+for Elfric to bear; he had to evade the kind questions of the king, and
+to hear expressions of sympathy which he felt he did not deserve.
+
+More than once he felt inclined to tell all, but the fear of the prince
+restrained him, and also a sense of what he thought honour, for he
+would not betray his companion, and he could not confess his own guilt
+without implicating Edwy.
+
+Poor boy! it would have been far better for him had he done so: he had
+taken his first step downward.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+LOWER AND LOWER.
+
+
+It becomes our painful duty to record that from the date of the feast,
+described in our last chapter, the character of poor Elfric underwent
+rapid deterioration. In the first place, the fact of his having yielded
+to the forbidden indulgence, and—as he felt—disgraced himself, gave
+Edwy, as the master of the secret, great power over him, and he never
+failed to use this power whenever he saw any inclination on the part of
+his vassal to throw off the servitude. It was not that he deliberately
+intended to injure Elfric, but he had come to regard virtue as either
+weakness or hypocrisy, at least such virtues as temperance, purity, or
+self restraint.
+
+The great change which was creeping over Elfric became visible to
+others: he seemed to lose his bright smile; the look of boyish
+innocence faded from his countenance, and gave place to an expression
+of sullen reserve; he showed less ardour in all his sports and
+pastimes, became subject to fits of melancholy, and often seemed lost
+in thought, anxious thought, in the midst of his studies.
+
+He seldom had the power, even if the will, to communicate with home.
+Mercia was in many respects an independent state, subject to the same
+king, but governed by a code of laws differing from those of Wessex;
+and it was only when a royal messenger or some chance traveller left
+court for the banks of the Midland Avon, that Elfric could use the art
+of writing, a knowledge he was singular in possessing, thanks to the
+wisdom of his sire.
+
+So the home authorities knew little of the absent one, for whom they
+offered up many a fervent prayer, and of whom they constantly spoke and
+thought. And yet, so mysterious are the ways of Providence, it seemed
+as if these prayers were unanswered—seemed indeed, yet they were not
+forgotten before God.
+
+Seemed forgotten; for Elfric was rapidly becoming reckless. Many
+subsequent scenes of indulgence had followed the first one, and other
+haunts, residences of licentious young nobles, or taverns, had been
+sought out by the youths, and always by Redwald’s connivance.
+
+He was Edwy’s evil genius, and always seemed at hand whensoever the
+prince sought occasion to sin. Still, he was not at all suspected by
+Edred, before whom he kept up an appearance of the strictest
+morality—always punctual in his attendance at mass, matins, and
+evensong, and with a various stock of phrases of pious import ready at
+tongue in case of need or opportunity of using them to advantage.
+
+To Elfric, his behaviour was always reserved, yet he seemed even more
+ready to lend him a helping hand downward than did the prince.
+
+So time passed on; weeks became months; and Christmas with all its
+hallowed associations had passed; it had been Elfric’s first Christmas
+away from home, and he was sad at heart, in spite of the boisterous
+merriment of his companions. The spring of the year 955 came on, and
+Lent drew near, a season to which Edwy looked forward with great dread,
+for, as he said, there would be nothing in the whole palace to eat
+until Easter, and he could not even hope to bribe the cook.
+
+The canons of the church required all persons to make confession, and
+so enter upon the fast tide, having “thus purified their minds;” x it
+may, alas! be easily guessed how the guilty lads performed this duty,
+how enforced confession only led to their adding the sin of further
+deceit, and that of a deadly kind.
+
+Thus they entered upon Lent: their abstinence was entirely compulsory,
+not voluntary; and although they made up for it in some degree when
+they could get away from the palace, yet even this was difficult, for
+it was positively unlawful for butchers to sell or for people to buy
+meat at the prohibited seasons, and the law was not easily evaded. But
+it was a prayerless Lent also to Elfric, for he had, alas! even
+discontinued his habit of daily prayer, a habit he had hitherto
+maintained from childhood, a habit first learned at his mother’s knee.
+
+Holy Week came, and was spent with great strictness; the king seemed to
+divide his whole time between the business of state and the duties of
+religion.
+
+Dunstan was absent at Glastonbury, but other ecclesiastics thronged the
+palace, and there were few, save the guilty boys and Redwald, who
+seemed uninfluenced by the solemn commemoration.
+
+But it must not be supposed that Elfric was wholly uninfluenced: after
+the preaching of the Passion by a poor simple monk on Good Friday, he
+retired to his own little room, where he wept as if his heart would
+break. Had Dunstan been then in town, the whole story would have been
+told, and much misery saved, for Elfric felt he could trust him if he
+could trust anybody; but unhappily Dunstan was, as we have seen,
+keeping Passiontide at his abbey.
+
+Still, Elfric felt he must tell all, and submit to the advice and
+penance which might be imposed; and as he sat weeping over his sin that
+Good Friday night, with the thought that he might find pardon and peace
+through the Great Sacrifice so touchingly pleaded that day, he felt
+that the first step to amendment must lie in a full and frank
+confession of all; he knew he should grievously offend Edwy, and that
+he should lose the favour of his future king, but he could not help it.
+
+“Why, oh why did I leave Æscendune, dear Æscendune?—fool that I was—I
+will go back.”
+
+And a sweet desire of home and kindred rose up before him—of his
+father’s loving welcome, his fond mother’s chaste kiss, and of the dear
+old woods and waters—the hallowed associations of his home life. He
+rose up to seek Father Benedict, determined to enter upon the path of
+peace at any cost, when Edwy entered.
+
+He did not see in the gathering darkness the traces of emotion visible
+on poor Elfric’s countenance, and he began in his usual careless
+way—“How are you, Elfric, my boy; glad Lent is nearly over? What a
+dismal time that wretched monk preached this morning!”
+
+“Edwy, I am utterly miserable: I must tell all; I cannot live like this
+any longer.”
+
+“What a burst of penitence! go to confession; to be sure it looks well,
+and if one can only manage to get out a few tears they account him a
+saint; tell me the receipt.”
+
+“But, Edwy, I must tell all!”
+
+“Not if you are wise.”
+
+“Why not? It is all in secrecy.”
+
+“No it is not; you will be required as a penance to go and tell the
+king all that we have done; you may do so, and I will manage to
+represent matters so as to throw the whole blame on you; you will be
+sent home in disgrace.”
+
+Poor Elfric hung down his head; the thought of his disgrace reaching
+home had not occurred to him.
+
+“Come,” said Edwy, “I don’t want to be hard upon you. Cheer up, my man.
+What have you done amiss? Only enjoyed yourself as nature has guided
+you. Why should you think God meant us to pass through life like those
+miserable shavelings Edred delights to honour? Cheer up, Elfric; your
+bright face was never meant for that of a hypocrite. If you are so
+dreadfully bad, you are in a pretty numerous company; and I don’t think
+the shavelings believe their own tales about fire and torment
+hereafter. They are merry enough, considering.”
+
+In short, poor Elfric’s short-lived penitence was given to the winds.
+Edwy went alone to be shriven on the morrow.
+
+On Easter Day they both received the Holy Communion in the royal
+chapel.
+
+From that time remorse ceased to visit the heir of Æscendune, as if he
+had at last quenched the Spirit, and he became so utterly wild and
+reckless, that at last Dunstan thought it necessary to speak to him
+privately on the subject. It was nearly six months after Easter.
+
+The boy entered the study set apart for the use of the great monk and
+statesman with a palpitating heart, but he managed to repress its
+beatings, and put on a perfectly unconcerned expression of countenance.
+He had gained in self control if in nothing else.
+
+“I wished to speak with you, Elfric,” said the abbot, “upon a very
+serious matter. When you first came here, I was delighted to have you
+as a companion to the prince. You were evidently well brought up, and
+bore an excellent character; but, I grieve to say, you have greatly
+changed for the worse. Are you not aware of it?”
+
+“No, father. What have I done?”
+
+Dunstan sighed at the tone of the reply, and continued—“It is not any
+particular action of which I wish to accuse you, but of the general
+tenor of your conduct. I do not speak harshly, my boy; but if truth be
+told, you are as idle as you were once diligent, as sullen and reserved
+as once candid and open: and, my son, your face tells a tale of even
+worse things, and, but that I am puzzled to know where you could obtain
+the means of self indulgence, I should attribute more serious vices to
+you.”
+
+“Who has accused me, father?”
+
+“Yourself—that is, your own face and manner. Did you ever contemplate
+yourself in a mirror when at home? There is a steel one against that
+wall, go and look at yourself now.”
+
+Elfric blushed deeply.
+
+“My face is still the same,” he said.
+
+“It is the same, and yet not the same. Innocence once took her place at
+its portals, and had sealed it as her own; the expression is all
+changed; my boy, I am absolutely certain that all is not well with you.
+For your own sake, delay no longer to avoid the danger of losing your
+salvation, for the habits you form now will perhaps cling to you
+through life. Turn now to your own self; confess your sin, and be at
+peace.”
+
+“I came to confession at Shrovetide; I am not required to come now, am
+I?”
+
+“Required? No, my boy, it is your own sense of guilt, alone, which
+should draw you. The Church, since there has been no public scandal,
+leaves you to your own judgment at such a time as this. Have you never
+felt such remorse of conscience as would tell you your duty?”
+
+“Never.”
+
+He thought of Good Friday, and blushed.
+
+“Your tone and words belie each other, my boy. God grant you
+repentance; you will not accept my help now, but the time may come when
+you will seek help in vain.”
+
+Elfric bowed, without reply, and at a sign left the chamber.
+
+A few weeks later, at the beginning of November, Edred left London for
+a tour in the west, and quitted his nephews with more than his usual
+affection, although his goodbye to Elfric was more constrained, for the
+good old king, not knowing the whole truth, was beginning to fear that
+Elfric was a dangerous companion. He little thought that he was rather
+sinned against than sinning.
+
+Dunstan was to follow him in a week, and only remained behind to
+discharge necessary business.
+
+The heart of the amorous Edwy beat with delight as he saw his uncle
+depart, and he made arrangements at once to spend the night after
+Dunstan’s departure in mirth and jollity at the house of Ethelgiva and
+her fair daughter.
+
+He came back after an interview with Redwald on the subject, and found
+Elfric in their common study. There was an alcove in the room, and it
+was covered by a curtain.
+
+“O Elfric,” said the prince, “is it not delightful? The two tyrants,
+the king and the monk, will soon be gone. I wish the Evil One would fly
+off with them both, and when the cat is away will not the mice play? I
+have made all the arrangements; we shall have such a night at the lady
+Ethelgiva’s.”
+
+“How is the fair Elgiva?”
+
+It was now Edwy’s turn to blush and look confused.
+
+“I wish I had the power of teasing you, Elfric. But if you have a
+secret you keep it close. Remember old Dunstan vanishes on the
+fifteenth, and the same evening, oh, won’t it be joyful? But I am tired
+of work. Come and let us take some fresh air.”
+
+They left the room, when the curtain parted, and the astonished
+countenance of Father Benedict, who had been quietly reading in the
+deep embrasure of the window, presently appeared. He looked like a man
+at whose feet a thunderbolt had fallen, and hastily left the room.
+
+The week passed rapidly away, and at its close Dunstan took his
+departure. A train of horses awaited him, and he bade the young princes
+Edwy and Edgar farewell, with the usual charge to work diligently and
+obey Father Benedict.
+
+That same night, after the clerks had sung compline in the chapel, and
+the chamberlain had seen to the safety of the palace, Edwy came quietly
+to the room of his page, and the two left as on the first occasion.
+Redwald attended them, and just before the boat left the bank he spoke
+a word of caution.
+
+“I fear,” he said, in a low tone, “that all is not quite right. That
+old fox Dunstan is up to some trick; he has not really left town.”
+
+“Perhaps he has a similar appointment tonight,” said Edwy,
+sarcastically. “I should keep mine though he and all his monks from
+Glastonbury barred the way.”
+
+They reached the castellated mansion of Ethelgiva in due course, and
+the programme of the former evening was repeated, save that, if there
+was any change, the conversation was more licentious, and the wine cup
+passed more freely.
+
+It was midnight, and one of the company was favouring them with a song
+of questionable propriety, when a heavy knock was heard at the door.
+The servants went to answer it, and all the company awaited the issue
+in suspense.
+
+One of the principal domestics returned with haste, and whispered some
+words into the ear of Ethelgiva—which seemed to discompose her.
+
+“What can this mean?” she said. “A guard of soldiers demand admittance
+in the king’s name?”
+
+A louder knocking attested the fact.
+
+“You must admit them, or they will batter the door down. Edwy, Elfric!
+here, hide yourselves behind that curtain, it veils a deep recess.”
+
+They had scarcely concealed themselves when Dunstan entered, attended
+by a guard of the royal hus-carles.
+
+“What means this insolence?” said Ethelgiva.
+
+“No insolence is intended, royal lady, nor could be offered to the
+widow of the Etheling, by me,” replied Dunstan, “but I seek to
+discharge a sacred trust committed to me. Where are my pupils, the
+Prince Edwy and his companion?”
+
+“In their beds, at the palace, I should suppose.”
+
+“Nay, be not so perfidious; they are here, lady, and probably within
+hearing; they must come forth, or I must order the guard to search the
+house, which I should regret.”
+
+“By whose authority?”
+
+“By that of the king, whose signet is on my hand.”
+
+“They are not here; they left half-an-hour ago.”
+
+“Pardon me, madam, if I observe that we have watched the house for an
+hour.
+
+“Had not this scene better terminate?” he added, with icy coldness.
+
+At this moment a favourite dog, which Edwy had often petted, and which
+had entered with the guard, found him out behind the curtain, and in
+its vociferous joy betrayed the whole secret.
+
+Confusion or smiles sat on every face save that of the imperturbable
+Dunstan.
+
+“Your dog, madam, is more truthful than its mistress,” he said, bluntly
+yet quietly; and then, advancing to the recess, he drew aside the
+curtain and gazed upon the discovered couple.
+
+“Will you kindly return to the palace with me?”
+
+“How dare you, insolent monk, intrude upon the pleasures of your future
+king?”
+
+“I dare by the orders of the present king, your royal uncle, who has
+committed the whole matter into my hands; and, Prince Edwy, in the
+discharge of my duty ‘dare’ is a superfluous word. Will you, as I said
+before, both follow me, if you are sufficiently masters of yourselves
+to do so?”
+
+The import of all this was seen at a glance, but there was no course
+but submission, and Edwy well knew how utterly indefensible his conduct
+was; so, with crestfallen gait, he and Elfric followed their captor to
+the river, where was another large boat by the side of their own. They
+entered it, and returned to the palace stairs much more sober than on
+previous occasions.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+“THE KING IS DEAD!—LONG LIVE THE KING!”
+
+
+The unhappy Elfric passed the night in a most unenviable frame of mind.
+He felt distinctly how utterly he was in the power of Dunstan, and that
+he could only expect to return home in disgrace; yet there was no real
+repentance in all this: he had sinned and suffered, but although he
+dreaded punishment he no longer hated sin.
+
+He scarcely slept at all, and early in the morning he rose to seek an
+interview with Edwy, when he found that he was a prisoner. One of the
+hus-carles posted at his door forbade all communication.
+
+Early in the morning the bell sounded for the early service, still he
+was not released, and later his breakfast was brought to him, after
+which he heard a heavy step approaching, and Dunstan appeared at the
+door of the sleeping chamber.
+
+He entered, and gazed at Elfric for a moment without speaking, as if he
+would read his very heart by his face; it was hardly comfortable.
+
+“Elfric,” he said at last, “do you remember the warning I gave you six
+months ago?”
+
+“No,” said Elfric, determined, in desperation, to deny everything.
+
+“I fear you are hardly telling me the truth; you must remember it,
+unhappy boy! Why were you not warned in time? Why did you refuse the
+advice which might have saved you from all this?”
+
+“Because it was my fate, I suppose.”
+
+“Men make their own fates, and as they make their beds so must they lie
+upon them; however, I have not come here to reproach you, but to bid
+you prepare to return home.”
+
+“Home?—so soon?” said Elfric.
+
+“Yes, you must leave tomorrow, when a messenger will be prepared to
+accompany you, and to explain the cause of your dismissal from court to
+your father, whom I most sincerely pity; and let me hope that you will
+find leisure to repent of your grievous sin in the solitude of your
+native home.”
+
+“Must my father be told everything?”
+
+“I fear he must: you have left us no choice; and it is the better
+thing, both for him and for you; he will understand better what steps
+are necessary for your reformation—a reformation, I trust, which will
+be accomplished in good time, whereat no one will rejoice more than I.”
+
+A pert answer rose to Elfric’s lips, but he dared not give utterance to
+it; the speaker was too great in his wrath to be defied with impunity.
+
+“Farewell,” said Dunstan, “would that I could say the word with
+brighter hopes; but should you ever repent of your sin, as I trust you
+may, it will gladden me to hear of it. I fear you may have done great
+harm to England in the person of her future king, but God forgive you
+in that case.”
+
+Elfric felt the injustice of the last accusation; he coloured, and an
+indignant denial had almost risen to his lips, but he repressed it for
+Edwy’s sake—faithful, even in his vice, to his friend.
+
+“Am I to consider myself a prisoner? you have posted a sentinel, as if
+I were a criminal.”
+
+“You must be confined to your apartment, but you may have books and
+anything else you desire. The prince is forbidden to see you again.
+Your confinement will only be for one day; tomorrow you will be free
+enough; let me beg you to use the occasion for calm reflection, and, I
+hope, penitence.”
+
+Dunstan left the room, and Elfric heard his retreating steps go heavily
+down the stairs, when a sudden and almost unaccountable feeling came
+over him—a feeling that he had thrown himself away, and that he was
+committed to evil, perhaps never to be able to retrace his course,
+never to all eternity; the retreating steps sounded as if his sentence
+were passed and the door of mercy shut. He shook off the strange
+feeling; yet, could he have seen the future which lay undiscovered
+before him, and which must intervene before he should see that face
+again, or hear those steps, he might have been unable thus to shake off
+the nameless dread.
+
+The day wore away, night drew on; he laid himself down and tried to
+sleep, when he heard voices conversing outside, and recognised Edwy’s
+tones; immediately after the prince entered.
+
+“What a shame, Elfric,” he said, “to make you a prisoner like this, and
+to send you away—for they say you are to go tomorrow —you shall not be
+forgotten if ever I become king, and I don’t think it will be long
+first. The first thing I shall do will be to send for you; you will
+come; won’t you?”
+
+“I will be yours for life or death.”
+
+“I knew it, and this is the faithful friend from whom they would
+separate me; well, we will have this last evening together in peace;
+old Dunstan has gone out, and Redwald has put a man as your guard who
+never sees anything he is not wanted to see.”
+
+“What a convenient thing!”
+
+“But you seem very dull; is anything on your mind which I do not know?
+What did Dunstan say to you?”
+
+“He is going to write home to my father all particulars. It will make
+home miserable.”
+
+“Perhaps we may find a remedy for that,” said Edwy, and left the room
+hastily.
+
+Shortly he returned in company with Redwald.
+
+“Come with us, Elfric,” said the prince “there is no one in the palace
+to interfere with us. Old Dunstan received a sudden message, and has
+gone out hastily; we will go and see what he has written.”
+
+Somewhat startled at the audacity of the proposal, Elfric followed the
+prince, and Redwald accompanied them. After passing through a few
+passages, they arrived at the cell, or rather study, usually occupied
+by Dunstan when at court, and entered it, not without a slight feeling
+of dread, or rather of reluctance.
+
+“Here it is,” said Edwy, and held up a parchment, folded, sealed, and
+directed to “Ella, Thane of Æscendune.”
+
+“I should like to know what he has written,” said the prince. “Redwald,
+you understand these things; can you open the letter without breaking
+the seal?”
+
+“There is no need of that,” replied the captain of the hus-carles, “I
+can easily seal it again; see, there is the signet, and here the wax.”
+
+So he broke the letter open and extended it to the prince, whose
+liberal education had given him the faculty of reading the monkish
+Latin, in which Dunstan wrote, at a glance, and he read aloud:
+
+“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,
+
+“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—
+
+“It grieveth me much, most beloved brother, to be under the necessity
+of sending your son Elfric home in some little disgrace; but it is,
+alas a necessity that I should do so, in virtue of the authority our
+good lord and king, Edred, hath entrusted to me. The lad was bright,
+and, I think, innocent of aught like deadly sin, when he came to this
+huge Babel, where the devil seems to lead men even as he will, and he
+hath fallen here into evil company—nay, into the very company most evil
+of all in this wicked world, that of designing and shameless women,
+albeit of noble birth. It hath been made apparent to me that there is
+great danger to both the prince and your son in any further connection,
+therefore I return Elfric to your care, sincerely hoping that, by God’s
+help, you will be enabled to take such measures as will lead to his
+speedy reformation, for which I devoutly pray. The bearer will give
+such further information as you may desire.
+
+“Wishing you health, and an abiding place in the favour of God and His
+saints—Your brother in the faith of Christ,
+
+“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”
+
+Edwy read the letter aloud with many a vindictive comment, and then
+said to Redwald—“What can be done? Must this letter go?”
+
+“Does your father know the Saint’s handwriting, Elfric?”
+
+“He never heard from him before, I believe.”
+
+“Well, then, I will venture to enclose a different message,” and he sat
+down at the table, and wrote—“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,
+
+“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—
+
+“It rejoiceth me much, most beloved brother, to send you good tidings
+of the good behaviour and growth in grace of your son, whom the king
+hath concluded to send home for the benefit of his health, since London
+hath in some degree destroyed the ruddy hue of his countenance, and he
+needeth a change, as his paleness sufficiently declareth.
+
+“The king hath bidden me express his great satisfaction with the lad’s
+conduct, and the prince mourneth his enforced departure. Wishing you
+health and an abiding place in the favour of God and His saints—Your
+brother in the faith of Christ,
+
+“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”
+
+The boys laughed aloud as they read the forgery.
+
+“But about the messenger—will he not tell the truth?”
+
+“Oh, I will see to him, he is not above a bribe, and knows it is his
+interest to serve his future king, although Dunstan thinks him so
+trusty.”
+
+All at once the booming of a heavy bell smote their ears.
+
+“It is the bell of St. Paul’s, it tolls for the death of some noble,”
+said Redwald; “what can it mean? has any member of the royal family
+been ill?”
+
+They listened to the solemn dirge-like sound as it floated through the
+air, calling upon all good Christians to pray for the repose of the
+departed or departing soul. No prayer rose to their lips, and they soon
+returned to the subject in hand.
+
+“When is the letter to be despatched?”
+
+“Early in the morning the messenger will await you; and now, I should
+recommend some sleep to prepare for a fatiguing journey.”
+
+Elfric and the prince returned to their chamber, but they did not take
+Redwald’s hint, and remained talking till just before daybreak, when
+they were aroused by the hasty step of an armed heel, and Redwald stood
+before them. His demeanour was very strange; he bent down on one knee,
+took the hand of Edwy, who resigned it passively to him, kissed it and
+cried aloud—“God save the king!”
+
+“What can you mean, Redwald?” exclaimed both the youths.
+
+“Heard you not the passing bell last night? Edred sleeps with his
+fathers; he died at Frome on St. Clement’s day.”
+
+For a moment they were both silent.
+
+“And Edwy, the great grandson of Alfred, is king of England.”
+
+At first the young prince was deeply shocked at the sudden news of the
+death of his uncle, to whom, in spite of appearances, he was somewhat
+attached. He turned pale, and was again silent for some minutes; at
+last, he gulped down a cup of water, and asked—“But how did Dunstan
+know?”
+
+“Why, it is a strange tale. Three days ago, at the very hour the king
+must have died, he says that he saw a bright light, and beheld a vision
+of angels, who said, ‘Edred hath died in the Lord,’ but he treated it
+as a dream, and last night a messenger came with the news of the sudden
+illness of the king, bidding Dunstan hasten to his side. He left
+everything, and started immediately, but in a few miles met another
+messenger, bearing the news of the death. He has gone on, but sent the
+messenger forward to the Bishop of London, who caused the great bell to
+be tolled.
+
+“We must all die some day,” said Edwy, musingly; “but it is very very
+sudden.”
+
+“And I trust he has obtained a better kingdom,” added Redwald; “he
+must, you know, if the monks tell the truth, so why should we weep for
+him?”
+
+“At least,” said Edwy, looking up, “Elfric need not go home now.”
+
+“No, certainly not, but he had better disappear from court for a time.
+The lady Ethelgiva might afford him hospitality, or he might stay at
+the royal palace at Kingston. I will tell the messenger to keep out of
+the way, and Dunstan may suppose that his orders have been obeyed to
+the letter.”
+
+“Why should we trouble what he may think or say?”
+
+“Because the Witan has not yet met, and until it has gone through the
+form, the mere form, of recognising your title, you are not actually
+king. Dunstan has some influence. Suppose he should use it for Edgar?”
+
+“Edgar, the pale-faced little priestling!”
+
+“All the better for that in Dunstan’s eyes. Nay, be advised, my king;
+keep all things quiet until the coronation is over, then let Dunstan
+know who you are and who he is.”
+
+“Indeed I will. He shall have cause to rue his insolent behaviour the
+other night.”
+
+“Bide your time, my liege; and now the great officers of state require
+your presence below.”
+
+A few days later a sorrowful procession entered the old city of
+Winchester, the capital of Wessex, and once a favourite residence of
+Edred, now to be his last earthly resting place. Much had the citizens
+loved him; and as the long train defiled into the open space around the
+old minster—old, even then—the vast assemblage, grouped beneath the
+trees around the sacred precincts, lifted up their voices and joined in
+the funeral hymn, while many wept tears of genuine sorrow. It was awe
+inspiring, that burst of tuneful wailing, as the monks entered the
+sacred pile, and it made men’s hearts thrill with the sense of the
+unseen world into which their king had entered, and where, as they
+believed, their supplications might yet follow him.
+
+There were the chief mourners—Edwy and Edgar—and they followed the
+royal corpse, the latter greatly afflicted, and shedding genuine tears
+of sorrow—and the royal household. All the nobility of Wessex, and many
+of the nobles from Mercia and other provinces, were gathered together,
+and amidst the solemn silence of the vast crowd, Dunstan performed the
+last sad and solemn rites with a broken voice; while the archbishop—Odo
+the Good, as he was frequently called—assisted in the dread solemnity.
+
+It was over; the coffin was lowered to the royal vaults to repose in
+peace, the incenses had ceased to float dreamily beneath the lofty
+roof,xi the various lights which had borne part in the ceremony were
+extinguished, the choral anthem had ceased, for Edred slept with his
+fathers.
+
+And outside, the future king was welcomed with loud cries of “God save
+King Edwy, and make him just as Alfred, pious as Edred, and warlike as
+Athelstane!”
+
+“Long live the heir of Cerdic’s ancient line!”
+
+Thus their cries anticipated the decision of the Witan, and without all
+was noise and clamour; while within the sacred fane the ashes of him
+who had so lately ruled England rested in peace by the side of his
+royal father Edward, the son of Alfred, three of whose sons—Athelstane,
+Edmund, Edred—had now reigned in succession.
+
+It must not be supposed that Edwy was as yet king by the law of the
+land. The early English writers all speak of their kings as elected; it
+was not until the Witan had recognised them, that they were crowned and
+assumed the royal prerogatives.
+
+Edwy had followed Redwald’s advice: he had kept Elfric out of the way,
+and meant to do so until his coronation day. And meanwhile he
+condescended to disguise his real feelings, and to affect sorrow for
+his past failings when in the presence of Dunstan.
+
+Yet he took advantage of the greater liberty he now enjoyed to renew
+his visits to the mansion up the Thames, and to spend whole days in the
+society of Elgiva. In their simplicity and deep love they thought all
+the obstacles to their happy union now removed. Alas! ill-fated pair!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+THE CORONATION.
+
+
+Nothing could exceed in solemnity the “hallowing of the king,” as the
+coronation ceremony was termed in Anglo-Saxon times. It was looked upon
+as an event of both civil and ecclesiastical importance, and therefore
+nothing was omitted which could lend dignity to the occasion.
+
+The Witan, or parliament, had already met and given its consent to the
+coronation of Edwy. It was not, as we have already remarked, a mere
+matter of course that the direct heir should occupy the throne. Edred
+had already ascended, while Edwy, the son of his elder brother, was an
+infant, not as regent, but as king; and in any case of unfitness on the
+part of the heir apparent, it was in the power of the Witan to pass him
+over, and to choose for the public good some other member of the royal
+house. The same Witan conferred upon Edgar the title of sub-king of
+Mercia under his brother.
+
+Solemn and imposing was the meeting of the Witenagemot, or “assembly of
+the wise.” It was divided into three estates. The first consisted of
+the only class who, as a rule, had any learning in those days—the
+clergy, represented by the bishop, abbot, and their principal
+officials: the second consisted of the vassal kings of Scotland,
+Cumbria, Wales, Mona, the Hebrides, and other dependent states, the
+great earls, as of Mercia or East Anglia, and other mighty magnates:
+the third, of the lesser thanes, who were the especial vassals of the
+king, or the great landholders, for the possession of land was an
+essential part of a title to nobility.
+
+Amongst these sat Ella of Æscendune, who, in spite of his age, had come
+to the metropolis to testify his loyalty and fealty to the son of the
+murdered Edmund, his old friend and companion in arms, and to behold
+his own eldest son once more.
+
+It was the morning of a beautiful day in early spring, one of those
+days of which the poet has written—
+
+“Sweet day, so calm, so pure, so bright,
+The bridal of the earth and sky”
+
+
+—when winter seems to have loosed its stern hold upon the frozen earth,
+and the songs of countless birds welcome the bright sunlight, the
+harbinger of approaching summer.
+
+The roads leading to Kingston-on-Thames were thronged with travellers
+of every degree—the ealdorman or earl with his numerous attendants, the
+bishop with rude ecclesiastical pomp, the peasant in his rough
+jerkin—all hastening to the approaching ceremony, which, as it had been
+definitely fixed, was to take place at that royal city.
+
+There Athelstane had been crowned with great pomp and splendour, for it
+was peculiarly “_Cynges tun_” or the King’s Town, and after the
+coronation it was customary for the newly-crowned monarch to take
+formal possession of his kingdom by standing on a great stone in the
+churchyard.
+
+The previous night, Archbishop Odo had arrived from Canterbury, and his
+bosom friend and brother, Dunstan, from Glastonbury, as also Cynesige,
+Bishop of Lichfield, a man in every way like-minded with them; while
+nearly all the other prelates, abbots, and nobles, arrived in the early
+morn of the eventful day.
+
+The solemn service of the coronation mass was about to commence, and
+the people were assembling in the great church of St. Mary, filling
+every inch of available room. Every figure was bent forward in earnest
+gaze, and every heart seemed to beat more quickly, as the faint and
+distant sound of deep solemn music, the monastic choirs chanting the
+processional psalms, drew near.
+
+Suddenly the jubilant strains filled the whole church, as the
+white-robed train entered the sacred building while they sang:
+
+“_Quoniam prævenisti eum in benedictionibus dulcedinis, posuisti in
+capiti ejus coronam de lapide pretioso_.” xii
+
+Incense ascended in clouds to the lofty roof; torches were uplifted,
+banners floated in the air, every eye was now strained to catch a
+glimpse of the youthful monarch.
+
+He came at last. Oh, how lovely the ill-fated boy looked that day! His
+beauty was of a somewhat fragile character, his complexion almost too
+fair, his hair shone around his shoulders in waves of gold, for men
+then wore their hair long, his eyes blue as the azure vault on that
+sweet spring morning: alas, that his spiritual being should not have
+been equally fair!
+
+Elfric stood by his father, amidst the crowd of thanes, near the rood
+screen, for he had spent the last few days at Kingston, and there his
+father had found him, and had embraced him with joy, little dreaming of
+the change which had come over his darling boy.
+
+“Look, father, is he not every inch a king?” Elfric could not help
+exclaiming, forgetting the place and the occasion in his pride in his
+king and his friend.
+
+He would have been one of the four boys who bore the royal train, but
+it had not seemed advisable on such a day to offend Dunstan too
+seriously.
+
+The mass proceeded after the royal party had all taken their places,
+and the coronation service was incorporated into the rite, following
+the Nicene Creed and preceding the canon.
+
+Kneeling before the altar, the young prince might well tremble with
+emotion. Before him stood the archbishop, clad in full pontifical
+vestments; around were the most noted prelates and wisest abbots of
+England; behind him the nobility, gentry, and commonalty of the whole
+country—all gazing upon him, as the archbishop dictated the solemn
+words of the oath, which Edwy repeated with trembling voice after him.
+
+“In the name of the ever-blessed Trinity, I promise three things to the
+Christian people, my subjects:
+
+“First, that the Church of God within my realm shall enjoy peace, free
+from any molestation.”
+
+“Second, that I will prevent, to the utmost of my power, theft and
+every fraud in all ranks of men.”
+
+“Thirdly, that I will preserve and maintain justice and mercy in all
+judicial proceedings, so that the good and merciful God may, according
+to His mercy, forgive us all our sins, Who liveth and reigneth for ever
+and ever. Amen.”
+
+Then followed a most solemn charge from “Odo the Good,” setting forth
+all the deep responsibilities of the oath Edwy had taken, and of the
+awful account to be rendered to God of the flock committed to his
+youthful charge, at the great and awful day of judgment.
+
+Then the holy oil was solemnly poured upon the head of the kneeling
+boy, after which he made the usual offertory of “gold, frankincense,
+and myrrh,” at the altar, emblematical of the visit of the three kings
+of old, who from Sheba bore their gold and incense to the Lord.
+
+Then was the sacred bracelet put upon his arm, the crown on his head,
+the sceptre in his hand, after which the mass proceeded.
+
+It is touching to recall the worship of those far-off days, when all
+the surrounding circumstances differed so widely from those of the
+present hour; yet the Church, in her holy conservatism, has kept intact
+and almost changeless all that is hers; that day the “Nicene Creed,”
+“Sanctus,” “Agnus Dei,” “Gloria in Excelsis,” rolled as now in strains
+of melody towards heaven, and the “Te Deum” which concluded the
+jubilant service is our Te Deum still, albeit in the vulgar tongue.
+
+The sacred rites concluded, the royal procession left the church and
+proceeded to the churchyard, when Edwy took formal possession of
+Wessex, by the ceremony of standing upon a large rock called the King’s
+Stone, whence the town derived its name.
+
+The feast was spread in the palace hard by, and all the nobles and
+thanes (if the words are not synonymous) flocked thither, while the
+multitude had their liberal feast spread at various tables throughout
+the town, at the royal expense.
+
+Elfric followed his father to the palace, and was about to take his
+place at the board, when a page appeared and summoned him to the
+presence of Edwy.
+
+“I shall keep a vacant place for you by my side,” said Ella, “so that
+we may feast together, my son, when the king releases you; it is a
+great honour that he should think of you now.”
+
+Elfric followed the messenger, who led him into the interior of the
+palace, where he found Edwy impatiently awaiting him in the royal
+dressing chamber.
+
+Elfric had expected to find the newly-crowned king deeply impressed,
+but if such had been the case, at the moment it had passed away.
+
+“Thanks to all the saints, including St. George, and especially the
+dragon, that I can look into your jolly face again, Elfric, it is a
+relief after all the grim-beards who have surrounded me today. I
+shudder when I think of them.”
+
+Elfric had been about to kneel and kiss the royal hand, in token of
+homage, but Edwy saw the intention and prohibited him.
+
+“No more of that an thou lovest me, Elfric; my poor hand is almost worn
+out already.”
+
+“The day must have tired you, the scene was so exciting.”
+
+Edwy yawned as he replied, “Thank God it is over; I thought Odo was
+going to preach to me all day, and the incense almost stifled me; the
+one good thing is that it is done now, and all England—Kent, Sussex,
+Wessex, Essex, Northumbria, East Anglia, and Mercia —have all
+acknowledged me as their liege lord, the Basileus of Britain. What is
+done can’t be undone, and Dunstan may eat his leek now, and go to fight
+Satan again.”
+
+Elfric looked up in some surprise.
+
+“What do you think, my friend; who do you suppose is here in the
+palace, in the royal apartments?”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“Elgiva, the fair Elgiva, the lovely Elgiva, dear Elgiva, and her
+mother. Oh, but I shall love to look upon her face when the feast is
+done, and the grim-beards have gone!”
+
+“But Dunstan?”
+
+“Dunstan may go and hang himself; he can’t scrape off the consecrated
+oil, or carry away crown, bracelet, and sceptre, to hide with the other
+royal treasures at Glastonbury; but the feast is beginning, and you
+must come and sit on my right hand.”
+
+“No, no,” said Elfric, who saw at once what an impropriety this would
+be, “not yet; besides, my old father is here, and has kept a seat
+beside himself for me.”
+
+“Well, goodbye for the present; I shall expect you after the feast.
+Elgiva will be glad to see you.”
+
+Elfric returned to his father, but a feeling of sadness had taken
+possession of him, an apprehension of coming evil.
+
+The feast began; the clergy and the nobility of the land were assembled
+in the great hail of the palace, and there was that profusion of good
+cheer which befitted the day, for the English were, like their German
+ancestors, in the habit of considering the feast an essential part of
+any solemnity.
+
+How much was eaten and drunk upon the occasion it would be dangerous to
+say, for it would probably exceed all modern experience, but it seemed
+to the impatient Edwy that the feast and the subsequent drinking of
+pledges and healths would never end, and he was impatient the whole
+time to get away and be in the company of the charmer.
+
+An opportunity seemed at last to offer itself to his immature judgment.
+Gleemen had sung, harpers had harped, but the excitement culminated
+when Siward, a Northumbrian noble, who was a great musician, and
+skilful in improvisation, did not disdain, like the royal Alfred, to
+take the harp and pour forth an extemporary ode of great beauty,
+whereupon the whole multitude rose to their feet and waved their wine
+cups in the air, in ardent appreciation of the patriotic sentiments he
+had uttered, and the beauty of the music and poetry.
+
+During the full din of their heated applause, when all eyes were fixed
+upon the accomplished musician, Edwy rose softly from his chair; a door
+was just behind him, and he took advantage of it to leave the hail and
+thread the passages quickly, till he came to the room where he had left
+Elgiva, when he threw aside his royal mantle and all his restraint at
+the same time.
+
+It was not for a few moments that the company in the hall discovered
+the absence of their king, but when they did there was a sudden hush,
+and men looked at each other in mute astonishment; it appeared to all,
+with scarce an exception, a gross insult to the assembled majesty of
+the nation. xiii
+
+Poor Edwy, in his thoughtlessness and want of proper feeling, little
+knew the deep anger such a proceeding would cause; in his lack of a
+reverential spirit he was constantly, as we have seen, offending
+against the respect due to the Church, the State, or himself—first as
+heir presumptive, then as king.
+
+Men stood mute, as we have said, then murmurs of indignation at the
+slight arose, and all looked at Dunstan.
+
+He beckoned to Cynesige of Lichfield, who came to his side.
+
+“We must bring this thoughtless boy back,” he said, “or great harm will
+be done.”
+
+“But how?”
+
+“By persuasion, if possible. Follow me.”
+
+The two prelates entered the interior of the palace, and sought the
+king’s private chamber.
+
+As they drew near they heard the sound of merry laughter, and each of
+them frowned as men might do who were little accustomed to condone the
+weakness of human flesh. Entering the chamber very unceremoniously,
+they paused, as if aghast, when they beheld the king in the company of
+Elgiva, his royal diadem cast upon the ground.
+
+He started in surprise, and for a moment in fear; then, remembering who
+he was, he exclaimed, angrily—“How dare you, sir monk, intrude upon the
+privacy of your king, unbidden?”
+
+“We do so as the ambassadors of the King of kings.”
+
+It is out of our power to describe the scene which followed, the fiery
+words of Edwy, the stern yet quiet rejoinders of the churchmen, the
+tears of the mother and daughter; but it is well known how the scene
+ended. Edwy absolutely refused to return to the assembled guests,
+saying he would forfeit his kingdom first; and Dunstan replied that for
+his (Edwy’s) own sake he should then be compelled to use force, and
+suiting the action to the word, he and Cynesige took each an arm of the
+youthful king, and led him back by compulsion to the assembled nobles
+and clergy.
+
+Before condemning Dunstan, we must remember that Elgiva could not stand
+in the relation of the affianced bride of the king; that Edwy really
+seemed to set the laws of both Church and State at defiance, those very
+laws which but that day he had sworn solemnly to maintain; and that but
+recently he had stood in the relation of pupil to Dunstan, so that in
+his zeal for Church and State, the abbot forgot the respect due to the
+king. He saw only the boy, and forgot the sovereign.
+
+The guests assembled in the banqueting hall had seen the desertion of
+their royal master with murmurs both loud and deep; but when they saw
+him return escorted by Dunstan and Cynesige, their unanimous approval
+showed that in their eyes the churchmen had taken a proper step.
+
+Yet, although Edwy tried to make a show of having returned of his own
+free will, an innocent device at which his captors connived when they
+entered the hall with him, the bitterest passions were rankling in his
+heart, and he determined to take a terrible revenge, should it ever be
+in his power, upon Dunstan.
+
+There was comparatively little show of merriment during the rest of the
+feast, and the noble company separated earlier than was usual on such
+occasions.
+
+“If this be the way King Edwy treats his guests,” said the Earl of
+Mercia, “he will find scant loyalty north of the Thames.”
+
+“Nor in East Anglia,” said another.
+
+“There is another of the line of Cerdic living.”
+
+“Yes, Edgar, his brother.”
+
+“Dunstan and Cynesige brought him back with some difficulty, I’ll be
+bound.”
+
+“Yes; although he tried to smile, I saw the black frown hidden
+beneath.”
+
+“He will take revenge for all this.”
+
+“Upon whom?”
+
+“Why, upon Dunstan to be sure.”
+
+“But how can he? Dunstan is too powerful for that.”
+
+“Wait and see.”
+
+Such was the general tone of the conversation, from which the
+sentiments of the community might be inferred.
+
+Elfric went, as he had been bidden to do, at the conclusion of the
+feast, to seek Edwy, and found him, it is needless to state, in a
+towering rage.
+
+“Elfric,” he said, “am I a king? or did I dream I was crowned today?”
+
+“You certainly were.”
+
+“And yet these insolent monks have dared to force me from the company
+of Elgiva to return to that sottish feast, and what is worse, I find
+they have dared to send her and her mother home under an escort, so
+that I cannot even apologise to them. As I live, if I am a king I will
+have revenge.”
+
+“I trust so, indeed,” said Elfric, “they deserve death.”
+
+“I would it were in my power to inflict it; but this accursed monk—I go
+mad when I mention his name—is all too powerful. I believe Satan helps
+him.”
+
+“Still there may be ways, if you only wait till you can look around
+you.”
+
+“There may indeed.”
+
+“Only have patience; all will be in your hands some day.”
+
+“And if it be in my power I will restore the worship of Woden and Thor,
+and burn every monk’s nest in the land.”
+
+“They were at least the gods of warriors.”
+
+“Elfric, you will stand by me, will you not?”
+
+“With my life.”
+
+“Come to the window, now; see the old sots departing. There a priest,
+there a thane, there an earl—all drunk, I do believe; don’t you think
+so?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Elfric, disregarding the testimony of both his eyes
+that they were all perfectly sober.
+
+Just then his eye caught a very disagreeable object, and he turned
+somewhat pale.
+
+“What are you looking at?” said Edwy.
+
+“There is that old fox, Dunstan, talking with my father; he will learn
+that I am here.”
+
+“What does it matter?”
+
+“Only that he will easily persuade my father to take me home.”
+
+“Then the commands of a king must outweigh those of a father. I have
+heard Dunstan say a king is the father of all his people, and I command
+you to stay.”
+
+“I want to stay with all my heart.”
+
+“Then you shall, even if I have to make a pretence of detaining you by
+force.”
+
+The anticipations of Elfric were not far wrong. Dunstan had found out
+the truth. He had sought out the old thane to condole with him upon the
+pain he supposed he must recently have inflicted by his letter.
+
+“I cannot express to you, my old friend and brother,” he said, “the
+great pain with which I sent your poor boy Elfric home, but it was a
+necessity.”
+
+“Sent him home?” said Ella.
+
+“Yes, at the time our lamented Edred died.”
+
+“Sent him home!” repeated Ella, in such undisguised amazement that
+Dunstan soon perceived something was amiss, and in a few short minutes
+became possessed of the whole facts, while Ella learnt his son’s
+disgrace.
+
+They conferred long and earnestly. The father’s heart was sorely
+wounded, but he could not think that Elfric would resist his commands,
+and he promised to take him back at once to Æscendune, where he hoped
+all would soon be well—“soon, very soon,” he said falteringly.
+
+So the old thane went to his lodgings, hard by the palace, where he
+awaited his son.
+
+Late in the evening Elfric arrived, his countenance flushed with wine:
+he had been seeking courage for the part he had to play in the wine
+cup.
+
+Long and painful, most painful, was the interview that followed.
+Hardened in his rebellion, the unhappy Elfric defied his father’s
+authority and justified his sin, flatly refusing to return home, in
+which he pretended to be justified by “the duty a subject owed to his
+sovereign.”
+
+Thus roused to energy, Ella solemnly adjured his boy to remember the
+story of his uncle Oswald, and the sad fate he had met with. It was
+very seldom indeed that Ella alluded to his unhappy brother, the story
+was too painful; but now that Elfric seemed to be commencing a similar
+course of disobedience, the example of the miserable outlaw came too
+forcibly to his mind to be altogether suppressed.
+
+“Beware, my son,” added Ella, “lest the curse which fell upon Oswald
+fall upon you, and your younger brother succeed to your inheritance.”
+
+“It is not a large one,” said Elfric, “and in that case, the king whom
+I serve will find me a better one.”
+
+“Is it not written, ‘Put not your trust in princes?’ O my son, my son;
+you will bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave!”
+
+It was of no avail. The old thane arose in the morning with the
+intention of taking Elfric home even by force, such force as Dunstan
+had used, if necessary, but found that the youth had disappeared in the
+night; neither could he learn what had become of him, but he shrewdly
+guessed that the young king could have told him.
+
+Broken-hearted by his son’s cruel desertion, the thane of Æscendune
+returned home alone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+GLASTONBURY ABBEY.
+
+
+Rich in historical associations and reputed sanctity, the abbey of
+Glastonbury was the ecclesiastical centre of western England. Here grew
+the holy thorn which Joseph of Arimathea had planted when, fatigued
+with travel, he had struck his staff into the ground, and lo! a goodly
+tree; here was the holy well of which he had drunk, and where he
+baptized his converts, so that its waters became possessed of
+miraculous power to heal diseases.
+
+Here again were memorials, dear to the vanquished Welsh; for did not
+Arthur, the great King Arthur, the hero of a thousand fights, the
+subject of gleeman’s melody and of the minstrel’s praise, lie buried
+here? if indeed he were dead, and not spirited away by magic power.
+
+A Welsh population still existed around the abbey, for it was near the
+borders of West Wales, as a large portion of Devon and Cornwall was
+then called, and Exeter had not long become an English town.xiv The
+legends of Glastonbury were nearly all of that distant day when the
+Saxons and Angles had not yet discovered Britain, and she reposed safe
+under the protection of mighty Rome; hence, it was the object of
+pilgrimage and of deep veneration to all those of Celtic blood, while
+the English were unwilling to be behind in their veneration.
+
+Here, in the first year of the great English king Athelstane, Dunstan
+was born, the son of Herstan and Kynedred, both persons of rank—a man
+destined to influence the Anglo-Saxon race first in person and then in
+spirit for generations—the greatest man of his time, whether, as his
+contemporaries thought, mighty for good, or, as men of narrower minds
+have thought, mighty for evil.
+
+In his early youth, Glastonbury lay, as it lies now, in ruin and decay;
+the Danes had ravaged it, and its holy walls were no longer eloquent
+with prayer and praise. Yet the old inhabitants still talked with
+regret of the departed glories of the fane; the pilgrim and the
+stranger still visited the consecrated well, hoping to gain strength
+from its healing wave, for the soil had been hallowed by the blood of
+martyrs and the holy lives of saints; here kings and nobles, laying
+aside their greatness, had retired to prepare for the long and endless
+home, and in the calm seclusion of the cloister had found peace.
+
+Here the mind of the young Dunstan was moulded for his future work;
+here, weak in body, but precocious in intellect, he drew in, as if with
+his vital breath, legend and tradition; here, from a body of Scottish
+missionaries, or, as we should now call them, Irish,xv he learned with
+rapidity all that a boy could acquire of civil or ecclesiastical lore,
+and both in Latin and in theology his progress amazed his tutors.
+
+Up to this time the world had held possession of his heart, and,
+balancing the advantages of a religious and a secular life, he chose,
+as most young people would choose, the attractions of court, to which
+his parents’ rank entitled him, and leaving Glastonbury he repaired to
+the court of Edmund.
+
+There his extraordinary talents excited envy, and he was accused of
+magical arts: his harp had been heard to pour forth strains of
+ravishing beauty when no human hand was near, and other like prodigies,
+savouring of the black art, were said to attend him, so that he fled
+the court, and took refuge with his uncle, Elphege, the Bishop of
+Winchester.
+
+A long illness followed, during which the youth, disgusted with the
+world, and startled by his narrow escape from death, reversed the
+choice he had previously made, and renounced the world and its
+pleasures.
+
+Ordained priest at Winchester, he was sent back with a monk’s attire to
+Glastonbury, where he gave himself up to austerities, such as, in a
+greater or less degree, always accompanied a conversion in those days;
+here miracles were reported to attend him, and stories of his personal
+conflicts with the Evil One were handed from mouth to mouth, until his
+fame had filled the country round.xvi
+
+The influence he rapidly acquired enabled him to commence the great
+work of rebuilding Glastonbury, in which he was only interrupted by the
+frequent calls which he had to court, to become the adviser of King
+Edmund; where indeed he was often in the discharge of the office of
+prime minister of the kingdom, and showed as much aptitude in civil as
+in ecclesiastical affairs.
+
+Glastonbury being rebuilt, the Benedictine rule xvii was introduced,
+and Dunstan himself became abbot. It was far the noblest and best
+monastic code of the day, being peculiarly adapted to prevent the
+cloister from becoming the abode of either idleness or profligacy.
+
+But this was not done without much opposition; the secular priests—as
+the married clergy and those who lived amongst their flocks (as English
+clergy do now) were called—opposed the introduction of the Benedictine
+rule with all their might, and were always thorns in Dunstan’s side.
+
+The unfortunate Edmund, after the sad event at Pucklechurch, on the
+feast of St. Augustine, was buried at Glastonbury by the abbot, and his
+two sons, Edwy and Edgar, were put under Dunstan’s especial care by the
+new king Edred. The rest of the story is tolerably well known to our
+readers.
+
+The first steps of Edwy’s reign were all taken with a view to one great
+end—to revenge himself and to destroy Dunstan, who, aware of the royal
+enmity, and of his inability to restrain the sovereign, withdrew
+himself quietly to Glastonbury, and confined himself to the discharge
+of his duties as its abbot.
+
+But this did not satisfy Edwy, who, panting for the ruin of the monk he
+hated, sought occasion for a quarrel, and soon found it. Dunstan had
+been the royal almoner, and had had the disposal of large sums of
+money, for purposes connected with the Church, on which they had been
+strictly expended. Now Edwy required a strict account of all these
+disbursements, which Dunstan refused to give, saying it had already
+been given to Edred, and that no person had any right to investigate
+the charities of the departed king.
+
+His stout resistance gained the day in the first instance, but Edwy
+never felt at rest while Dunstan lived at peace in the land, and
+Ethelgiva and her fair daughter were ever inciting him to fresh acts of
+hostility, little as he needed such incitement.
+
+The first measures were of a very dishonourable kind. Evil reports were
+spread abroad to destroy the character of the great abbot, and prepare
+people’s minds for his disgrace: then disaffection was stirred up
+amongst the secular clergy surrounding Glastonbury—a very easy thing;
+and attempts were made in vain to create a faction against him in his
+own abbey; then at last the neighbouring thanes, many of Danish
+extraction and scarcely Christian, were stirred up to invade the
+territory of the abbey, and were promised immunity and secure
+possession of their plunder. They liked the pleasant excitement of
+galloping over Dunstan’s ecclesiastical patrimony, of plundering the
+farms and driving away the cattle, and there was scarcely a night in
+which some fresh outrage was not committed. At this point the action of
+our tale recommences.
+
+It will be remembered that the father of Ella had found relief from his
+grief, after the death of his unhappy son Oswald, in building and
+endowing the monastery of St. Wilfred, situate on the river’s bank, at
+a short distance from the hall.
+
+The completion of the work had, however, been reserved for his son,
+and, everything being now done, it became the earnest desire of Ella,
+with the consent of the brethren who had been gathered into the
+incomplete building, to place it under the Benedictine rule.
+
+For this end he determined to send a messenger to negotiate with
+Dunstan at Glastonbury, and, yielding to Alfred’s most earnest request,
+he consented to send him, in company with Father Cuthbert, who was to
+be the future prior, upon the mission.
+
+Since the desertion of Elfric, his brother Alfred had been as a
+ministering angel to his father, so tender had been his affection, yet
+so manly and pure. He was by nature gifted with great talents, and his
+progress in ecclesiastical lore, almost the only lore of the day, would
+have well fitted him for the Church; but if this idea had ever been in
+the mind of the thane, he put it aside after the departure of Elfric.
+
+But it must not be supposed that the only literature of the period was
+in Latin. Alfred, the great King Alfred, skillful in learning as in
+war, had translated into English (as we have mentioned earlier in our
+tale) the _History of the World_, by Orosius, and other works, which
+formed a part of the royal library in the palace of Edred. All these
+works were known to his young namesake, Alfred, far better than they
+had been either to Edwy or Elfric, in their idleness, and he was well
+informed beyond the average scope of his time. But his imagination had
+long been fired by the accounts he had received of Glastonbury and its
+sanctuary, so that he eagerly besought his father to allow him to go
+thither.
+
+But the poor old thane felt much like Jacob when he was begged to send
+Benjamin into Egypt. Elfric was not, so far as home ties were
+concerned, they had never heard of him since the coronation day, and
+now they would take Alfred from him.
+
+It may seem strange to our readers that Ella should regard a journey
+from the Midlands to Glastonbury in so serious a light; but Wessex and
+Mercia had long been independent states, communication infrequent, and
+it would certainly be many weeks before Alfred could return; while
+inexperience magnified the actual dangers of the way.
+
+Coaches and carriages were not in use, neither would the state of the
+roads have rendered such use practicable. All travellers were forced to
+journey on horseback, and, like Elfric when he departed from home, to
+carry all their baggage in a similar manner.
+
+The navigation of the Avon, which would have opened the readiest road
+to the southwest, was impeded by sandbanks and rapids; there were as
+yet no locks, no canals.
+
+Once the Romans had made matchless roads, as in other parts of their
+empire, but not a stone had been laid thereon since the days of Hengist
+and Horsa, and many a stone had been taken away for building purposes,
+or to pave the courtyards of Saxon homes.xviii
+
+Still the ancient Foss Way, which once extended from Lincolnshire to
+Devonshire, formed the best route, and it was decided to travel by it,
+making a brief detour, so as to enable the party to pass the first
+night at the residence of an old friend of the family who dwelt on the
+high borderland which separates the counties of Oxford and Warwick, in
+old times the frontier between the two Celtic tribes, the Dobuni and
+the Carnabii.
+
+So Father Cuthbert and Alfred, with three attendant serfs, left
+Æscendune early on a fine summer morning, and followed a byroad through
+the forest, until, after a few difficulties, arising from entanglement
+in copse or swamp, they reached the Foss Way. Wide and spacious, this
+grand old road ran through the dense forest in an almost unbroken line;
+huge trees overshadowed it on either side, and the growth of underwood
+was so dense that no one could penetrate it without difficulty.
+Sometimes the scene changed, and a dense swamp, amidst which the timber
+of former generations rotted away, succeeded, but the grand old road
+still offered, even in its decay, a firm and sure footing. Built with
+consummate skill, the lower strata of which it was composed remained so
+firm and unyielding, that, could the Romans but have returned for a few
+years, they might have restored it to its ancient perfection, when the
+traveller might post rapidly upon it from Lincoln even to Totness in
+Devonshire.
+
+Little, however, did our travellers think of the grand men of old who
+had built this mighty causeway six or seven centuries earlier. Their
+chief feeling, when they reached it, was one of relief; the change was
+so acceptable from the tangled and miry bypath through the forest.
+
+“Holy St. Wilfred,” exclaimed Father Cuthbert, “but my steed hath
+wallowed like a hog. I have sunk in the deep mire where was no
+footing.”
+
+“A little grooming will soon make him clean again, father.”
+
+“But verily we have passed through a slough and a wilderness, and my
+inner man needeth refreshment; let us even partake of the savoury pies
+wherewith the provident care of thy father hath provided us.”
+
+The suggestion was by no means a bad one, and the party sat down on a
+green and sloping bank, overshadowed by a mighty oak which grew by the
+wayside. It was noontide, and the shelter from the heat was not at all
+unpleasant. Their wallets were overhauled, and choice provision found
+against famine by the road. There were few, very few inns where
+travellers could obtain decent accommodation, and every preparation had
+been made for a camp out when necessary.
+
+So they ate their midday meal with thankfulness of heart, and reclined
+awhile ere courting more fatigue. The day was lovely, and the silence
+of the woods almost oppressive; nought save the hum of insects broke
+its tranquillity.
+
+Fatigued by the exertions of the morning, the whole party fell asleep;
+the gentle breeze, the quiet rustling of the leaves, all combined to
+lull the senses. While they thus slept, the day wore on, and the sun
+was declining when they awoke and wondered that they had wasted their
+time for so long a period.
+
+Starting again with renewed energy, they travelled onward through the
+mighty forest till sunset, when they approached the high ground which
+now runs along the northern boundary of Oxfordshire and of which
+Edgehill forms a portion. Though progress had been slow, for the road,
+although secure, was yet in so neglected a state as to form an obstacle
+to rapid travelling, and they had met no fellow travellers. Leaving the
+Foss Way, which followed the valley, and slowly ascending the hill by a
+well-marked track, they looked back from its summit upon a glorious
+view. Far as the eye could reach stretched the forest to the northward,
+one huge unbroken expanse save where the thin wreaths of smoke showed
+some village or homestead, where English farmers already wrestled with
+the obstacles nature had formed. But westward the view was more
+home-like; the setting sun was sinking behind the huge heights now
+known as the Malvern Hills, which reared their forms proudly in the
+distant horizon.
+
+The western sky was rich in the hues of the departing sun, which cast
+its declining beams upon village and homestead, thinly scattered in the
+fertile vale through which the Foss Way pursued its course.
+
+But our travellers did not stay long to contemplate the beauty of the
+scene; they were yet ten miles from the hospitable roof where they had
+purposed spending the night, and they had overslept themselves so long
+at their noontide halt, that they found darkness growing apace, while
+their weary animals could scarcely advance farther.
+
+“Is there no inn, no Christian dwelling near, where we may repose?
+Verily my limbs bend beneath me with fatigue,” said Father Cuthbert.
+
+“There is no dwelling of Christian men nearer than the halls of the
+Thane of Rollrich, and we shall scarcely reach them for a couple of
+hours,” said Oswy, the serf.
+
+“Thou art a Job’s comforter. What sayest thou, Anlac?”
+
+“There are the remains of an old temple of heathen times not far from
+here, a little on the right hand of the road, but they say the place is
+haunted.”
+
+“Has it a roof to shelter us?”
+
+“Part of the ruins are well covered.”
+
+“Then thither we will go. Peradventure it will prove a safe abiding
+place against wolves or evil men, and if there be demons we must even
+exorcise them.”
+
+When they had emerged from the forest, they had, as we have seen,
+ascended the high tableland which formed the northern frontier of the
+territory of the Dobuni—passing over the very ground where, seven
+hundred years later, the troops of the King and the Parliament were
+arrayed against each other in deadly combat for the first time.
+
+But at this remote period the country where the Celts had once lived,
+and whence their civilised descendants had been driven by the English,
+had become a barren moorland. Scarce a tree grew on the heights, but a
+wild common, with valley and hill alternating, much as on Dartmoor at
+the present day, stretched before the travellers, and was traversed by
+the old Roman trackway. Dreary indeed it looked in the darkening
+twilight; here and there some huge crag overtopped the road, and then
+the track lay along a flat surface. It was after passing some huge
+misshapen stones, which spoke of early Celtic worship, that suddenly,
+in the distance on the right, the ruined temple lay before them.
+
+Pillars of beautiful workmanship, evidently reared by Roman skill,
+surrounded a paved quadrangle raised upon a terrace approached on all
+sides by steps. These steps and the pavement were alike of stone, but
+where weeds could grow they had grown, and the footing was damp and
+slippery with rank vegetation and fungus growth.
+
+At the extremity of the quadrangle the roof still partly covered the
+adytum or shrine from the sky, the platform reared itself upon its
+flight of massive steps where early British Christianity had demolished
+the idol, and beneath were chambers once appropriated to the use of the
+priests, which, by the aid of fire, could shortly be made habitable.
+
+There was plenty of brushwood and underwood near, and our travellers
+speedily made a large fire, which expelled the damp from the place,
+albeit, as the smoke could only escape by an aperture in the roof,
+which, it is needless to say, was not embraced in the original design
+of the architect, it was not till the blaze had subsided and the
+glowing embers alone warmed the chamber, that mortal lungs could bear
+the stifling atmosphere, so charged had it been with smoke.
+
+Still it was very acceptable shelter to the travellers, who must
+otherwise have camped out on the exposed moorland, and they made a
+hearty and comfortable meal, which being concluded, Father Cuthbert
+made a very brief address.
+
+“My brethren,” he said, “we have travelled, like Abraham from Ur of the
+Chaldees, not ‘_sine numine_,’ that is not without God’s protection;
+and as we are about to sleep in a place where devils once deluded
+Christian people, it will not be amiss to say the night song, and
+commend ourselves ‘_in manus Altissimi_,’ that is to say, to God’s
+care.”
+
+The compline service was familiar to each one present, and Father
+Cuthbert intoned it in a stentorian voice, particularly those portions
+of the 91st Psalm which seemed to defy the Evil One, and he recited
+just as if he were sure Satan was listening:
+
+“Thou shalt go upon the lion and the adder; the young lion and the
+dragon shalt thou tread under thy feet.”
+
+All the company seemed to feel comfort in the words, and, first posting
+a sentinel, to be relieved every three hours, they commended themselves
+to sleep.
+
+Alfred found his couch very pleasant at first, but before he had been
+long asleep his rest became disturbed by singular dreams. He thought he
+was standing within a grassy glade in a deep forest; it was darkening
+twilight, and he felt anxious to find his way from the spot, when his
+guardian angel appeared to him, and pointed out a narrow track between
+two huge rocks. He followed until he heard many voices, and saw a
+strange light reflected on the tree tops, as if from beneath, when
+amidst the din of voices he recognised Elfric’s tones.
+
+“Wouldst thou save thy brother, then proceed,” his guardian angel
+seemed to whisper.
+
+He strove, in his dream, to proceed, when he awoke so vividly impressed
+that he felt convinced coming events were casting their shadows before.
+He could not drive the thought of Elfric from his mind; he slept, but
+again in wild dreams his brother seemed to appear; once he seemed to
+oppose Elfric’s passage over a plank which crossed a roaring torrent;
+then he seemed as if he were falling, falling, amidst rushing waters,
+when he awoke.
+
+“I can sleep no longer. I will look out at the night,” he said.
+
+A faint moon had arisen, and lent an uncertain light to the outlines of
+hill, crag, and moorland, while it gilded the cornice above, where the
+wind seemed to linger and moan over departed greatness. The Druidical
+worship of olden days, the deluded worshippers now turned into dust,
+and the cruel rites of their bloodstained worship, older even than
+those of the ruined temple, rose before his imagination, until fancy
+seemed to people the silent wastes before him with those who had once
+crowded round that circle of misshapen stones which stood out vividly
+on the verge of the plain.
+
+He felt that nameless fear which such thoughts excite so strongly, that
+he sought the company of the sentinel whom they had posted to guard
+their slumbers, and found not one but two at the post.
+
+“Oswy and Anlac! both watching?”
+
+“It was too lonesome for one,” said Oswy.
+
+“Have you seen or heard aught amiss?”
+
+“Yes. About an hour ago, there were cries such as men make when they
+die in torture, smothered by other sounds like the beating of drums,
+blowing of horns, and I know not what.”
+
+“You were surely dreaming?”
+
+“No; it came from yonder circle of stones, and a light like that of a
+great fire seemed to shine around.”
+
+Alfred made no reply; but he remembered that they had talked of the
+Druidical rites the night before, and thought that the idea had taken
+such hold upon the minds of his followers as to suggest the sounds to
+their fancy. Still he watched with them till the first red streak of
+day appeared in the east.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+ELFRIC AND ALFRED.
+
+
+Early in the morning our travellers arose and took their way through an
+open country which abounded with British and Roman remains; no fewer
+than three entrenched camps, once fortifying the frontier of the
+Dobuni, lying within sight or hard by the road, which, skirting the
+summit of the watershed between the Thames and the Avon, afforded
+magnificent views.
+
+About an hour after starting they came upon a singular monument of
+Druidical times, consisting of sixty huge stones arranged in a circular
+form, with an entrance at the northeast, while a single rock or large
+stone, the largest of all, stood apart from the circle, as if looking
+down into the valley beneath.xix
+
+“What can be the origin of this circle?” said Alfred.
+
+“It belongs to the old days of heathenesse; before the Welsh were
+conquered by the Romans, perhaps before our Blessed Lord came into the
+world, these stones were placed as you now see them,” replied Father
+Cuthbert.
+
+“What purpose could they serve?”
+
+“For their devil worship, I suppose; you see those five stones which
+stand at some little distance?”
+
+“They are the Five Whispering Knights,” said Oswy.
+
+“They are the remains of a cromlech or altar whereon they offered their
+sons and daughters unto devils, and shed innocent blood, wherefore the
+Lord brought the Romans upon them.”
+
+“But the Romans were idolatrous, too.”
+
+“Yet their religion was milder than the one it superseded. Jupiter
+required no human sacrifices; and even otherwise, God has said that the
+wicked man is often His sword to avenge Him of His adversaries.”
+
+“Oswy looks as if he had a tale to tell.”
+
+“Speak out, Oswy, and let us all hear,” said the good father.
+
+“Well, then,” said Oswy, “these were not once stones at all, but living
+men—a king, five knights, and sixty soldiers—who came to take Long
+Compton, the town down there, in the valley; but it so happened that a
+great enchanter dwelt there, and being out that morning he saw them
+coming, muttered his spells, and while the king —that stone yonder—was
+in front looking down on his prey, the five knights all whispering
+together, and the sixty soldiers behind in a circle, they were all
+suddenly changed into stone.”
+
+They all laughed heartily at this, and leaving the Rholdrwyg Stones,
+turned aside to the hospitable hall where they ought to have spent the
+previous night. So delighted was the Thane of Rholdrwyg or Rollrich to
+receive his guests that he detained them almost by force all that day,
+and it was only on the morrow that he permitted them to continue their
+journey.
+
+They joined the Foss Way again after a few miles at Stow on the Wold;
+the road was so good that they succeeded in reaching Cirencester, the
+ancient Corinium, that night, a distance of nearly thirty miles. Here
+they found a considerable population, for the town had been one of
+great importance, and was still one of the chief cities of southern
+Mercia, full of the remains of her departed Roman greatness, with
+shattered column and shapely arch yet diversifying the thatched hovels
+of the Mercians.
+
+Two more days brought them to Bath, but the old Roman city had been
+utterly destroyed, and long subsequently the English town had been
+founded upon its site, so that there seemed no identity between Bath
+and Aqua Solis, such as prevailed between Cirencester and Corinium.
+
+One day’s journey from Bath brought them at eventide within an easy day
+of Glastonbury, so that they paused in their journey for the last time
+at a well-known hostelry, chiefly occupied by pilgrims bound for
+Glastonbury, for the morrow was a high festival, or rather the
+commencement of one, and Dunstan was expected to conduct the ceremonies
+in person.
+
+So crowded was the hostelry that Alfred and his revered tutor could
+only obtain a small chamber for their private accommodation, while
+their servants were forced to content themselves with such share of the
+straw of the outbuildings as they could obtain, in company with many
+others.
+
+It was still early when they stopped at the inn, for one of their
+horses, which they had purchased by the way, had broken down so
+completely that they could not well proceed, and they were about to
+enter a dark and dangerous forest, full of ravenous bears and wolves,
+which had already cast its shade upon their path.
+
+But this was not an uncommon feature in English travelling of that
+century, when there were no horses to be hired at the inns, and
+travellers could only purchase the animals they needed (if there were
+any to be sold); the forest, too, was reported to be the haunt of
+freebooters, and men dared to affirm that they were encouraged by the
+king to prey upon the fraternity at Glastonbury.
+
+Still the dangers of the forest did not deter Alfred, who dearly loved
+woodland scenery and sport, from strolling therein when their hasty
+meal had been despatched, weary of the continuous objurgations and
+smalltalk of the crowded inn.
+
+He had wandered some distance, lost in thought, when all at once he
+started in some surprise, for the spot on which he was seemed familiar
+to him, although he had never been in Wessex before.
+
+Yes, he certainly knew the glade, with the fine beech trees surrounding
+it: where could he have seen it before? All at once he remembered his
+dream in the ruined temple, and started to discover the secret
+foreknowledge he had thus possessed.
+
+He wandered up and down the glade till it became dusk, and then shook
+off the thoughts to which he had been a prey, and started to return to
+the inn, when, to his dismay, he found he had forgotten in which
+direction it lay.
+
+While seeking to find the path by which he had entered the glade, he
+suddenly noticed a beaten track between two huge rocks, which seemed to
+point in the direction he had come, and yet which he recognised as the
+path he had been bidden to follow in his dream. He hesitated not, but
+committed himself to it, while darkness seemed to increase each moment.
+
+He was beginning to fear the dangers of a night in the woods, when he
+was startled by a sound as of many low voices, and at the same moment
+became conscious that a light was tinging with red the upper branches
+of the trees at no little distance, as if proceeding from some fire,
+hidden by the formation of the ground.
+
+At first he thought that he was in the neighbourhood of outlaws, and
+tried to retire, but, as in his dream, he felt so strong an impulse to
+discover the party whom the woods concealed that he persevered.
+
+Suddenly he stopped short, for he had come to the edge of a kind of
+natural amphitheatre, a deep hollow in the earth, the sides of which
+were covered with bushes and trees, while the area at the bottom might
+perhaps have covered a hundred square yards, and was clothed with
+verdant turf. Not one, but several fires were burning, and around them
+were reclining small groups of armed men, while some were walking about
+chatting with each other.
+
+Alfred gazed in much surprise, for the party did not at all realise his
+conception of a body of freebooters or robbers; they all seemed to wear
+the same uniform, and to resemble each other in their accoutrements and
+characteristics; they rather resembled, in short, a detachment of
+regular forces than a body of men whom chance might have thrown
+together, or the fortune of predatory war.
+
+While he gazed upon them, two of their number, whose attire was rich
+and costly, and who seemed to be of higher rank than the rest, perhaps
+their officers, attracted his attention as they walked near the spot
+where, clinging to a tree, he overlooked the encampment from above.
+
+One of them was a tall, dark warrior, whose whole demeanour was that of
+the professional soldier, whose dress was plain yet rich, and who might
+easily be guessed to be the commander of the party. He was talking
+earnestly, but in a subdued tone, to his younger companion, whom he
+seemed to be labouring to convince of the propriety of some course of
+action.
+
+Alfred watched them eagerly; the form of the younger—for so he appeared
+by his slender frame—seemed familiar to him, and when at last they
+turned their faces and walked towards him, the light of a neighbouring
+fire showed him the face of his brother Elfric.
+
+“My dream!” he mentally exclaimed.
+
+They were evidently talking about some very important subject, and it
+was also evident that the objections of the younger, whatever they
+might be, were becoming rapidly overruled, when, as chance, if it were
+chance, would have it, they paused in their circuit of the little camp
+just beneath the tree where Alfred was posted.
+
+“You see,” said the elder, “that our course is clear, so definitely
+clear that we have but to do our duty to the king, while we avenge a
+thousand little insults we have ourselves received from this insolent
+monk—such insults as warriors wash out with blood.”
+
+“Yet he is a churchman, and it would be called utter sacrilege.”
+
+“Sacrilege! is a churchman’s blood redder than that of layman, and is
+he not doomed as a traitor by a judgment as righteous as ever English
+law pronounced! did he not keep Edwy from his throne during the
+lifetime of the usurper Edred!”
+
+“That was the sentence of the Witan, and you served Edred.”
+
+“I did not owe the allegiance of an Englishman to either, being of
+foreign birth, and so was no traitor; as for the Witan, it is well
+known Dunstan influenced their decision at the death of the royal
+Edmund.”
+
+“I never heard the assertion before.”
+
+“You have many things still to learn; you are but young as yet. But let
+it pass. Does not his conduct to Queen Elgiva merit death!”
+
+“I think it does. But still not without sentence of law.”
+
+“That sentence has been in fact pronounced, for in such cases as these,
+where the subject is too powerful for the direct action of the law to
+reach him, the decision of the king and council must pass for law, and
+they have decided that Dunstan must die, and have left the execution of
+the sentence—to us.”
+
+He did not add that the council in question consisted of the giddy
+young nobles who had surrounded Edwy from the first, aided by a few
+hoary sinners whose lives of plunder and rapine had given them a
+personal hatred of the Church.
+
+Elfric heaved a sigh, and said:
+
+“If so, I suppose I must obey; but I wish I had not been sent on the
+expedition.”
+
+“It is to test your loyalty.”
+
+“Then it shall be proved. I have no personal motives of gratitude
+towards Dunstan.”
+
+“Rather the contrary.”
+
+“Rather the contrary, as you say. But what sound was that? Surely
+something stirred the bush!”
+
+“A rabbit or a hare. You are becoming fanciful and timid. Well, you
+will remember that tomorrow there must be no timidity, no yielding to
+what some would call conscience, but wise men the scruples of
+superstition. We shall not reach the monastery till dark, most of the
+visitors will then have quitted it, and we shall take the old fox in a
+trap.”
+
+“You will not slay him in cold blood!”
+
+“No. I shall bid him follow me to the king, and if he and his resist,
+as probably they will, then their blood be on their own heads. But
+surely—”
+
+At that moment a large stone, which Alfred had most inopportunely
+dislodged, rolled down the bank, and made Elfric, who was in its path,
+leap aside. Alfred, whose foot had rested upon it, slipped, and for a
+moment seemed in danger of following the stone, but he had happily time
+to grasp the tree securely, and by its aid he drew himself back and
+darted into the wood.
+
+Luckily there was moonlight enough to guide him by the track he had
+hitherto followed, and he ran forward, dreading nothing so much as to
+fall into the hands of the friends of his brother, and trusting that he
+might prevent the execution of the foul deed he had heard meditated. He
+ran for a long distance before he paused, when he became aware that
+pursuers were on his track. Luckily his life had been spent so much in
+the open air that he was capable of great exertion, and could run well.
+So he resumed his course, although he knew not where it would lead him,
+and soon had the pleasure of feeling that he was distancing his
+pursuers. Yet every time he ran over a piece of smooth turf he fancied
+he could hear them in his rear, and it was with the greatest feeling of
+relief that he suddenly emerged from the wood upon the Foss Way, and
+saw the lights of the hostelry at no great distance below him.
+
+His pursuers did not follow him farther, probably unwilling to betray
+their presence to the neighbourhood, and perhaps utterly unconscious
+that the intruder upon their peace was possessed of any dangerous
+secrets, or other than some rustic woodman belated on his homeward way,
+who would be unable in any degree to interfere with them or to guess
+their designs.
+
+But it was not till the ardour of his flight had abated, that Alfred
+could fully realise that his unhappy brother was committed to a deed of
+scandalous atrocity, and the discovery was hard for him to bear. The
+strong impression which his dream had made upon him—an impression that
+he was to be the means of saving his brother from some great sin—came
+upon him now with greater force than ever, and was of great comfort.
+The identity of the scenery he had seen in dreamland with the actual
+scenery he had gone through, made him feel that he was under the
+special guidance of Providence.
+
+Returning to the inn he sought Father Cuthbert, and found him somewhat
+uneasy at his long absence, and to him he communicated all that he had
+seen and heard.
+
+The good father was a man of sound sense but of much affection, and at
+first he could not credit that the boy he had loved so well, Elfric of
+Æscendune, should have grown to be the associate of murderers, for such
+only could either he or Alfred style the agents of Edwy’s wrath.
+
+But, once fully convinced, he was equal to the emergency.
+
+“We will not start at once, we should but break down on the road, and
+defeat our own object. We must rest quietly, and sleep soundly if
+possible, and start with the earliest dawn. We shall reach Glastonbury
+by midday, and be able to warn the holy abbot of his danger in good
+time.”
+
+So Alfred was forced to curb his impatience and to try to sleep
+soundly. Father Cuthbert soon gave good assurance that he was asleep;
+but the noisy manner in which the assurance was given banished sleep
+from the eyelids of his anxious pupil. At length he yielded to
+weariness both of mind and body, and the overwrought brain was still.
+
+He was but little refreshed when he heard Father Cuthbert’s morning
+salutation, “_Benedicamus Domino_,” and could hardly stammer out the
+customary reply, “_Deo gratias_.”
+
+Every one rose early in those days, and the timely departure of the
+party from Æscendune excited no special comment. Hundreds of pilgrims
+were on the road, and Alfred expressed his conviction that there would
+be force enough at Glastonbury to protect Dunstan, to which Father
+Cuthbert replied—“If he would accept such protection.”
+
+On former days their journey had been frequently impeded by broken
+bridges and dangerous fords; but as they drew near Glastonbury the
+presence of a mighty civilising power became manifest. The fields were
+well tilled, for the possessions for miles around the abbey were let to
+tenant farmers by the monks, who had first reclaimed them from the
+wilderness. The farm houses and the abodes of the poor were better
+constructed, and the streams were all bridged over, while the old Roman
+road was kept in tolerable repair.
+
+A short distance before they reached the city, the pilgrims, who were a
+space in advance of the party, came in sight of the towers of the
+monastery, whereupon they all paused for one moment, and raised the
+solemn strain then but recently composed—
+
+I.
+Founded on the Rock of Ages,
+Salem, city of the blest,
+Built of living stones most precious,
+Vision of eternal rest,
+Angel hands, in love attending,
+Thee in bridal robes invest.
+II.
+Down from God all new descending
+Thee our joyful eyes behold,
+Like a bride adorned for spousals,
+Decked with radiant wealth untold;
+All thy streets and walls are fashioned,
+All are bright with purest gold!
+III.
+Gates of pearl, for ever open,
+Welcome there the loved, the lost;
+Ransomed by their Saviour’s merits;
+This the price their freedom cost:
+City of eternal refuge,
+Haven of the tempest-tost.
+IV.
+Fierce the blow, and firm the pressure,
+Which hath polished thus each stone:
+Well the Mastermind hath fitted
+To his chosen place each one.
+When the Architect takes reck’ning,
+He will count the work His Own.
+V.
+Glory be to God, the Father;
+Glory to th’ Eternal Son;
+Glory to the Blessed Spirit:
+One in Three, and Three in One.
+Glory, honour, might, dominion,
+While eternal ages run.
+Amen. xx
+
+
+The grand strains seemed to bring assurance of Divine aid to Alfred,
+and he could but imitate Father Cuthbert, who lifted up his stentorian
+voice and thundered out in chorus, as they drew near the pilgrims.
+
+Here they left the Foss Way for the side road leading to the monastery,
+now only a short distance from them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+THE FLIGHT OF DUNSTAN.
+
+
+It was the day of St. Alban, the protomartyr of England, and the saint
+was greatly honoured at Glastonbury, where, as we have seen, Dunstan
+was in residence, and, as a natural consequence, every department of
+the monastic life was quickened by his presence. The abbey was full of
+monks who had professed the Benedictine rule, and having but recently
+been rebuilt, it possessed many improvements hardly yet introduced into
+English architecture in general. The greater part of the building was
+of stone, and it was not, in its general features, unlike some of the
+older colleges at Oxford or Cambridge, although the order of the
+architecture was, of course, exclusively that of the Saxon period,
+characterised by the heavy and massive, yet imposing, circular arch.
+
+But upon the church or abbey chapel all the skill of the architect had
+been concentrated, and it seemed worthy alike of its founder and of its
+object. Seen upon the morning in question, when the bright summer sun
+filled every corner with gladsome light, just as the long procession of
+white-robed priests, and monks in their sombre garb, with their hoods
+thrown back, were entering for high mass, and the choral psalm arose,
+it was peculiarly imposing.
+
+The procession had not long entered the church, when the party of
+pilgrims we have described, closely followed by our friends from
+Æscendune, entered the quadrangle, and crossed it to the great porch of
+the church. It was with the greatest difficulty they could enter, for
+the whole floor of the huge building was crowded with kneeling
+worshippers. The portion of Scripture appointed for the epistle was
+being chanted, and the words struck Alfred’s ears as he entered—“He
+pleased God, and was beloved of Him, so that, living among sinners, he
+was translated.”
+
+The words seemed to come upon him with special application to the
+danger the great abbot was in, and the thought that the martyr’s day
+might be stained by a deed of blood, or, as some might say, hallowed by
+another martyrdom, added to his agitation.
+
+And now he had gained a position where the high altar was in full view,
+illuminated by its countless tapers, and fragrant with aromatic odours.
+There, in the centre of the altar, his face turned to the people as the
+sequence was ended, and the chanting of the gospel from the rood loft
+began, stood the celebrant, and Alfred gazed for the first time upon
+the face of Dunstan, brought out in strong relief by the glare of the
+artificial light.
+
+He strove earnestly to concentrate his thoughts upon the sacred words.
+They were from the sixteenth of St. Matthew, beginning at the words:
+
+“Then said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after Me, let
+him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.
+
+“For whosoever will save his life, shall lose it and whosoever will
+lose his life for My sake, shall find it.”
+
+He could not but feel the strange coincidence that words such as these
+should come to strengthen him, when he felt he had most need to shelter
+himself under the shadow of the Cross. The service proceeded, the
+creed, sanctus, and other choral portions being sung by the whole
+monastic body in sonorous strains; and for a time Alfred was able to
+make a virtue of necessity, and to give himself wholly to the
+solemnity; but when it was over and the procession left the church, he
+sought an immediate interview with the abbot, in company with Father
+Cuthbert.
+
+Dunstan had removed his sacerdotal garments, and had returned to his
+own cell, which only differed in size from the cells of his brethren.
+The furniture was studiously plain: hard wooden chairs; an unvarnished
+table; a wooden bedstead, with no bed, and only a loose coverlet of
+sackcloth; the walls uncovered by tapestry; the floor unfurnished with
+rushes;—such was the chamber of the man who had ruled England, and
+still exercised the most unbounded spiritual influence in the land.
+
+There was no ostentation in this; every monk in the monastery lived in
+similar simplicity. Precious books and manuscripts, deeply laden with
+gold and colours, were deposited on coarse wooden shelves, while the
+Benedictine Breviary lay on the table, written by some learned and
+painstaking scribe, skilful in illumination.
+
+The appearance of the abbot was little changed since we last beheld
+him; perhaps care had traced a few more lines in his countenance, and
+his general manner was more prompt and decided, now that danger menaced
+him, for menace him he knew it did, although he hardly knew from what
+quarter the bolt would fall.
+
+A lay brother brought him some slight refreshment, the first he had
+taken during the day.
+
+The humility inculcated by each precept of the order forbade the
+brother in question to speak until his superior gave him leave to do
+so; but Dunstan read at once the desire of his subordinate, and said:
+
+“What hast thou to tell me, Brother Osgood?”
+
+“Many people are without, seeking speech of thee.”
+
+“This is the case each day; are there any whose business appears
+pressing?”
+
+“A company has arrived from Æscendune, or some such place in Mercia,
+and two of the party—a priest and a young layman—seek an immediate
+interview, saying their business is of life and death.”
+
+“Æscendune!—admit them first.”
+
+The brother left the cell at once, and soon returned, ushering in
+Father Cuthbert and Alfred, who saluted the great churchman with all
+due humility, and waited for him to speak, not without much evident
+uneasiness; perhaps some little impatience was also manifest.
+
+“Are you of the house of Æscendune, my son?” enquired Dunstan of
+Alfred. “Methinks I know you by your likeness to your brother Elfric.”
+
+“I am the son of Ella, father; we have been sent on pressing business,
+which is notified by this parchment” (presenting the formal request on
+the part of the brethren of Æscendune, which was the original cause of
+their journey) “but we have yet a more pressing matter to bring before
+you: wicked men seek your life, my father.”
+
+“I am well aware of that; surely you do not dream, my son, that my eyes
+are closed to a fact known throughout unhappy England.”
+
+“But, my father, I speak of immediate danger, which God in His great
+mercy enabled me to discover but last night; this very night the abbey
+will be attacked, and your life or liberty in danger.”
+
+“This night!” said Dunstan, in surprise; “and how have you discovered
+this? Do not hesitate, my son tell me all.”
+
+Thus adjured, Alfred repeated the whole story of his discovery of the
+concealed expedition.
+
+“You saw the leaders closely then?” said Dunstan, when he had finished;
+“describe the elder one to me.”
+
+“A tall dark man, like a foreign soldier, in plain but rich apparel, a
+scar on the right cheek.”
+
+“Stay, my son, I know him; his name is Redwald, and he is the captain
+of the king’s bodyguard. Now describe the other with whom he held
+converse.”
+
+“Father, I cannot.”
+
+“My son—” but Dunstan paused, for he saw that poor Alfred had covered
+his face with his hands, and he at once divined the truth, with full
+conviction, at the same time, of the truth and earnestness of Alfred’s
+statement.
+
+“My son, God can dispose and turn the hearts of all men as seemeth best
+to His wisdom; and I doubt not, in answer to our fervent prayers, He
+will turn the heart of your poor brother. Meanwhile, we ourselves will
+take such precautions as shall spare him the guilt of sacrilege.
+
+“Brother Osgood, summon the prior to my presence, and cause the
+brethren to assemble, one and all, in the chapter house: we have need
+of instant deliberation.”
+
+The lay brother departed, and Dunstan, whose cheerfulness did not
+desert him for one moment, chatted familiarly with Father Cuthbert, or
+perused the parchment the good father had just presented through
+Alfred.
+
+“It is a great and pleasing thing,” he said, “to behold how our Order
+is spreading through this benighted land, and how spiritual children
+arise everywhere to our holy father Benedict; surely the time is near
+at hand when the wilderness shall blossom as the rose.”
+
+The prior, Father Guthlac, entered at this moment, and Dunstan talked
+apart with him for some moments with extreme earnestness, but only the
+last words which passed between them were audible.
+
+“Yes, my brother, you have the words of Scripture,” said Dunstan, “to
+support your proposal: ‘When they persecute you in one city, flee ye
+unto another.’”
+
+“Yet it is hard to leave a spot one has reared with such tender care.”
+
+“There was One Who left more for us; and I do not think they will
+destroy the place, or even attempt to destroy it: they will fill it
+with those ‘slow bellies, those evil beasts,’ the secular clergy, with
+their wives.”
+
+“Fitter it should be a stye for hogs.” xxi
+
+“Nay, they are men after all; yet there is some reason to fear that,
+like hogs, they wallow in the mire of sensuality; but their day will be
+but a short one.”
+
+“My father!”
+
+“But a short one; it hath been foreshown me in visions of the night
+that the Evil One will triumph indeed, but that his triumph will be
+very short; and, alas a green tree which standeth in the pride of its
+youth and might must, ere the close of that triumph, be hewn down.”
+
+“By our hands, father?”
+
+“God forbid! by the Hand of God, I speak but as it has been revealed to
+me.”
+
+It was a well-known fact that Dunstan either was subject to marvellous
+hallucinations, and was a monomaniac on that one point, while so wise
+in all other matters, or that he was the object of special revelations,
+and was favoured with spiritual visions, as well as temptations, which
+do not ordinarily fall within the observation or experience of men.
+
+So Father Guthlac and the rest of the company listened with the
+greatest reverence to his declaration, as to the words of an inspired
+oracle.
+
+“But let us go to our brethren; they await us,” said Dunstan, speaking
+to the prior. “Brother Osgood, take these our guests to the
+refectorarius, and ask him to see that they and all their company taste
+our bounty at least this day; tomorrow we may have nought to offer
+them.”
+
+In the famous chapter of the whole house of Glastonbury which followed,
+and which became historical, prompt resolution was taken on Dunstan’s
+report, which did honour to the brotherhood, as evincing both their
+resignation and their trust in God, Who they believed would, to use the
+touching phrase of the Psalmist, “turn their captivity as the rivers in
+the south;” so that they “who went forth weeping, bearing good seed,
+should come again with joy, and bring their sheaves with them.”
+
+So it was at once agreed that the whole community should break up
+immediately; that within the next hour all the monks should depart for
+the various monasteries of the Benedictine order; and that Dunstan
+himself, with but two companions, should take refuge across the sea,
+sailing from the nearest port on the Somersetshire coast.
+
+A dozen of the brethren were to return with Father Cuthbert and Alfred
+to Æscendune at once, and to bear with them all the necessary powers
+for the accomplishment of the good thane’s wishes in regard to the
+monastery of St. Wilfred, while Father Cuthbert was then and there
+admitted by Dunstan to the order of St. Benedict —the necessity of the
+case justifying some departure from the customary formalities.
+
+All being completely ordered and arranged, the chapter broke up, and
+within an hour the monks were leaving as rapidly as boys leave school
+when breaking-up day comes, but not quite so joyously. They strove to
+attract as little attention as possible, and, in most cases, travelled
+in the ordinary dress of the country.
+
+Father Cuthbert and the Benedictines who were to accompany him on his
+return—- so much more speedy than had been anticipated —were already
+prepared to start, when, to their surprise, Alfred could not be found.
+
+Alfred was at that moment in the cell of Dunstan, with whom he had
+obtained, not without great trouble, another brief interview.
+
+“God bless you, my son,” said Dunstan, “and render unto you according
+to all you have done for His glory this day, and restore you your
+brother safe in body and soul!”
+
+But it was not merely for a blessing that Alfred had sought the abbot.
+
+“Father,” he said, “if I have happily been of service to you, I ask but
+one favour in return; one brother has sought your life, let the other
+remain with you as a bodyguard.”
+
+“But your father?”
+
+“I am satisfied that I am but speaking as he would have me speak.”
+
+“But you will become an exile.”
+
+“Gladly, if I can but serve you, father.”
+
+“But, my child, I have no means of support for you abroad; as monks we
+shall find hospitality in every Benedictine house, but you are only a
+layman.”
+
+“Then, father, I but ask you to allow me to accompany you to the
+coast.”
+
+“I grant it, my son, for I believe God inspires the wish. Be it as you
+desire, but one of your serfs must accompany you; it would not be safe
+to travel home alone.”
+
+So Father Cuthbert and the Benedictines started back to Æscendune
+without Alfred, bearing Dunstan’s explanation of the matter to the
+half-bereaved father whose faith, they feared, would be sorely tried,
+and leaving Oswy to be his companion.
+
+It was now drawing near nightfall, and the abbey was almost deserted;
+all the pilgrims had left with the monks, although many of them would
+willingly have put their trust in the arm of flesh and remained to
+fight for Dunstan against his temporal foes, even as he—so they piously
+believed—routed their spiritual enemies. In that vast abbey there were
+now but six persons—Dunstan, Guthlac, Alfred, the lay brother Osgood,
+Oswy, and a guide who knew all the bypaths of the country.
+
+Desolate and solitary indeed seemed the huge pile of untenanted
+buildings as the evening breeze swept through them. The last straggler
+had gone; Dunstan was still in his cell arranging or destroying certain
+papers, the guide and lay brothers held six strong and serviceable
+horses in the courtyard below, near the open gate, impatient to start,
+and blaming secretly the dilatoriness of their great chieftain. They
+watched the sun as he sank lower and lower in the western sky, and
+thought of the woods and forests they must traverse, frequented by
+wolves, and sometimes by outlaws whom they dreaded far more. Still
+Dunstan did not appear.
+
+Alfred and Guthlac, on a watchtower above, gazed on the plain stretched
+before them. Mile after mile it extended towards that forest where the
+enemy was now known to lurk, and they watched each road, nay, each
+copse and field, with jealous eye, lest it should conceal an enemy.
+Ofttimes the shadow of some passing cloud, as it swept over moor or
+mere, was taken for an armed host; ofttimes the wind, as it sighed
+amongst the trees and blew the dried leaves hither and thither, seemed
+to carry the warning “An enemy is near.”
+
+At length danger seemed to show itself plainly: just as the sun set, a
+dark shadow moved from a distant angle of the forest on the plain
+beneath, and the words “The enemy!” escaped simultaneously from Alfred
+and Guthlac as the setting sun seemed reflected upon spear and sword,
+flashing in a hundred points as they caught the reflection of the
+departing luminary.
+
+Alfred, at the prior’s desire, hurried to the chamber of Dunstan.
+
+“Father,” he said, “the enemy are near. They have left the forest.”
+
+“That is four miles in distance: there will be time for me to finish
+this letter to my brother of Abingdon.”
+
+“But, father, their horses may be fleeter than ours.”
+
+“We are under God’s protection: I am sure we shall not be overtaken: be
+at peace, my son.”
+
+Poor Alfred felt as if his faith were very sorely tried indeed, but he
+strove to acquiesce.
+
+It was now quite dark, and the ears of the would-be fugitives were
+strained to catch the sounds which should warn them of approaching
+danger.
+
+At length they fancied they heard sounds arise from the plain before
+them: suppressed noises, such as must unavoidably be made by a force on
+its passage; and Alfred again sought the cell of Dunstan, yet dared not
+enter, urgent though the emergency seemed.
+
+At this moment he was startled by a demoniacal burst of laughter, which
+seemed to fill the corridor in which he waited with exultant joy.
+
+What could it be? he felt as if he had never heard such laughter
+before—so terrible, yet so boisterous.
+
+A moment of dread silence, and then it began again, and filled each
+corridor and chamber.
+
+At that moment Dunstan came forth, and saw the pale face of Alfred.
+
+“It is only the devil,” he said “we are not ignorant of his devices.
+
+“O Satan! thou that wert once an angel in heaven, art thou reduced to
+bray like a jackass?” xxii
+
+Again the exultant peal resounded.
+
+“Be at peace,” said the abbot; “thou rejoicest at my departure; I shall
+soon return to defy thee and thy allies.”
+
+And the laughter ceased.
+
+“We must lose no time,” he said; “the moment is at hand.”
+
+Locking each door behind him, he reached the party in the courtyard,
+and each person mounted in a moment; then they passed under the great
+archway. Oswy had remained behind one moment to lock the great gates,
+and then they all rode forth boldly into the darkness.
+
+They passed rapidly in a direction at right angles to that in which
+their pursuers were approaching, and at the distance of a mile they
+halted for one moment to ascertain the cause of a great uproar which
+suddenly arose.
+
+It was not difficult to divine its cause: it was the beating of axes
+and hammers on the great outer door of the monastery.
+
+“It will occupy them nearly an hour,” said Dunstan, “and we shall be
+far far away before they have succeeded in effecting an entrance.”
+
+So they rode on rapidly into the night. Before them lay the Foss Way,
+the road was good and well known to them, the moon was shining
+brightly, and their spirits rose with the excitement and the exertion.
+Onward! Onward!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+AT HIS WORST.
+
+
+The unhappy Elfric had indeed fallen from his former self before he
+reached the depth at which our readers have just seen him, joining with
+Redwald in the unhallowed enterprise so happily frustrated, if indeed
+it were yet frustrated, by his own brother.
+
+But when his father had returned to Æscendune alone, Elfric felt that
+home ties were shattered, and that he had nothing but the royal favour
+to depend upon, so he yielded to the wishes of King Edwy in all points.
+
+Immediately after his coronation, the reckless and ill-advised Edwy had
+married Elgiva, xxiii in defiance of the ban of the Church, and then
+had abandoned himself to the riotous society and foolish counsels of
+young nobles vainer than those who cost Rehoboam so large a portion of
+his kingdom. Amongst these Elfric was soon conspicuous and soon a
+leader. His spirit and physical courage far beyond his years excited
+their admiration, and in return they taught him all the mysteries of
+evil which were yet unknown to him.
+
+Under such influences both the king and his favourite threw off all
+outward semblance even of religion, and only sought the means of
+enjoyment. Redwald ministered without reserve or restraint to all their
+pleasures, and under his evil influence Edwy even found occasion to rob
+and plunder his own grandmother, a venerable Saxon princess, in order
+that he might waste the ill-gotten substance in riotous living.
+
+Yet there was a refinement in his vice: he did not care for coarse
+sensual indulgence to any great extent; his wickedness was that of a
+sensitive cultivated intellect, of a highly-wrought nervous
+temperament. Unscrupulous—careless of truth—contemptuous of
+religion—yet he had all that attraction in his person which first
+endeared him to Elfric, whom he really loved. Alas! his love was deadly
+as the breath of the upas tree to his friend and victim. When the first
+measures of vengeance were taken against Dunstan, with the concurrence
+of wicked but able ministers of state, Redwald was selected as the
+agent who should bribe the thanes, and begin the course of conduct
+which should eventually lead to the destruction of the enemy of the
+king. He had only waited till the temper of the times seemed turned
+against Dunstan (he judged it wrongly); and the king seemed secure
+against every foe ere he planned the expedition we have introduced to
+our readers.
+
+We will now resume the thread of our narrative.
+
+When the band of soldiers, headed by Redwald, had gained the gates of
+the monastery, they found them, as we have seen, firmly locked and
+barred.
+
+“Blow your horns; rouse up these sleepy monks to some purpose,” said
+Redwald. “Why, they have not a light about the place.”
+
+A loud and vigorous blast of horns was blown, while the greater part of
+the troop dismounted and paused impatiently for an answer from within.
+
+“Two or three of you step forward with your axes,” exclaimed Redwald.
+
+They did so, and thundered on the gate without any success, so stoutly
+was it made.
+
+“What can it mean?” said Redwald. “All is silent as the grave.”
+
+“No; there is some one laughing at us,” said Elfric.
+
+A peal of merry laughter was heard within.
+
+Redwald was thoroughly enraged, and seizing an axe with his own hand,
+he set the example of applying it to the gate, but without any result
+save to split a few planks, while the iron framework, designed by
+Dunstan himself, who was clever at such arts, held as firmly as ever.
+
+Unprovided with other means of forcing it, the besiegers had recourse
+to fire, and gathering fuel with some difficulty, they piled it against
+the gate. Shortly the woodwork caught, and the whole gate presently
+yielded to the action of the fire; the iron bars, loosened by the
+destruction of the woodwork, gave way, and the besiegers rushed into
+the quadrangle. Here, all was dark and silent, not a sound to be heard
+or a light seen.
+
+“What can it mean? Have they fled? You all heard the laughter!”
+
+“There it is again.”
+
+The boisterous and untimely mirth had begun just within the abbot’s
+lodgings, and the doorway at the foot was immediately attacked. It
+presently yielded, and Redwald, who had obtained a good notion of the
+place, rushed with his chief villains to the chamber he knew to be
+Dunstan’s; yet he began to fear failure, for the absence of all the
+inmates was disheartening. No, not all, for there was the loud laughter
+within the very chamber of the abbot.
+
+The door was fastened securely, and while the axes were doing their
+destructive work upon it, the mocking laughter was again heard. Redwald
+had become so enraged that he mentally vowed the direst vengeance upon
+the untimely jester, when the door burst open and he rushed in.
+
+“Where is he? Surely there was some one here?”
+
+“Who could it be? We all heard the laughter.”
+
+But victim there was none; and searching all the place in vain, they
+had to satiate their vengeance by destroying the humble furniture of
+the abbot.
+
+What to do next they knew not, and Redwald, deeply mystified, was
+reluctantly forced to own his discomfiture, and to prepare to pass the
+night in the abbey. Accordingly, his men dispersed in search of food
+and wine. Some found their way to the buttery; it was but poorly
+supplied, all the provisions in the place having been given to the
+poorer pilgrims by the departing monks. The cellar was not so easily
+emptied, and such wine as had been stored up for future use was at once
+appropriated.
+
+Redwald and Elfric, having shared the common meal gloomily, were seated
+in the abbot’s chamber—little did Elfric dream that his brother had so
+recently been in the same room—when one of the guards entered, bringing
+with him a stranger. He turned out to be a neighbouring thane, one of
+those bitter enemies to Dunstan whom Edwy had planted round the
+monastery, and he came to give information that he had seen Dunstan
+with five companions escaping by the Foss Way.
+
+Redwald jumped up eagerly. “How long since?” he asked.
+
+“About two hours, and ten miles off, I was returning home from a
+distant farm of mine.”
+
+“Why did you not stop them?”
+
+“I was too weak for that; they were six to one. I heard you had been
+seen coming here by a cowherd, and came to warn you. If you ride fast
+you may catch the holy fox yet before he runs to earth; but you must be
+very quick.”
+
+“What pace were they riding?”
+
+“Slowly at that moment; it was up a hill.”
+
+Redwald rushed from the room, crying, “To horse, to horse!” but found
+only a portion of his men awake: the others were mainly drunk and
+sleeping it off on the floor.
+
+Cursing their untimely indulgence, he got about a dozen men rapidly
+mounted on the fleetest horses, taking care Elfric should be one, and
+dashed off in pursuit of the fugitives.
+
+Dunstan and his party had ridden some four or five hours, when the moon
+became overcast, and low peals of distant thunder were heard. The
+atmosphere was so intensely hot, and the silence of nature so
+oppressive, that it was evident some convulsion was at hand.
+
+“Is there any shelter near?”
+
+“Only a ruined city xxiv in the wood on the left hand, but it is a
+dangerous place to approach after nightfall. They say evil spirits lurk
+there.”
+
+“They tell that story of every ruined place, be it city, temple, or
+house; and even if it be, we have more cause to dread evil men than
+evil spirits.”
+
+The guide hesitated no longer, and struck into a bypath, which
+penetrated the depth of the woody marsh through which the Foss Way then
+had its course. After a minute or two it became evident, from the
+footing, that they were upon the paved work of a causeway overgrown
+with weeds and rank herbage; huge mounds showed where fortifications
+had once existed, and shortly, broken pillars and ruined walls appeared
+at irregular intervals.
+
+They had little time to look around them, for the storm had come
+rapidly up, and the glare of the lightning was incessant, while the
+rain poured down in absolute torrents. Before them rose a huge ruin
+covered with ivy and with the roof partly protecting the interior. It
+was so large that they were able to lead their horses within its
+protection and wait the cessation of the rain.
+
+Between the flashes the sky was intensely dark, but they were almost
+incessant, and revealed the city of the dead in which they had found
+refuge. It was an ancient Welsh town, and in the latter years of the
+deadly struggle with the English, had been taken after a protracted
+resistance. Tradition had not even preserved its name, and only stated
+that every living soul had perished in the massacre when the outer
+walls were at length stormed and the town given to fire and sword. The
+victors, as was frequently the case, had avoided the spot, preferring
+to build elsewhere, and, like Silchester or Anderida, it had fallen
+into desolation such as befell mighty Babylon.
+
+And now the ignorant rustic peopled its buildings with the imaginary
+forms of doleful creatures, and shunned the fatal precincts where once
+family love and social affections had flourished; where hearts, long
+mouldered to dust, had beaten with tender affection, where all the
+little circumstances which make up life—the trivial round, the common
+task—had gone on beneath the summer’s sun or winter’s storm, till the
+great convulsion which ended the existence of the whole community.
+
+Dunstan noticed that his whole party crowded closely together, and when
+the lightning illuminated each face saw that fear had left its visible
+mark.
+
+The continuous roar of thunder, the hissing of the descending rain, the
+wind which blew in angry gusts, prevented all conversation until nearly
+an hour had elapsed, when the strife began to diminish. It was a sad
+and mournful sight to gaze upon the remains of departed greatness when
+thus illuminated by the electric flash, and easily might the fancy,
+deceived by the transient glimpses of things, people the ruins with the
+shades of their departed inhabitants.
+
+“Father,” said Alfred, at length, “who were they who lived here? Do you
+know aught about them?”
+
+“The men whom our ancestors subdued—the Welsh, or British—an unhappy
+race.”
+
+“Were they heathen?”
+
+“At one time, but they were converted by the missions from Rome and the
+East, of which the earliest was that of St. Joseph of Arimathea to our
+own Glastonbury; he may have preached to the very people who lived
+here, nay, in this very basilica, which, I think, may have been
+converted into a church.”
+
+It was indeed the ruin of a basilica wherein they stood, but no trace
+survived to show whether Dunstan’s conjecture was correct.
+
+“It seems strange that God should have permitted them to fall before
+the sword of our heathen ancestors.”
+
+“Their own historian Gildas, who lies buried at Glastonbury, explains
+it. He tells us that such was the corruption of faith and of morals
+towards the close of their brief day, that had not the Saxon sword
+interposed; plague, pestilence, or famine, or some similar calamity,
+must have done the fatal work. God grant that we, now that in turn we
+have received the message of the Gospel, may be more faithful servants,
+or similar ruin may, at no distant period, await the Englishman also,
+as it did the Welshman.”
+
+He sighed deeply, and Alfred echoed the sigh in his heart; he read the
+abbot’s thoughts.
+
+“Do you believe,” said he, after a pause, “that their spirits ever
+revisit the earth?”
+
+“I know not; many wise men have thought it possible, and that they may
+haunt the places where they sinned, ever bearing their condemnation
+within them, even while they clothe themselves in semblance of the
+mortal flesh they once wore.”
+
+The whole party shuddered, and Father Guthlac said, deprecatingly:
+
+“My father, let us not talk of this now. We are too weak to bear it,
+and the place is so awful!”
+
+By this time the wind had made a huge rent in the black clouds
+overhead, and the moon came suddenly in sight, sailing tranquilly in
+the azure void above, and casting her beams on the ruins, as she had
+once cast them on the beauteous city; its basilicas, palaces, and
+temples yet standing.
+
+At this moment their guide came hastily to them.
+
+“We are in some danger, father. Horsemen, twelve of them, are galloping
+along the Foss Way in spite of the storm.”
+
+Dunstan left the shelter, which was no longer needed, the rain having
+ceased, and followed the guide to the summit of the huge mound which
+marked the fall of some giant bastion of early days. From that position
+they could see the Foss Way, now about half-a-mile distant in the
+bright moonlight, and Dunstan’s eye at once caught twelve
+figures—horsemen—sweeping down it like the wind, which brought the
+sound of their passage faintly to the ear.
+
+“Wait,” he said, “and see whether they pass the bypath; in that case we
+are safe.”
+
+The whole party was now on the mound, their persons carefully concealed
+from the view of the horsemen, while they watched their passage with
+intense anxiety. The enemy reached the bypath; eleven of them passed
+over it, but the twelfth reined his horse suddenly, almost upon its
+haunches, and pointed to the ground. He had evidently seen the tracks
+of the fugitives upon the soft turf.
+
+The next moment they all turned their horses into the bypath.
+
+“Follow,” said the guide; and they all rushed eagerly down the mound
+and mounted at once.
+
+“Follow me closely; I think I can save you from them; only lose not a
+moment.”
+
+The guide led them by a wandering path amongst the ruins, where their
+tracks would leave the least trace, until he passed through a gap in
+the external fortifications on the opposite side. Then he rode rapidly
+along a descending path in the woods, until the sound of rushing water
+greeted their ears, and they arrived on the brink of a small river
+which was swollen by the violent rain, and which dashed along an
+irregular and stony bed with fearful impetuosity.
+
+There was but one mode of crossing it: a bridge constructed of planks
+was thrown over, which one horseman might pass at a time. The whole
+party rode over in safety, although the crazy old bridge bent terribly
+beneath the weight of each rider.
+
+But when all were over, the guide motioned to Alfred and Oswy to remain
+behind for one moment, while the monks proceeded. He threw himself from
+his horse, and taking the axe which he had slung behind him, commenced
+hacking away at the bridge. But although the bridge was old, yet it was
+tough; and although Alfred, and Oswy who was armed with a small
+battle-axe, assisted with all their might, the work seemed long.
+
+Before it was completed, they heard the voices of their pursuers
+calling to each other amongst the ruins. They had evidently lost the
+track, and were separating to find it.
+
+Crash went one huge plank into the raging torrent, then a second, and
+but one beam remained, when a horseman emerged from the trees opposite,
+and by the light of the moon Alfred recognised his brother.
+
+Desperate in the excitement of the chase, Elfric leapt from his horse,
+and drawing his sword rushed upon the bridge.
+
+Alfred, who felt it tremble, cried:
+
+“Back, Elfric! Back if you value your life!” while at the same moment,
+true to his duty, without raising his axe or any other attempt at
+offence, he opposed his own body in passive resistance to Elfric’s
+passage over the beam.
+
+Elfric knew the voice, and drew back in utter amazement. He had already
+stepped from the half-severed beam, when he saw it bend, break, and
+roll, with Alfred, who had advanced to the middle of the bridge, into
+the torrent beneath, which swept both beam and man away with resistless
+force.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+THE RETURN OF ALFRED.
+
+
+The reader is, we trust, somewhat impatient to learn the fate of Alfred
+of Æscendune, whom we left in so critical a position.
+
+The fall of the bridge was so sudden and unexpected, that he scarcely
+knew where he was, till he found himself sucked rapidly down stream by
+the raging waters, when he struck out like a man, and battled for dear
+life. But the only result seemed to be that he was bruised and battered
+against the rocks and stones, until, exhausted, he was on the point of
+succumbing to his fate, as the current bore him into a calm deep pool,
+where he sank helplessly, his strength gone. But the guide and his
+companion Oswy had succeeded in reaching the spot, which was
+inaccessible from the other side, and plunging at once into the waters,
+the latter succeeded in bringing the dying youth to land. Dunstan and
+the other members of the party were soon on the spot; the lay brother
+was skilled in the art of restoring suspended animation, and they soon
+had the happiness of beholding Alfred return to consciousness; he
+raised his head, and gazed about him like one in a dream, not able to
+realise his position.
+
+“Where am I? What have I been doing?” he exclaimed.
+
+“You are safe, my dear son, and in the hands of friends,” replied
+Dunstan, “although you have had a narrow, narrow escape; we are secure
+for the present from our foes.”
+
+They consulted together in low tones as to their future movements, and
+the abbot inquired particularly of the guide concerning the fords and
+bridges.
+
+“There is a ford only a mile or two away, but I expect they will find
+they cannot cross it.”
+
+“Is there no place of refuge near? He is unable to sit his horse.”
+
+“There is a cottage close by, kept by a cowherd, who is a good and true
+man.”
+
+“Then lead us to it at once,” replied Dunstan.
+
+Alfred had by this time recognised his position, and he implored
+Dunstan not to endanger his own safety for his sake; but the abbot paid
+no attention. They reached the cottage just as the day was dawning, and
+the east was bright with rosy light. It was such a place as the great
+king, after whom Alfred was named, had found refuge in when pressed by
+the Danes. It was poor, but neat and clean beyond the usual degree; and
+when the wants of their early visitors were known, and Dunstan was
+recognised, the utmost zeal was displayed in his cause.
+
+All that could be done for Alfred was done at once, but he was
+manifestly too shaken and bruised to be able to travel; and, giving him
+his fatherly blessing, Dunstan was compelled by the guide to hurry on,
+leaving him in the care of Oswy.
+
+They had not, however, great fear of their pursuers, for their own
+horses were comparatively fresh after the rest in the ruined city, and
+those of their foes would be necessarily fatigued, after the rapid ride
+along the Foss Way, and their exertions to pass the stream.
+
+So it was not with great uneasiness, well mounted as they were, that,
+gaining the road, they beheld their pursuers in the distance, who, on
+their part, beholding their intended victims afar off, hastened to spur
+their horses on.
+
+It was useless: the pursued had the advantage, and after the gallop of
+a mile or two, it became evident they were in no especial danger,
+although it must be remembered that a false step or slip, or any
+accident, would have been fatal.
+
+“I should not mind racing them down the Foss to the Sea Town,” xxv said
+the guide; “but if the abbot has no objection, I should prefer leaving
+them to pursue the road, while we take a cross-country route, which I
+have often travelled; it is a very good one.”
+
+“By all means,” said Dunstan, “and then we may slacken this furious
+pace.”
+
+They were quite out of sight of their pursuers when, coming upon a
+track of dry stony ground, they suddenly left the road, and crossing a
+wild heath, put a copse between them and the enemy, who did not this
+time discover for miles the absence of the footprints, for the soil was
+very dry and hard, the storm not having passed that way, and the foe
+were intent upon hard riding.
+
+So they gained a long start, and eventually reached a hill, from which
+they obtained their first view of the sea. It was eventide, and the
+western sun, sinking towards the promontories beyond the distant Exe,
+reddened the waters with his glowing light. Dunstan and his brethren
+thanked God.
+
+“We have come to the setting sun,” said they, “and at eventide have
+seen light; let us thank Him Who hath preserved us.”
+
+But the guide, who knew what relentless pursuers were yet behind, would
+allow them no rest. In another hour they reached a small fishing
+village on the coast, where a solitary bark was kept. The owner was
+just about to put out for an evening’s fishing, but at the earnest
+request of his visitors, backed by much gold, he consented to take them
+over to the opposite coast.
+
+“The weather promises to be very clear and fine,” he said; “and we may
+sail across without any danger.”
+
+It was indeed a lovely night; they stepped on board, the anchor was
+loosed, the sail set, and with the wind behind, they stood rapidly out
+to sea. They were quite silent, each immersed in his own thoughts. At
+last they heard the sound of horsemen galloping on the fast-receding
+shore, and looking back, they saw twelve riders reach the beach, and
+pause, looking wistfully out to sea.
+
+“Our soul is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler;
+the snare is broken, and we are delivered,” said Dunstan.
+
+“Our help standeth in the name of the Lord, Who hath made heaven and
+earth,” replied Father Guthlac.
+
+Meanwhile, Alfred rapidly gained strength. Happily no bones were
+broken, he was only sadly bruised. The next day he expressed his
+earnest wish to return home, but his host would not permit him, saying
+he should have to answer to Dunstan some day for his guest.
+
+The time passed monotonously enough that second day, yet not
+unpleasantly: there were a thousand things to observe in the woods and
+marshes around, full of animal life.
+
+Early in the morning, a sweet fresh morning, the cowherd drove his
+cattle forth to graze, where he knew the pastures were sweetest, and
+Alfred would willingly have gone, too, but they told him he must rest.
+So he took his breakfast of hot milk and bread, with oat cakes baked on
+the hearth, and waited patiently till the warmth of the day tempted him
+out, under the care of Oswy, to watch the distant herd, to drink of the
+clear spring or recline under some huge spreading beech, while the
+breeze made sweet melodies in his ears, and lulled him pleasantly to
+sleep.
+
+At midday they returned to the customary dinner, which was not of such
+inferior quality as one would now expect to find in such a place,
+contrasting strongly with the fare on the tables of the rich: then
+there was far more equality in the food of rich and poor, and Alfred
+had no cause to complain of the cowherd’s table.
+
+Then he sauntered forth again with Oswy, and strove to amuse himself
+with the book of nature; till just at eventide, as he was longing
+earnestly that he could know the fate of his fugitive friends, they
+heard the sound of a horse at full trot, and soon the guide appeared in
+sight.
+
+Alfred rose up eagerly.
+
+“Are they safe?” he cried.
+
+“Yes, quite safe; they had got a mile out to sea when their pursuers
+got to the beach; I saw it all, hidden in a woody hill above.”
+
+“Did they try to follow?”
+
+“They could not, there was no boat: I never saw men in such a rage.”
+
+Alfred felt as if a weight were removed from his heart, then he looked
+up in the face of the guide.
+
+“Will you guide us home?” he said.
+
+“Yes,” was the reply; “the holy abbot particularly desired me to return
+to his son Alfred, and to take care of him on his journey home; and if
+you will have me as your guide, I will warrant you a safe journey to
+Æscendune, for we are not worth following.”
+
+“Then let us start tomorrow morning,” said Alfred, longing to be once
+more in his old father’s presence, and to cheer his mother’s heart.
+
+They returned together to the cowherd’s cottage, and slept peacefully
+that night. Early in the morning they retook the path to the Foss Way,
+crossing the stream at a ford higher up. Their horses being well rested
+and full of spirit for the journey, they passed Glastonbury, still
+empty and desolate, in the middle of the day, and retraced by easy
+stages the whole of Alfred’s previous route from home.
+
+After a week’s easy travelling, by the blessing of Providence, they
+reached the neighbourhood of Æscendune: it had never looked so lovely,
+so home-like to Alfred as then. He felt as if every spot were full of
+joy, and as he was recognised by person after person, by his favourite
+dogs as they bounded forth, and finally fell into his mother’s arms at
+the gate of the hall, he experienced feelings which in these days, when
+we are all so familiar with the thought of travel, can seldom be
+realised.
+
+Then he had to recount his adventures that night, after supper, to an
+admiring audience, who listened enraptured to his account of the
+holiness of Dunstan and the cruelty of his foes. But it will easily be
+imagined that he made no allusion to his rencontre with Elfric; and
+Oswy, instructed by his young master, was equally silent.
+
+He had quite made up his mind to persevere in this course: it could do
+no good to tell father or mother how grievously Elfric had fallen, and
+how nearly he had been the involuntary instrument of his brother’s
+death.
+
+“God can change his heart,” said Alfred to himself, “and bring him home
+like the prodigal son about whom Father Cuthbert talks so often.”
+
+So he prayed earnestly every day for his brother, and many a
+supplication on his behalf arose from the altar of St. Wilfred. Time
+will show whether they were lost.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+EDWY AND ELGIVA.
+
+
+Edwy, King of England, and Elgiva, his queen, gave a great feast at
+their royal palace in London, a month after the events recorded in our
+last chapter; and a numerous company had assembled to do honour to
+their hospitality. Yet the company was very different from that which
+had assembled round the same hospitable board in the days of King
+Edred. First, the Churchmen were conspicuous by their absence; and
+secondly, all the old grey-headed counsellors, who had been the pride
+and ornament of the reigns of Edmund and Edred, were not seen; for,
+after the rumour of their marriage had reached Odo, he had pronounced
+the sentence of the lesser excommunication upon them, severing them
+from the sacraments; and this was felt by the old counsellors of Edred
+to be a most serious stigma, yet one which they could not call
+undeserved: hence they deserted the court.
+
+In their place were the young and giddy, the headstrong sons of wiser
+fathers, the spendthrifts, the young fops of the period, those who went
+in for a fast life, to use a modern phrase—who spent the night, if not
+the day, over the wine cup, and consumed their substance in riotous
+living—such were they who gathered around Edwy the Fair and the yet
+fairer Elgiva.
+
+And truly king and queen more beautiful in person had never sat upon a
+throne; and it was difficult to look upon them and feel aught but
+admiration, save when one knew all their history, and then pity and
+sorrow might supply the place of admiration, at least with the sober
+minded.
+
+Fish, flesh, and fowl; nought was wanting. The earth the air, and the
+water, all yielded their tribute; for was it not the anniversary of the
+marriage—the uncanonical marriage, alas!—of the royal pair, if marriage
+it had truly been?
+
+Eels of enormous size, fine as the Roman lamprey, pike roasted with
+puddings in their bellies, tench and carp stewed; while the sea yielded
+its skate, its sturgeon, and its porpoise, which the skill of the cook
+had so curiously dressed with fragrant spices that it won him great
+renown. The very smell, said a young gourmand, was a dinner in itself;
+and the wild buck supplied its haunch, and the boar its head, while
+fowl of all kinds were handed round on spits.
+
+The drinking was of like sumptuous character, and Rhenish wine
+contended with the wines of sunny France for precedence, as they were
+passed round in silver cups and gold-mounted horns; for glass was
+seldom, if ever, used for such purposes then.
+
+The floor was strewed with the sweetest summer flowers, and exhaled an
+odour balmy as the breath of eastern climes, where the breeze plays
+with the orange blossoms. The tapestry was beautifully woven by foreign
+artists, and represented the loves of the gods; while there was nothing
+in keeping with the olden style throughout the whole apartment.
+
+But one seat was vacant near the king’s throne, and every now and then
+Edwy seemed to cast a wistful eye upon it, as if he would fain see its
+ordinary occupant there.
+
+The gleemen rose and sang, the harpers harped, but something was
+wanting; they brought tears to the eyes of the fair queen by their
+plaintive songs of hapless lovers, which had superseded alike the war
+songs of Athelstane and the monkish odes of Edred.
+
+“Where is Elfric? He promised to be back by our wedding day; why does
+he delay, my Edwy?” asked Elgiva.
+
+“It is little less than treason to the queen of youth and beauty to be
+thus absent, my Elgiva, but remember he has been unwell, and Redwald
+told me that for prudential reasons they delayed his return to court.”
+
+“And your brother Edgar—”
+
+“Is somewhere in Mercia: the churlish boy has declined our invitation
+to honour our feast with his presence. We do not want his serious face
+at the board. I am sure he would preach on the duty of fasting.”
+
+“He has but seldom been our visitor.”
+
+“No; he is afraid, perhaps, to trust his cold heart within the magic of
+my Elgiva’s sunshine, lest the ice should be melted.”
+
+These had been asides, while all the company were listening to the
+gleeman; but now Edwy threw himself heart and soul into the current
+conversation, and all went merry as a marriage peal, until the
+ceremoniarius—for Edwy loved formality in some things—threw open the
+folding doors and announced the captain of the hus-carles, and Elfric
+of Æscendune.
+
+The whole company rose to receive them, and Elfric in particular
+received a warm welcome; but it was at once seen that there was a
+marked constraint upon him: his eye was restless and uneasy, and he
+seemed like one carrying a load at his breast.
+
+In truth, since that fatal night when, as he believed, he had witnessed
+the death of his brother, he had striven in vain to drown care and to
+banish remorse: the thought of his aged father deprived of both his
+sons—the one by death, the other by desertion—would force its way
+unbidden to his mind. Still, he had determined to throw aside reserve
+in honour of the occasion, and he made heroic efforts to appear happy
+and gay.
+
+Redwald was at his ease, as usual in all company, and seemed to cause
+prodigious laughter as he told his adventures to the younger folk at
+the bottom of the board. Dark and malign as his demeanour usually was,
+yet he could affect a light and airy character at times.
+
+“Redwald, my trusty champion,” said Edwy, “this is the first campaign
+thou hast ever returned from unsuccessful. Tell us, how did Dunstan
+outwit you?”
+
+“By the aid of the devil, my liege.”
+
+“Doubtless; but we had all hoped for a different result, and that thou
+wouldst either have left the traitor no eyes in his head, or no head on
+his shoulders.
+
+“Said I not rightly, my Elgiva?”
+
+The eyes of the fair enemy of the abbot flashed fire, and she exchanged
+some very significant words with her mother, Ethelgiva, who occupied
+the next chair.
+
+“Come, my fairy-given xxvi one, you must not be too hard on Redwald,
+who doubtless did his best—
+
+“How was it, Elfric?”
+
+“The devil was certainly on Dunstan’s side: he and no other could have
+betrayed our coming, for betrayed it was.”
+
+“How long had he left when you reached the abbey?”
+
+“Only an hour or two; but there was a sound of mocking laughter,
+doubtless caused by his incantations, which kept us for some hours
+forcing doors and the like.”
+
+“And you could discover no cause?”
+
+“None whatever; however, we found he had taken the Foss Way for the
+coast, and followed, and nearly caught him.”
+
+“What prevented you?”
+
+Elfric turned pale as if with great mental emotion, and tried to
+proceed in vain.
+
+“You are not well,” said Elgiva, anxiously.
+
+“Not quite,” he said; and then, overcoming his feelings by a vigorous
+effort, while no one save Redwald suspected the true cause, he
+continued:
+
+“There had been a great storm, and they had broken down the only bridge
+which existed for miles over a swollen river: we lost hours.”
+
+“And yet, as your messengers told us, you arrived in time to see him
+leave the coast.”
+
+“The vessel which bore him was still distinctly in sight when we stood
+on the sands.”
+
+“But had you no means of following?”
+
+“None: it was a lonely fishing village with a small harbour, and his
+bark was a mere fishing smack, the only one of the place.”
+
+“I trust the sea has swallowed him,” said the king; “but there is a
+rumour today that he is playing the saint in Flanders with great pomp.
+Well, only let him show his face in England again, and the devil may
+pinch my nose with his tongs if I leave him a head on his shoulders: he
+shall be a sacrifice to your outraged dignity, my Elgiva.”
+
+“And yours, my Edwy.”
+
+Husband and wife were quite agreed on this subject: they had never
+forgiven Dunstan in the least degree, and, identifying him with
+religion, had well-nigh abjured it altogether.
+
+The ordinary dishes being now removed, the guests all partook lavishly
+of wine, and, their heads already heated, yielded entirely to the
+excitement of the moment. Toast after toast was drunk to the king: he
+was compared to Apollo for his beauty, and Elgiva to Venus, while the
+old northern mythology was ransacked also for appellations in honour of
+the youthful pair.
+
+Adjoining, in the outer hall, the higher domestics had their music and
+dancing, and the king and queen came to honour the entertainment by
+their presence. So the happy hours wore away, and at length the company
+were on the eve of departure, for fatigue was making itself felt, when
+an ominous blowing of a horn was heard at the outer gate.
+
+A pause, during which the company looked at each other, so strangely
+had the sound struck them, and yet they knew not why, save that it was
+an unlikely hour for such an occurrence.
+
+There was one only who knew what the message would probably be
+—Redwald; and he had kept the secret purposely from the king.
+
+The doors opened, and an usher brought in a messenger who had only been
+allowed a moment to change a dusty dress, ere he broke into the
+presence of royalty.
+
+“Speak,” said Edwy, as the messenger bowed before him, and kissed his
+hand.
+
+“My lord and king—” and the messenger glanced at Elgiva.
+
+“Let him speak, Edwy, my lord. Are we not one? What you can bear, your
+wife must bear also.”
+
+Thus adjured, the messenger spoke his news.
+
+“Mercia has revolted, and proclaimed Edgar king.”
+
+“The cause alleged?”
+
+“I know not, my lord.”
+
+“I can tell you,” said Redwald; “the banishment of the holy fox,
+Dunstan, and very shame prevents my adding that—”
+
+“No more,” said Edwy; “I can guess the rest.”
+
+He wished to spare Elgiva.
+
+He walked up and down the hall several times. His festive air had gone.
+
+“And on my wedding day, too,” he said. “Redwald, you knew this.”
+
+“Yes, my lord, but I wished to spare my king upon his wedding day,
+still I have not spared myself. The necessary steps are taken, your
+immediate vassals are summoned, and my own men are ready to march; we
+will sweep these rebels off the field.”
+
+“Elfric,” said the king, “you must be my right hand in the field: you
+will be ready to invade your native Mercia tomorrow. Think you your own
+friends are firm?”
+
+“My father, although he has disowned me, would never disown his lawful
+king; the duty and love he bore to your murdered father would forbid.”
+
+“Well, Redwald, have you known this many hours?”
+
+“I heard it at the frontier town of Mercia, Reading, last night, and
+took all my measures immediately.”
+
+“Then, can we really depend upon Wessex?”
+
+“I treat so indeed, my lord, else we should be in a very bad way
+indeed.”
+
+“Well, we must rest now. Elgiva, darling, this is a cold termination to
+our first anniversary, but your husband’s love shall ever protect you
+until he be cold in death.
+
+“Goodnight, Elfric, be ready for the morrow.
+
+“Goodnight, Redwald, trustiest warrior who ever served grateful lord.
+
+“Goodnight, gentlemen all.”
+
+And thus the royal party broke up, and thus ended the first anniversary
+of the ill-starred union.
+
+On the morrow all was haste and confusion in the royal palace. Elgiva
+departed early for Winchester, which, being farther removed from the
+frontier, was safer than London from any sudden excursion on the part
+of the Mercians, and the city was also devoted to the royal family. The
+citizens of London were directed to provide for the defence of their
+city, while the royal guards, attended by the immediate vassals of the
+crown, prepared to march into the heart of the rebellious district.
+
+It is too often supposed that the feudal system was of Norman
+importation, whereas its very foundation—the act of homage, or of
+“becoming your man,”—was brought by the Saxons and Angles from their
+German home. The lord was the protector of the vassal, but the vassal
+was bound to attend his feudal superior both in peace and war.
+
+So imperative was this obligation, that a vassal who abandoned his lord
+in the field of battle was liable to the death of a traitor.
+
+Therefore Edwy soon found himself at the head of a compact body of ten
+thousand men, all bound to stand by him to death. But there was one
+very disheartening circumstance, which attracted notice. No volunteers
+joined the little army, although a royal proclamation had promised
+lands from the territories of the rebels to each successful combatant
+in the cause of Edwy and Elgiva.
+
+The fear of the Church hung on all, the conviction that the law of both
+Church and State had been broken by the young king; the universal
+belief in the sanctity of Dunstan, and in the true patriotism of Odo
+whom they called “the good;” the thoughtless misgovernment since the
+wiser counsellors had dispersed—all these things weakened the hearts of
+the followers of Edwy.
+
+There was therefore but little enthusiasm when the inhabitants saw the
+soldiers of the king march out by the Watling Street, and the soldiers
+themselves looked dispirited.
+
+It was early dawn on the second day from the feast that the departure
+took place. Cynewulf, a valiant Earl of Wessex, was the real commander;
+nominally, Edwy commanded in person, and Elfric rode out of London by
+his side. Redwald’s rank would not have entitled him to the chief
+command.
+
+Passing through the environs of the city, they gained the open country,
+and marched steadily along the causeway the Romans had so firmly laid,
+until they reached Verulam or St. Alban’s, where they passed the night.
+It excited great discontent amongst the inhabitants that Edwy did not
+visit the shrine of the saint, the glory of their town; and his
+departure again took place amidst gloomy silence.
+
+They were now about to cross the frontier and enter Mercia, then in
+many respects an independent state; governed, it might be, by the same
+monarch and Witan as Wessex, even as Scotland and England are governed
+by the same sovereign and Parliament, yet retaining like them its own
+peculiar code of laws in many respects.
+
+And now Mercia had sternly refused to be governed any longer by the
+“enemy of the Church,” and chose the Etheling, Edgar, to be its king.
+
+Acting with the sanction of Odo, whom he deeply revered, the young
+Edgar, then only in his fifteenth year, accepted the offer, and the
+whole force of Mercia was gathering to support him when Edwy crossed
+the border.
+
+It must not be supposed that either Cynewulf or Redwald expected to
+conquer the Mercians with ten thousand men. No, their design was
+simpler: they had learned where Edgar was residing, and that the forces
+around him were small. One bold stroke might secure his person, and
+then Edwy might make his own terms. This was the secret of the advice
+they both gave to the young king.
+
+Redwald had, as we shall see, deep designs of his own to serve also,
+but they had been locked for years in his own breast, and no servant
+could seem more trusty and faithful than he did, or act with more
+energy in his master’s cause.
+
+The forces of Edwy, as we have related, left St. Alban’s on the second
+morning, and travelled, horse and foot, very rapidly all that day.
+
+Crossing the Icknield Street at Dunstable, where the remains of a huge
+temple, once sacred to Diana, were visible, they entered Mercia, and
+soon reached Towcester, a town which had been walled round by King
+Athelstane; here they found no force prepared to receive them, and the
+town opened its gates at once.
+
+They tarried here for a day, while they sent scouts and spies in all
+directions, many of whom never returned. The troops were quartered
+freely upon the inhabitants, who were evidently very hostile; and, in
+return, the soldiers of Edwy insulted the women and bullied the men.
+Every hour some quarrel arose, and generally ended in bloodshed; the
+citizens being commonly the victims.
+
+Late at night messengers arrived at the royal quarters, bringing
+information that Edgar was at Alcester, the ancient Alauna, beyond the
+Avon, and that Osric, the great Earl of Mercia, was with him collecting
+troops.
+
+A council was held at once, and it was decided to leave the Watling
+Street and to march for the Avon by cross-country routes. They rested
+that night amidst the ruins of the ancient Brinavæ, and here another
+council was held, to deliberate on their future movements, and it was
+decided to march westward at once, for tidings came that Edgar’s forces
+were rapidly increasing, and prudence suggested prompt measures. Edwy
+was becoming very anxious.
+
+The route for the next day was then made out and, with beating heart,
+Elfric learned that they purposed crossing the river not far from
+Æscendune.
+
+“Elfric, my friend,” said Edwy, “there will be a chance for you to
+visit Æscendune, and to obtain the old man’s forgiveness.”
+
+He said this with a slight sneer.
+
+“I cannot go there; I would die first.”
+
+Edwy started at the tone of deep feeling with which the words were
+said; he knew nothing of the rencontre of Elfric with his brother.
+
+“Still I think that I must spend this coming night there, and I will
+try and act the Christian for the occasion: perhaps I may do you a good
+turn, while I renew my acquaintance with your people.”
+
+In his very heart Elfric wished that Edwy might never arrive there, yet
+he knew not what to say.
+
+“Well,” said the prince, observing his hesitation, “you may go on with
+Cynewulf and the main body of the army, which will cross the Avon
+higher up, and I will make excuse that your duties detain you. I must
+go—I have special reasons, I wish at least to secure the fidelity of
+the few—and Redwald will accompany me; we join the army on the morrow,
+without losing any time by the move.”
+
+And so the matter was settled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+THE ROYAL GUEST.
+
+
+It was the morning of the first of August, and the sun, dispersing the
+early mists, gave promise of a bright summer day.
+
+The inhabitants of Æscendune, lord and vassals alike, were astir from
+the early daybreak; for that day the harvest was to be commenced, and
+the crops were heavier than had been known for many a year. A good
+harvest meant peace and prosperity in those times, a bad harvest
+famine, and perhaps rebellion; for if the home crop failed, commerce
+did not, as now, supply the deficiency.
+
+So it was with joy and gladness that the people went forth that day to
+reap with their sharp sickles in their hands, while the freshness of
+the early morn filled each heart insensibly with energy and life. The
+corn fell on the upland before their sharp strokes, while behind each
+reaper the younger labourers gathered it into sheaves.
+
+Old Ella stood in their midst looking on the familiar scene, while his
+pious heart returned many a fervent thanksgiving to the Giver of all
+good. Under the shade of some spreading beeches, which bordered the
+field, the domestics from the manor house were spreading the banquet
+for the reapers—mead and ale, corn puddings prepared in various modes
+with milk, huge joints of cold roast beef—for the hour when toil should
+have sharpened the appetite of the whole party.
+
+By the side of his father stood young Alfred administering with filial
+affection to all his wants, as if he felt constrained to supply a
+double service in his own person now that Elfric was no more, or, at
+least, dead to home ties.
+
+Thicker and thicker fell the wheat, and they thought surely such heavy
+sheaves had never fallen to their lot before.
+
+At last the blowing of a horn summoned all the reapers to their dinner,
+and when Father Cuthbert had said grace, the whole party fell to—the
+thane at the head of them; and when the desire of eating and drinking
+was appeased, the labourers lay on the grass, in the cool shade, to
+pass away the hour of noontide heat, before resuming their toil.
+
+“Father,” said Alfred, “a horseman is coming.”
+
+“My old eyes are somewhat dim; I do not see any one approaching.”
+
+“Nor I, as yet, but I hear him; listen, he is just crossing the brook;
+I can hear the splashing.”
+
+“Some royal messenger, perhaps, from Edgar or from Edwy, my son. I fear
+such may be the case; yet I wish I could be left in peace, afar from
+the strife which must convulse the land, if the ill-advised brothers
+cannot agree to reign—the one over Mercia, the other over Wessex.”
+
+“We have repeatedly said that we should be quite neutral, father.”
+
+“And yet, my son, we offend both parties, and, I fear me, we shall be
+forced to defend ourselves in the end. But God is our refuge and
+strength, a very present help in trouble. And now that I am old I can
+lean more and more upon Him. He will be a father to you, my Alfred,
+when these hoary hairs are hidden in the grave.”
+
+It was seldom that the old thane expressed his devotion in this strain;
+it seemed to Alfred as if there were a foreboding of coming trial in
+it, and he felt as when a cloud veils the face of the sun in early
+spring.
+
+The messenger now came in sight—a tall, resolute looking man, well
+armed and well mounted, and evidently bound for the hall. But when he
+saw the party beneath the trees he bent his course aside, and saluting
+the thane with all deference, inquired if he spoke to Ella of
+Æscendune.
+
+“I am he,” replied Ella. “I trust you are not the bearer of other than
+good tidings; but will you first refresh yourself, since it is ill
+talking between the full and the fasting?”
+
+“With gladness do I accept your bounty; for I have ridden since early
+dawn, and rider and horse are both exhausted.”
+
+“There is corn for your horse, and food and wine for his master.
+
+“Uhred, take charge of the steed.
+
+“Alfred, my son, place that best joint of beef before the stranger, and
+those wheaten cakes.
+
+“I drink to you, fair sir.”
+
+The messenger seemed in no hurry to open his tale until he had eaten
+and drunk, and it was with the greatest patience that the thane, who
+was one of nature’s gentlemen, awaited his leisure.
+
+At length the messenger looked up, and pushed his wooden platter aside.
+
+“I have come to be the bearer of good tidings to you, noble thane.
+Edwy, your king, with a small troop of horse, his royal retinue,
+proposes honouring your roof with his presence, and asks bed and board
+of his loyal subject, Ella of Æscendune.”
+
+“The king’s will is my law; and since it pleases the son of my late
+beloved master, King Edmund, to visit me, he shall find no lack of
+hospitality. But may I ask what sudden event has brought him into the
+heart of our country?”
+
+“He comes to chastise rebellion. A large force of several thousand men
+crosses the river a few miles higher this evening, and, not to
+incommode you with numbers, King Edwy comes apart from his followers.”
+
+Although he foresaw grave inconvenience, and even danger, in the
+proposal, yet Ella could not appear churlish and inhospitable;
+therefore, learning from the messenger that the king might be expected
+before sunset, he returned home to make such preparations as should
+suggest themselves for the entertainment of his royal master, for so he
+still would have styled Edwy, deeply as he felt he had been wronged by
+him.
+
+“Father,” said Alfred, as he walked homeward by his side, “think you
+Elfric will be in his train? I wish he may be.”
+
+“Alas, my son! I fear I shall never see poor Elfric again. My mind
+always seems to misgive me when I think of him; and I have so strong a
+foreboding that he has received my last blessing, that I cannot
+overcome it. No, Alfred, I fear we shall not see Elfric tonight.”
+
+No more was said upon the subject; they reached the hall in good time,
+and startled the lady Edith by their tidings.
+
+Instantly all was in preparation: the best casks of wine were broached,
+fowls and wild birds alike had cause to lament that their lives were
+shortened, chamberlain and cook were busy, clean rushes were brought in
+to adorn the floor of the hall, sweet flowers and aromatic grass for
+that of the royal bedchamber; and it was not till a flourish of
+trumpets announced the approach of the cavalcade that all was ready,
+and the maidens and men servants, arrayed in their best holiday attire,
+stood grouped without the gate to receive their king.
+
+At last the glitter of the departing ray upon pointed lances announced
+the approach, and soon the whole party might be seen—a hundred horse
+accompanying the king’s person, and one or two nobles of distinction,
+including Redwald, riding by his side.
+
+When the train first reached the spot from which the castle was
+visible, a strange thing occurred. The king’s eyes were fixed upon
+Redwald, and, to the royal astonishment, the whole frame of that worthy
+seemed shaken by a sudden emotion. His countenance became pale, his
+lips were compressed, and his eyes seemed to dart fire.
+
+“What is the matter, my Redwald?” asked the king.
+
+“Oh, nothing, my lord!” said he, resuming his wonted aspect with
+difficulty, but at last becoming calm as a lake when the wind has died
+away. “Only a sudden spasm.”
+
+“I hope you are not ill?”
+
+“No, my lord; you need not really feel anxious concerning me.
+
+“The hall of Æscendune appears a pleasant place for a summer
+residence,” he added.
+
+“I have been there before,” said the king. “Spent some weeks there.
+Yes; I thought it a great change for the better then, after the musty
+odour of sanctity which reigned in the palace of my uncle the monk, but
+all things go by comparison. I might not relish a month there now.”
+
+“Yet it looks like a place formidable for its kind, and it might not be
+amiss to persuade the worthy old thane to receive a garrison there, so
+that if the worst came to the worst we might have a place of refuge,
+otherwise the Mercians would soon have possession of it.”
+
+“Ella is one of themselves.”
+
+“But the rebel Edgar may not forgive him for entertaining us!”
+
+“He can hardly help himself. Still, the smoke of those fires, which, I
+trust, betokens good cheer; and the peaceful aspect of that party
+coming out to meet us, in the midst of whom I recognise old Ella and
+his son Alfred, Elwy’s brother, does not look much like compulsion.”
+
+“Making the best of a bad bargain, perhaps.”
+
+“I prefer to think otherwise.”
+
+At this moment the two parties met, and Edwy at once dismounted from
+his courser with that bewitching and kingly grace which became “Edwy
+the Fair.” He advanced gracefully to the old thane, and, presenting the
+customary mark of homage, embraced him as a son might embrace a
+father—“For,” said he, “Elfric has taught me to revere you as a father
+even if Æscendune had not taught me before then. I robbed you of your
+son, now I offer you two sons, Elfric and myself.”
+
+The tears stood in the old man’s eyes at this reception, and the
+mention of his dear prodigal son.
+
+“He is well, I hope?” said he, striving to speak with such sternness
+and dignity as sell-respect taught in opposition to natural feeling.
+
+“Well and happy; and I trust you will see him in a day or two, when we
+shall have chastised our rebels; justice, mingled with mercy, must
+first have its day.”
+
+“Where is he now?”
+
+“With the main body of the army; in fact, he is my right hand. It is my
+fault, not his, that he is not here now; but we could not both leave,
+and he preferred that I should come and proffer my filial duty first,
+and perhaps that I should assure you of his love and duty, however
+appearances may have seemed against him.”
+
+Then the eye of Edwy caught Alfred. It must be remembered that Elfric
+had kept the secret of his brother’s supposed death, even from the
+king.
+
+“And of Alfred, too, I have ever been reminded by his brother; your
+name has seldom been long absent from our conversation.”
+
+Alfred reddened.
+
+“I trust now,” he continued, “that I may profitably renew an
+acquaintance suspended for three years. I am but young, only in my
+eighteenth year, and I have no father; let me find one in the wisest of
+the Mercians.”
+
+So bewitching was the grace of the fair speaker that he seemed to carry
+all before him. Ella began to think he must have misjudged the king.
+Alfred alone, who knew much more of the relations between the king and
+the Church than his father, still suspended his belief in these most
+gracious words.
+
+Leaning upon the still powerful arm of Ella, his young agile form
+contrasting strongly with the powerful build of the old thane —powerful
+even in decay—they came in front of the hall, where the serfs and
+vassals all received them with joyful acclamations, and amidst the
+general homage the king entered the hall.
+
+There he reverentially saluted the lady Edith.
+
+“The mother of my friend, my brother, Elfric, is my mother also,” said
+he.
+
+Then he was conducted to his chamber, where the bath was provided for
+him, and unguents for anointing himself, after which, accepting the
+loan of a change of clothing more suitable than his travelling apparel,
+he received the visit of Ella, who came to conduct him to the banquet.
+
+All this while his followers had been received according to their
+several degrees; and a board was spread, of necessity, in a barn, for
+the due feasting of the soldiers of Edwy and the vassals of Æscendune;
+while the officers and the chief tenants of the family met at the royal
+table in the great hall once before introduced to our readers.
+
+It boots not to repeat an oft-told tale, to describe the banquet in all
+its prodigal luxury, to tell how light the casks in the cellars of
+Æscendune seemed afterwards, how empty the larder; suffice it to say
+that in due course the banquet was ended, the toasts were drunk, and,
+with an occasional interlude in the gleeman’s song and the harper’s
+wild music, the conversation was at its height. Wine and wassail
+unloosed men’s tongues.
+
+Redwald sat near the king, who had introduced him to Ella as a dear
+friend both to him and his son—“a very Mentor,” he said, “who, since
+the unhappy quarrel into which my counsellors forced me —yes, forced
+me—with Dunstan, has done more to keep Elfric and me straight in our
+morals than at one time I should have thought possible for any man to
+do.
+
+“Redwald, you need not blush; it is true, and your king is proud to own
+it.”
+
+Redwald was not exactly blushing; he had spent the interval before the
+banquet in looking eagerly and wistfully all round the house, and now
+his countenance had a cold composure, which made it seem as if he had
+never known emotion; still he answered fittingly to the king’s humour:
+
+“Alack, my lord, such credit is due only to the blessed saints,
+especially St. Wilfred, whom you first learned to love at Æscendune, as
+you have often told me.”
+
+“Yes,” said Edwy; “you remember, Ella, how I used to steal away even
+from the chase, and visit his chapel at the priory which your worthy
+father founded. Truly, I mused upon the saint so much that I marvel he
+appeared not to me; I think he did once.”
+
+“Indeed!” exclaimed his auditors.
+
+“Yes; I had been musing upon my condition as a poor orphan boy,
+deprived of my brave father—he was your friend, Ella!—when methought a
+figure in the dress of a very ancient bishop, stood beside me, yet
+immaterial as the breeze of evening. ‘Thy prayer is heard’ said he to
+me; ‘thou hast brought many gifts to St. Wilfred; he shall send thee
+one, even a friend.’ It was fulfilled in Elfric.”
+
+“Truly, it was marvellous,” said Father Cuthbert, who listened with
+open mouth. “I doubt not it was our sainted patron.”
+
+Alfred said nothing; his recollections of Edwy’s days at Æscendune did
+not embrace many hours in the chapel of St. Wilfred.
+
+The great wonderment of Ella may be conceived: he had always mourned
+over Edwy as a headstrong youth, dead to religion, and now he was
+called upon to contemplate him in so different a light. The reader may
+wonder at his credulity, but if he had listened to the sweet voice of
+the beautiful king, had gazed into that innocent-looking face—those
+eyes which always seemed to meet the gaze, and never lowered themselves
+or betrayed their owner—he would, perhaps, have been deceived too; yet
+Edwy was overdoing it, and a look from Redwald warned him of the fact.
+He took the other line.
+
+“Alas!” he said, “I have been very very unworthy of St. Wilfred’s fond
+interest in me, and may have done very rash things; but some day the
+saint may rejoice in me again, and then he shall not find in me a
+rebellious son.”
+
+Further than this he was not disposed to go, for in truth he felt
+himself sickened by his very success in deceit, although half disposed
+to be proud of it at the same time. But Redwald had taken up the
+conversation.
+
+“These halls of yours seem old, venerable thane; has your family long
+dwelt under this hospitable roof?”
+
+“My remote ancestor fought by the side of Cynric in the victories which
+led to the foundation of Mercia.”
+
+“Ah! many a sad yet glorious tale and legend for the gleeman’s harp,
+doubtless, adorns your annals.”
+
+“Not many; we have our traditions.”
+
+“For instance, is there one connected with the foundation of the priory
+hard by?”
+
+“It is of recent date, my father built it.”
+
+“Strange, for generally these old places are reared up by repentant
+sinners, mourning over the sins they have committed, or the day of
+grace they have cast away; is there no tale attached to your
+foundation?”
+
+“Alas! there is; but it is one whose stain is all too recent, one we
+cannot recount, or suffer gleeman’s harp to set to music, lest we
+harrow the yet bleeding wound.”
+
+Redwald could not ask more; the answer was too plain and distinct, and
+so he was forced to repress his curiosity.
+
+The conversation then became desultory and, finally, when the gleemen
+began the well known _piece de resistance_, the battle of Brunanburgh,
+Edwy yawned and Redwald looked sleepy, while the old thane actually
+slept in his huge armchair, and was awakened only by the cessation of
+the music and singing.
+
+Even in the presence of royalty itself Ella did not suffer the company
+to disperse before the chaplain had said the customary compline
+service, after which the guard was doubled at the door, and soon the
+whole household was buried in sweet and peaceful sleep.
+
+Yet, although they knew it not, they nourished the deadliest foe of
+their race in the bosom of the family. There was one at least who could
+not sleep that night who now paced his narrow chamber, now looked forth
+at the meadows, woods, and hills, sleeping in the summer twilight; now,
+unchecked, burst into the wildest excitement, and paced his chamber as
+a wild beast might pace the floor of his cage; now calmed down into a
+sarcastic smile.
+
+“Yes!” he said in soliloquy, “and here I am at last; here in the halls
+which should have been his and mine, and shall be mine yet; here! and
+they know it not; here! and the reward of years of patient endurance is
+at hand; here! yes, here, in the halls of Æscendune—dreamed of, sighed
+after, prayed for at the shrine of such gods as promise vengeance;
+here, by Woden and Thor; here by Satan’s help, if there be a
+Satan!—here! here! here!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+NAKED THOUGH LOCKED IN STEEL.
+
+
+Early in the morning the whole household was astir, and the breakfast
+alone preceded the preparations for the departure of Edwy and his
+retinue. Redwald did not appear, and they became uneasy at his
+prolonged absence, until, sending to his room, they found him suffering
+from sudden, but severe illness; which, as the leech shortly decided,
+would absolutely prevent his travelling that day.
+
+It was evident that Edwy was annoyed by this, but it was not until
+after a long conference with Redwald that he took Ella aside, and
+pointing out to him the exposed position of the hall, besought his
+permission to leave a garrison of fifty men under the command of this
+trusty officer, which would ensure their safety, in case of any sudden
+attack on the part of Edgar’s troops.
+
+“I can hardly feel that I need such protection, my royal master,”
+replied Ella; “I dwell among my own people, and am perhaps safer when
+quite unprotected.”
+
+“In that case, may I press my own poor claims?” replied the king. “In
+case of the worst, I should have Æscendune to fall back upon, a retreat
+secured by chosen men behind me, where one might halt and turn to bay;
+again, Redwald’s sudden illness necessitates my leaving him to your
+hospitality.”
+
+Thus pressed on every side, Ella felt he could but yield to a request
+which the speaker had not only the power but the right, as his feudal
+superior, to enforce; for Ella was not prepared to throw off his
+allegiance, as most of his neighbours had done, and to make common
+cause with Edgar. Again, the conversation of the previous night had
+given him more confidence in Edwy, and more hope of seeing Elfric
+again, like the returning prodigal, than he had previously had.
+
+Edwy saw this, and continued:
+
+“And it is but a few days hence, ere I propose to return with
+Elfric—whom I could indeed put in command of such forces as are
+necessary to secure you against our mutual foes, when I return
+southward. Redwald and his troops will hold the place in trust for
+Elfric, till he arrives.”
+
+The last lingering feeling of reluctance was now forcibly banished, and
+Ella consented to receive Redwald as his guest, with a picked troop of
+fifty men.
+
+“They shall be the best behaved warriors you have ever seen, my own
+hus-carles—men who go to mass every morning, and shrift every week,”
+added the deceitful prince; “at least,” he added, as he saw the look of
+incredulity Ella could not suppress, “some of them do, I can’t say how
+many.”
+
+In the course of an hour from this conversation, the royal party took
+its departure, reduced to half its numbers.
+
+Edwy left amidst the regret of all, so amiable had been his manners, so
+winning his ways.
+
+“I take a son’s liberty,” said he, as he saluted the venerable cheek of
+the lady Edith; “but I will bring your other son back with me in a few
+days.”
+
+The road leading over the hill and through the forest had swallowed up
+the retreating force, when Ella personally superintended the
+distribution of quarters to the guard of Redwald, many of whom
+afterwards volunteered to follow him to the harvest field, and
+displayed uncommon alacrity in carrying the wheat safely to its
+granaries, saying the rebels should never have the reaping thereof.
+
+There was, however, a kind of gloom over the whole party through that
+day. The thought that deadly strife impended close at hand weighed upon
+the spirits of Ella, but they brightened again at the renewed hope of
+meeting his prodigal, and he now hoped repentant, son in peace.
+
+Meanwhile, very different scenes were on the point of being enacted
+only twice ten miles from the spot.
+
+The main body of the army left its quarters on the right bank of the
+Avon, at the same hour in which Edwy left Æscendune to join them on
+their march and they proceeded in safety all through the morning. At
+midday they lay down to feed and to rest, and while thus resigning
+themselves to repose, with the guards posted carefully around, the
+sound of cavalry was heard in the distance, and shortly the royal party
+appeared. Elfric was alert to receive them, but could not conceal his
+surprise when he saw their diminished numbers, and perceived the
+absence of Redwald.
+
+Edwy saw his look of embarrassment, and hastened to reply to the
+question it conveyed.
+
+“They are left at Æscendune, fifty under the command of Redwald, to
+fortify the house until we return. You must go home this time, and you
+need not fear, for I have been a very saint at Æscendune, and they are
+expecting Dunstan will speedily return and canonise me. Elfric, I have
+used my sanctity for your advantage, since I have represented you as
+sharing it at least in some degree.”
+
+“I fear me, my father is too wise to be so easily deceived.”
+
+“Nothing of the kind; he really seemed to believe in it; at all events,
+I have promised you shall return with me.”
+
+“Did they really seem to wish to see me?”
+
+“They did really, especially your brother Alfred.”
+
+Elfric started as if an arrow had struck him.
+
+“Alfred. Alfred!” he said.
+
+“Yes, why not Alfred?”
+
+“And you saw him alive and well?”
+
+“To be sure, why not? Did you think he was dead.”
+
+Elfric became confused, and muttered some incoherent answer, but he
+rejoiced in his very heart; he felt as if a mountain were removed from
+him, and a sweet longing for home, such as he had not felt since a
+certain Good Friday, sprang up in his mind, so strongly that he would
+have gone then and there, had circumstances permitted.
+
+Alas, poor boy! his wish was not thus easily to be gratified: he had
+sinned very deeply—his penance had yet to be accomplished; well has the
+poet written:
+
+“_Facilis descensus Averno . . . . Sed retrograre gradum, superasque
+evadere ad auras, Hoc opus—hic labor est._” xxvii
+
+
+The midday halt concluded, the troops resumed their march for Alcester,
+where they hoped to arrive about nightfall, and to surprise Edgar and
+his few followers. All that afternoon they proceeded through a dense
+woodland country; and the evening was setting in upon them, when
+suddenly the scouts in front came galloping back, and gave the
+startling information that entrenchments were thrown up across their
+path, and that a large force was evidently entrenched behind.
+
+At first Edwy could scarcely believe the report; but Cynewulf, the
+experienced commander upon whom, as we have said, the real command of
+the force devolved, rode forward, and soon returned, having previously
+ordered a general halt, and that entrenchments should be thrown up for
+their own protection during the night.
+
+“Ealdorman,” said Edwy, impatiently, “why throw up entrenchments? can
+we not carry theirs by storm? we are all ready, are we not, for a
+valiant charge?”
+
+“Nay, my lord, we are but ill prepared,” was the reply, “for such
+desperate measures. I am not certain they do not outnumber us; even so,
+we probably excel them in discipline and skill, and have every chance
+of victory tomorrow, which we should lose by fighting in the dark.”
+
+So Edwy, who did not lack personal courage, and would gladly have ended
+the short raid then and there, was forced to be governed by wiser
+heads, and accordingly the bivouacs were made, the fires lighted, and
+the royal tent pitched upon the slope of a gentle valley, which
+descended to a brook in the bottom, where the ground rose similarly on
+the other side, and was crowned by the hostile entrenchment, behind
+which rose the smoke of the enemy’s fires. The heads of numerous
+soldiers, seen over the mound, showed how well they were prepared.
+
+The entrenchment was dug, the mound thrown up, the sentinels posted,
+and all in so short a space of time that to the uninitiated in the art
+of war, it would have seemed little short of miraculous; but the
+discipline of the Danes, who owed their success generally to the skill
+with which they fortified their camps, had been partially inherited by
+their adversaries, and the hus-carles were not even all English: there
+were many Danes amongst them.
+
+The suppers were soon cooked and eaten, the wine circulated freely, and
+patriotic songs began to be heard: but there was one who seemed to have
+no heart for them—Elfric. At the huge fire, which blazed near the royal
+tent, Edwy sat as master of the feast, and he was in a state of
+boisterous merriment. But all Elfric’s efforts could not hide the
+depression of his spirits, and Edwy, who loved him sincerely—for the
+reader has seen that he was quite capable of love—tried to rouse him
+from it, anxious that no one should suspect the courage of his
+favourite.
+
+Once or twice Elfric seemed to make great efforts to overcome this
+feeling of depression, and partially succeeded in veiling it from all
+but the observant young king.
+
+At last the feast was over.
+
+“My friends,” said the king, “we must be stirring early in the morning,
+so we will now disperse for the night.”
+
+They drank a parting cup, then separated, while the king took Elfric’s
+arm and led him aside.
+
+“Elfric,” said he, “did I not know my friend and most faithful
+follower, I should suspect that he feared the morrow’s conflict.”
+
+“I cannot help it,” said Elfric; “perhaps I do fear it, yet, had I but
+my father’s forgiveness, could I but see him once more, I could laugh
+at the danger. It is not pain or death I fear, but I long to be where
+you have been, I would I had gone with you now.”
+
+“So do I.”
+
+“And now I have my forebodings that I shall never hear my father’s
+forgiveness; and, Edwy, if I die without it, I believe my spirit cannot
+rest; I shall haunt the spot till the day of doom.”
+
+“This is all moonshine, Elfric. You have not been such a bad fellow
+after all; if you go wrong, what will happen to the greater part of
+those amongst us who may die tomorrow? When you once get into the
+fight, and your blood gets warm, you will be all right; it is only the
+first battle that gives one all these fancies.”
+
+“No; it is not that. I am of a race of warriors, and I do not suppose
+one of that race ever felt like this in his first battle. I have often
+looked forward to mine with joy, but now my mind is full of gloomy
+forebodings: I feel as if some terrible danger, not that of the fight,
+were hanging over me and mine, and as if I should never meet those I
+did love once, either in this world or the next.”
+
+“The next! all we know about that comes from the priestly pratings. I
+think, of the two heavens, Valhalla,xxviii with its hunting or fighting
+by day, its feasting by night, would suit me best. I don’t know why we
+should think ourselves wiser than our ancestors; they were most likely
+right about the matter, if there be another world at all.”
+
+“I cannot disbelieve, if you can,” replied poor Elfric, “I have tried
+to, but I can’t. Well, I daresay I shall know all about it by this time
+tomorrow.”
+
+“Pshaw! let tomorrow take care of itself; ’tis our first fight, Elfric,
+and we will have no cowardly forebodings; we shall live to laugh at
+them all. What shall we do with Edgar, if we get him tomorrow? I
+suppose one must not shed a brother’s blood, even if he be a rebel?”
+
+“Certainly not; no, no.”
+
+“Perhaps it will be shed for me, and a lucky thrust with sword or lance
+may end all our trouble, and leave me sole king; but won’t the holy fox
+Dunstan grieve if his pet, his favourite, gets hurt? Come, cheer up,
+Elfric, my boy; dismiss dull care, and be yourself again!”
+
+Elfric tried very hard to do so, and again partly succeeded. They had
+extended their walk all round the limits of the camp. It was a
+beautiful starlit night: there was a new moon, which was just going
+down, and an uncertain light hung about the field which was to be the
+scene of the conflict. It was one of those bright nights when the very
+aspect of nature suggests thoughts of the Eternal and the Infinite;
+when the most untutored being, gazing up into the deep blue void, finds
+his mind struggle vainly to grasp the hidden secrets those depths
+conceal; when the soul seems to claim her birthright, and dreams of an
+existence boundless, illimitable, as the starry wastes around. Such
+were, perhaps, the ideas which animated the philosophers of the old
+heathen world when they placed their departed heroes amongst the
+constellations; such, perhaps, the thoughts which led the dying
+apostate Julian to bid his followers weep no more for a prince about to
+be numbered with the stars.
+
+Thoughts of peace would those radiant orbs have spoken, under any other
+circumstances, to the ardent youth as he gazed upon them; but now they
+oppressed him with the consciousness that he was at enmity with the
+mighty Unknown, that he was in danger, such danger as he could not
+comprehend; not that which comes from the lance point or the sword
+blade, but danger which fills the soul with the consciousness of its
+existence, yet is impalpable, not having revealed itself, only its
+presence.
+
+“Goodnight, Elfric,” said Edwy, as they reached the camp on their
+return; “goodnight. I hope you will be in better spirits in the
+morning.”
+
+Edwy retired within the folds which concealed the entrance to his own
+tent. Close by was the tent appointed for Elfric, who acted as his
+page; and the latter entered also, and sat down on a camp stool.
+
+His bed did not seem to invite him; he sat on the seat, his face buried
+in his hands; then he suddenly rose, threw himself on his knees, only
+for a moment, rose up again:
+
+“I can’t, I can’t pray; if my fate be death, then come death and
+welcome the worst. There will at least be nothing hidden then, nothing
+behind the scenes. I will not be a coward.”
+
+The phrase was not yet written—“Conscience makes cowards of us all;”
+yet how true the principle then as now—true before Troy’s renown had
+birth, true in these days of modern civilisation.
+
+He could not sleep peacefully, although he laid himself down; his hands
+moved in the air, as if to drive off some unseen enemy, as if the
+danger whose presence was impalpable to the waking mind revealed itself
+in sleep.
+
+“No, no” he muttered; “let the blow fall on me, on me, on me alone!”
+then he rose as if he would defend some third person from the attack of
+an enemy, and the word “Father” once or twice escaped his lips; yet he
+was only dreaming.
+
+“Father!” again he cried, in the accents of warning, as if some
+imminent danger menaced the loved one.
+
+He awoke, stared about, hardly recognising where he was.
+
+“What can I have been dreaming about?” he cried; “what can it all mean?
+I thought I was at Æscendune;” and he strove vainly to recall the
+scenes of his dream.
+
+The tread of the passing guard was the only sound which broke the
+stillness of the camp.
+
+“I cannot sleep,” said Elfric, and walked forth.
+
+The night was waning, and in the east a red glow was creeping upwards;
+the stars were, however, still brilliant. Opposite, at the distance of
+less than a mile, the reflection of the camp fires, now low, revealed
+the presence of the enemy; before him the mist slowly arose in white
+thin smoke-like wreaths, from the grass whereon many should soon sleep
+their last sleep, now in unconsciousness of their fate.
+
+“I wonder where I shall lie?” thought Elfric, as if it were certain he
+would fall.
+
+He felt cooler now, as the hour drew near; he watched the red light
+creeping upward, and saw the light clouds above catch the glow, until
+the birds began their songs, the glorious orb arose to gild the coming
+strife, and the shrill trumpet in the camp was answered by the distant
+notes in the camp of the foe, like an echo afar off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+THE SLEEP OF PEACE.
+
+
+The first day after the departure of the king from Æscendune passed
+rapidly away. The soldiers who had remained behind with Redwald were
+quiet and orderly in their demeanour, and even, in obedience to secret
+orders, attended the evensong at the minster church, as if moved
+thereto by devotion, although the curious spectator might easily
+discover the unaccustomed character of their service, by the difficulty
+with which they followed the prayers, and the uneasy impatience with
+which they listened to a lengthened exposition of a portion of the
+Anglo-Saxon version of the Gospels from Father Cuthbert.
+
+The old thane and all his family were very anxious, it may be readily
+believed, for the earliest news from the field of battle, for battle
+every one agreed was impending; and, to gratify their natural
+curiosity. Redwald sent out quick and alert members of his troop, to
+act as messengers, and bear speedy news from the scene of action.
+
+The night set in clear and bright, as we have already seen; and while
+poor Elfric was wandering about uneasily beneath that brilliant sky,
+the same stars looked down peacefully upon his home, where all slept
+sweetly under the fostering care, as they would have said, of their
+guardian angels.
+
+The morn broke brightly, and with every promise of a fine harvest day.
+The labourers were speedily again in the fields; the cattle wandered
+under the herdsman’s care to their distant pastures; the subdued
+tinkling of the sheep bells met the ear, and the other subdued sounds
+which soothe the air on a summer’s day; and so the hours fled by, and
+no one would have dreamed that, not twenty miles away, man met man in
+the fierce and deadly struggle of war.
+
+When the reapers assembled for their midday meal, they discussed the
+merits of the quarrel, and nearly all those who had been brought under
+the eye of “Edwy the Fair” were eager in pleading his cause, and trying
+to find some extenuation of his misdeeds in the matter of the illegal
+marriage, for such it was, from the mildest point of view; and scarcely
+a voice was raised on the opposite side, until Ella drew near the scene
+of conversation, and observed that “while God forbid they should judge
+the matter harshly, yet law was law, and right was right, and a
+beautiful face or winsome look could not change it.”
+
+Strolling near the field, seemingly absorbed in thought, walked
+Redwald, and seeing the reapers, he came towards them.
+
+“A picture of peaceful enjoyment,” he quietly said. “How often have I
+wished I could but lay down sword and lance to take more innocent
+weapons in hand, and to spend my declining days ’mid scenes like
+these.”
+
+“Indeed!” said Ella. “It is generally thought that men whose trade is
+war love their calling.”
+
+“Yes; sometimes the fierce din of battle seems a pastime fit for the
+gods, but the banquet is apt to cloy.”
+
+“Have you followed your profession for many years?”
+
+“Since I was a mere child; even my boyhood was passed amid the din of
+arms.”
+
+There were very few professional soldiers in that day, and they were
+much dreaded. An Englishman was always ready to take up arms when
+lawfully called by his feudal superior, or when home or civil rights
+were in danger, but he generally laid them down and returned to his
+fields with joy; hence the rustics looked upon a man like Redwald with
+much undisguised curiosity.
+
+“Think you we shall soon hear from the contending parties?” asked
+Alfred, who was, as usual, in attendance upon his father.
+
+“Perhaps by nightfall; one of my men has just returned to tell me that
+the king’s progress was stopped by an entrenched camp of the rebels,
+and that they expected to fight at early dawn.”
+
+The news was unexpected, and every one felt his heart beat more
+quickly.
+
+“I have a messenger already on the spot, and so soon as the royal
+forces have gained the victory he will speed hither as fast as four
+legs can bring him; we shall probably hear by eventide.”
+
+It is needless to say how every one panted for the decisive news. Ella
+and Alfred soon returned to the castle, and Redwald took his horse, and
+rode out, as he said, to meet the messenger.
+
+The hours seemed to pass more slowly; the sun drew near the west, the
+shadows lengthened; and Ella, with the lady Edith, Alfred, Edgitha, and
+all the members of the little society, could hardly bend their minds to
+any occupation, mental or physical. Elfric was ever in their thoughts.
+
+“O Ella!” said his wife, “this suspense is very hard to bear; I long to
+hear about our boy.”
+
+The mother’s heart was bound up in him, as if there were no other life
+in danger that day; Edwy or Edgar, it was little to her in comparison
+with her longing for her first-born son.
+
+“He is in God’s Hands, dearest!” returned her husband; “and in better
+Hands than ours.”
+
+Well might the thoughts of the lady Edith be concentrated on the crisis
+before her. She had borne, with a mother’s wounded heart, the
+separation of three years, and now it was a question of a few short
+hours whether she should ever see him again or not. Now fancy painted
+him wounded, nay dying, on the bloodstained field; now it impelled her
+to sally forth towards the scene, as though her feeble strength could
+bear her to him. Now she sought the chapel, and found refuge in prayer.
+She had found refuge many many hours of that eventful day, but
+especially since Redwald had borne the news of the imminent battle.
+
+At length the long suspense was ended. Redwald was seen riding at full
+speed towards the castle, followed by the long-expected messenger.
+
+“Victory! victory!” he cried; “the rebels are defeated; the king shall
+enjoy his own.”
+
+“But Elfric, my son! my son!”
+
+“Is safe: and will be here in a day or two, perhaps tomorrow.”
+
+“Thank God!” and the overcharged heart found relief in tears—happy
+tears of joy.
+
+The messenger who followed Redwald brought detailed accounts of the
+event. According to his statements it appeared that the king had broken
+through the hostile entrenchment, and had scattered their forces in the
+first attack. The messenger particularly asserted that he had seen
+Elfric, and had been charged with the fondest messages for home, where
+the youth hoped to be in a few days at the latest, seeing there was no
+longer an enemy to fear.
+
+The hearts of all present were filled with thankfulness and joy.
+
+“Come, my beloved Edith,” said the old thane. “Let us go first to thank
+God;” and they went together to the chapel which had witnessed so many
+earnest prayers that day—now, they believed, so fully answered.
+
+All gloom and despondency seemed removed, and Ella went forth to walk
+alone in the woods, to meditate in silence on the goodness of God.
+Nearly each evening this had been his habit. The woods, he said, were
+God’s first temples, and when alone he best raised his heart from
+nature to nature’s God.
+
+His thoughts were happy that evening: his first-born boy would be
+restored to him, and, like the father in the Gospels, he longed to
+embrace the prodigal, and to tell him that all was forgiven. But he
+schooled himself to patience, and many a fervent thanksgiving did he
+offer as he wandered amidst the grassy glades.
+
+But he was more weary than usual with the toil and anxiety of the day,
+and shortly seated himself upon a mossy bank beneath an aged oak. The
+trees grew thickly behind and before him, on each side of the glade,
+which terminated at no great distance in the heart of the pathless
+forest, so that no occasional wayfarer would be likely to pass that
+way.
+
+There he reposed, until a gentle slumber stole over him and buried all
+his senses in oblivion.
+
+The day was nearly spent, the light clouds which still reflected the
+sun’s ruddy glow were fast fading into a grey neutral tint, and
+darkness was approaching. Once a timid deer passed along the glade, and
+started as it beheld the sleeping form, then went on, but started yet
+more violently as it passed a thicket on the opposite side. The night
+breeze had arisen and was blowing freshly; but still the old man slept
+on, as though he slept that sleep from which none shall awaken until
+the archangel’s trump.
+
+Meanwhile they grew uneasy at the hall over his prolonged absence, and
+at length Alfred started to find his father, beginning to fear that the
+excitement of the day had been too great for him, and that he might
+need assistance. He knew the favourite glade wherein the aged thane was
+wont to walk, and the mossy bank whereon he frequently reposed, so he
+lost no time, but bent his steps directly for the spot.
+
+As he drew near, he saw his father lying on the bank beneath the oak as
+still in sound sleep, and marvelled that the chilly air of the evening
+had not awoke him. He was not wont to sleep thus soundly. He approached
+closely, but his steps did not arouse the sleeper. He now bent over
+him, and put his hand on his shoulder affectionately and lovingly.
+
+“Father, awake,” he said; “the night is coming on; you will take cold.”
+
+But there was no answering voice, and the sleeper stirred not. Alfred
+became seriously alarmed, but his alarm changed suddenly into dread
+certainty. The feathered shaft of an arrow met his eye, dimly seen in
+the darkness, as it stuck in the left side of the sleeping Ella.
+Sleeping, indeed. But the sleep was eternal.
+
+Horrified at the sight, refusing to believe his eyes, the son first
+continued his vain attempts to awake his sire, then fell on his knees,
+and wrung his hands while he cried piteously, “O father, speak to me!”
+as if he could not accept the fact that those lips would never salute
+him more. The moonbeams fell on that calm face, calm as if in sleep,
+without a spasm of pain, without the contraction of a line of the
+countenance. The weapon had pierced through the heart; death had been
+instantaneous, and the sleeper had passed from the sleep of this earth
+to that which is sweetly called “sleep in the Lord,” without a struggle
+or a pang.
+
+His heart full of joy and thanksgiving, he had gone to carry his
+tribute of praise to the very throne of God.
+
+When the first paroxysm of pain and grief was over, the necessity of
+summoning some further aid, of bearing the sad news to his home,
+pressed itself upon the mind of Alfred, and he took his homeward road
+alone, as if he hardly knew what he was doing, but simply obeyed
+instinct. Arrived there, he could not tell his mother or sister; he
+only sought the chamberlain and the steward, and begged them to come
+forth with him, and said something had happened to his father. They
+went forth.
+
+“We must carry something to bear him home,” he said, and they took a
+framework of wood upon which they threw some bearskins.
+
+Alfred did not speak during the whole way, save that in answer to the
+anxious inquiries of his companions he replied, “You will see!” and
+they could but infer the worst from his manner, without giving him the
+pain of telling the fatal truth.
+
+At length they reached the glade where the dead body lay. The moon was
+bright, and in her light they saw the fatal truth at once.
+
+“Alas, my master! alas, my dear lord! Who has done this? Who could have
+done it?” was their cry. “Was there one who did not love and revere
+him?”
+
+More demonstrative than Alfred had been were they in their
+lamentations, for the deepest grief is often the most silent.
+
+At length they raised the body, the temple of so pure and holy a
+spirit, which had now returned to the God Who gave it, reverently as
+men would have handled the relics of some martyr saint, and placed it
+on the bier which they had prepared. Then they began their homeward
+route, and ere a long time had passed they stood before the great gate
+of the castle with their burden.
+
+It now became a necessity for Alfred to announce the sad news to his
+widowed mother; and here the power of language fails us—the shock was
+so sudden, so unexpected. The half of her life was so suddenly torn
+from the bereaved one, that the pang was well-nigh insupportable. But
+God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and has promised that the
+strength of His beloved ones shall be even as their day. So He
+strengthened the sensitive frame to bear a shock which otherwise might
+have slain it.
+
+The sounds of lamentation and woe were heard all over the castle as
+they slowly bore the body to the domestic chapel, while some drew near,
+impelled by an irresistible desire to gaze upon it, and then cried
+aloud in excess of woe. Amongst the others, Redwald approached, and
+gazed fixedly upon the corpse; and Eric the steward often declared, in
+later days, that he saw the wound bleed afresh under the glance of the
+ruthless warrior, but perhaps this was an afterthought.
+
+Father Cuthbert, who had now been elected prior of the monastic house
+below, on the banks of the river, soon heard the sad news, and hastened
+up to tender the sweet consolations of religion—the only solace at such
+a time, for it is in seasons of suffering that we best comprehend the
+Cross.
+
+When he entered he saw the corpse in the chapel, where they had placed
+it before the altar, and he could only say, “Alas, my lord! alas, my
+dear friend!” until he knelt down to pray, and rose up somewhat calmed.
+
+Then he sought the chamber where the lady Edith hid her woe, and there
+he showed her that God was love, hard though it was sometimes for the
+frail flesh to see it; and he bade her look to the Divine Sufferer of
+Whom it is said, “In all their afflictions He was afflicted;” and so by
+his gentle ministrations he brought calm to the troubled breast, and it
+seemed as if one had said to the waves of grief, “Peace, be still.”
+
+And then he gathered the household to prayer, and while they prayed
+many a “_Requiescat_” for the faithful soul, as they said the dirge
+commending to the Fathers Hands a sheep of His fold, so they also
+prayed for strength to see the love which was hidden behind all this
+sad, sad visitation, and to know the meaning of the words “Though He
+slay me, yet will I trust in Him.”
+
+And then he bade them rest—those, at least, who were able to do
+so—while he watched by the body, as was then the custom, all through
+the deep night.
+
+And so the stars which had looked down from heaven so peacefully upon
+the house of Æscendune the night before, of which we wrote, now looked
+down as coldly bright as if no change had occurred, shining alike upon
+weal or woe, upon crime or holy deed of saint. Yet as the kneeling
+friar saw them through the chapel window, he thought they were but the
+golden lights which lay about the confines of that happy region where
+the faithful live in unspeakable felicity for ever with their Lord, and
+he found consolation in the thought of the Eternal and the Infinite.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE BATTLE.
+
+
+The early morn, as we have already seen, broke upon the adverse hosts
+of Edwy and Edgar as the trumpet sounded to arouse them from their
+slumbers, in many instances from the last slumber they should ever
+enjoy.
+
+Every soldier was on his legs in a moment, and, in the first place,
+preparations were made for breakfast: for it was a recognised fact
+amongst our ancestors that if you wanted a man to fight or do anything
+else well, you must feed him well first. So the care of the body was
+never neglected, however pressing the danger.
+
+Accordingly, Edwy called Elfric to sit by his side at the substantial
+meal which commenced the day, and saw, with much pleasure, that the
+cloud had partly passed from his friend’s brow for the hope of
+immediate action, of the excitement of battle, had done much to drive
+lowness and depression from the young warrior. So he strove to chat and
+laugh with the loudest, and when the moment came to marshal the host,
+and to put them in array, his spirits were as high as in old times.
+
+The cavalry, which was their strongest arm, was under the command of
+Edwy himself, although a sturdy warrior, who had fought in many a
+battle, rode on his right hand to supply his lack of experience.
+
+The main body of the infantry was under the command of Earl Cynewulf,
+while the reserve was under the command of Redwald’s immediate
+subordinate, and consisted almost exclusively of the household guard.
+
+The plan of attack, for it was quite decided that they should take the
+initiative, was simple, and in accordance with the ordinary tactics of
+the times. The heavy-armed foot were bidden first to advance upon the
+entrenchments which crowned the opposite hill, and to break the
+infantry of the enemy, which was drawn up before them in formidable
+array; this done, the horse were immediately to avail themselves of the
+opening thus made, and the entrenchments to be assaulted by both
+cavalry and infantry.
+
+Armed with huge axes, clad in mail, and bearing large shields, the foot
+advanced to the attack. They were a gallant company; and as the sun
+shone upon their glittering armour, or was reflected back from the
+bright steel of their axes, they might well inspire faint hearts with
+terror; but faint hearts were not amongst those opposed to them. The
+chosen men of the northwest, some of half-British blood, crowned the
+opposite hill, drawn up in front of their entrenchments, as if they
+scorned any other defence than that supplied by their living valour.
+They had borrowed their tactics from the Danes: deep and strong on all
+sides, they seemed to oppose an impenetrable wall to the foe; they had
+their shields to oppose to darts or arrows, their axes for the footmen,
+their spears to form a hedge of steel no horse could surmount.
+
+Even should they yield to the pressure, still all would not be lost;
+their retreat was secured into the entrenchments, and there they might
+well hope to detain the enemy until the whole population should rise
+against the men of Wessex and their leader, and his cause become
+hopeless.
+
+Steadily up the hill came the brave troops of Edwy, and from within
+their ranks, as they ascended the slope, a shower of arrows was
+discharged by the archers who accompanied them, under their protection;
+but no return was yet made by the foe, until they were close at hand,
+when a loud war cry burst from the hostile ranks, and a perfect shower
+of darts and arrows rained upon the invaders.
+
+Still they persevered, although they left a living, struggling line on
+the bloody grass behind them—persevered, like men longing for the close
+hand-to-hand encounter, longing to grasp their foes in deadly grip. The
+shock arrived; and axe and sword were busy in reaping the harvest of
+death. So great was the physical strength of the combatants that arms
+and legs were mown off by a stroke, and men were cloven in two, from
+the crown downwards, by the sweeping blows of the deadly steel.
+
+It was a fearful struggle, but it was a short one; the line was
+unshaken in its strength; in vain Edwy’s archers behind shot their
+arrows so as to curve over the heads of their brethren and fall amongst
+the foe; the men of Wessex recoiled and gave way.
+
+Edwy seized what he thought the auspicious moment when the ranks of the
+foe, although unbroken, were yet weary and breathless, and ordered his
+cavalry to charge. The Mercians beheld the coming storm at a distance;
+down on their knees went the first line, their spears resting on the
+ground; behind them the second bent over to strike with their axes;
+while a third rank, the archers, drew their bows, and prepared to
+welcome the rushing enemy with a discharge of deadly arrows.
+
+Every heart beat quickly as the fatal moment came near; onward, with a
+sound like thunder, galloped the horse of Edwy. He himself rode at
+their head, clad in light armour, and by his side Elfric. All trace of
+fear was gone now in the mad excitement of the charge; before them they
+saw the wail of spear points; nearer and nearer their coursers bounded,
+until they seemed to fly. Every rider leant forward, that his sword
+might smite as far as possible; and, daring the points, trusting
+perhaps to the breastplates of their horses and their own ready blades,
+they rushed madly upon the foe.
+
+In cold blood no one could, perhaps, have ridden fearlessly against
+such an obstacle; but in the excitement of the moment the warriors of
+Edwy seemed capable of charging any imaginable barrier: and it became
+almost a pure calculation, not of the respective bravery of the troops,
+for none were cowards on either side, but of mere physical laws of
+force and resistance.
+
+Elfric scarcely looked where he was going. He saw a shining lance
+point, about to impale him, he diverted it by his sword blade, as he
+was hurried into the midst of axes, swords, lances, and beheld the
+warrior opposite to him in the second rank raise his axe to inflict a
+fearful blow, which would have severed his horse’s neck, had not an
+arrow transfixed the foe.
+
+The wedge seemed partly broken, and the king had begun to exult in the
+anticipation of speedy victory, when from behind each end of the
+entrenchment rushed two bodies of hostile cavalry; they fell upon
+Edwy’s forces in the rear, and in a few moments all was confusion.
+
+The warriors of Edgar rallied, drove the horse out of their lines,
+advanced slowly, and the horsemen of the rival brothers, mingled
+together in deadly strife, in personal combat, where each man seemed to
+have sought and found his individual foe.
+
+They moved slowly down the bill towards the brook, man after man
+falling and dotting the green sward of the hill with struggling,
+writhing bodies.
+
+Meanwhile, Cynewulf was attempting to rally the flying foot, which had
+been cut almost in two by the charge of the Mercian cavalry: he
+succeeded, with great difficulty, in doing so at the brook which ran
+along the bottom of the valley, and, with the stream in their front,
+they prepared to afford a refuge to their own, and to resist the
+hostile horse.
+
+Edwy saw the opportunity, and, raising himself in his stirrups, called
+upon his friends to follow him: he leapt the brook, and galloped round
+behind the foot, where nearly all the unwounded horsemen followed him.
+He had fought well, had slain more than one foe with his own royal
+hand, as became a descendant of Cerdic, and now he but retired to
+organise another and stouter resistance to the daring foe.
+
+But he was forced to admit now that Cynewulf was right in his
+conjecture, and that they were utterly outnumbered, for the foe poured
+forth from their entrenchment and advanced in good order down the
+slope; while the Mercian cavalry, forming in two detachments to the
+left and right, crossed the brook and charged along its banks upon the
+flanks of the Wessex infantry, at the same moment.
+
+The warrior upon whose advice Edwy had been told to depend had fallen:
+he was left to his own resources. Alas! he forgot he was a commander,
+and, waving his plumed cap as a signal for his brother knights to
+follow, charged upon the horsemen who were advancing up stream at like
+speed, forgetting that a similar body was advancing in the opposite
+direction, and that as all his force were following his lead, the
+opposite flank of the foot was unprotected.
+
+In a single minute they were all engaged in the fiercest melee which
+imagination can well paint, fighting as furiously as men of the same
+blood only seem to fight when once the claims of kindred are cast
+aside. Swords ascended and descended with deadly violence; horses
+raised themselves up on their hind legs, and, catching the deadly
+enthusiasm, seemed to engage their fellows; riders fell, sternly
+repressing the groan which pain would extort, while their steeds, less
+self controlled, uttered, when wounded, those ear-piercing cries only
+heard from the animals in deadly terror or pain.
+
+In the midst of this tumult Elfric engaged a Mercian of superior size
+and strength; it was his second personal encounter; in his first, he
+had seen his adversary fall with a warrior’s stern joy, but now he was
+overmatched; borne down by an arm twice as strong as his own, his guard
+was broken down, and a deadly blow laid open his shoulder, cutting the
+veins in the neck of his horse at the same fell sweep. The animal,
+blinded with blood, staggered, fell, and he was down amongst the
+horses’ feet, confined by one leg, for his horse rolled partly upon him
+in its dying struggles; while he felt the hoofs of other chargers in
+close proximity to his heed.
+
+A loud cry, “They fly! They fly! Victory! Victory!” reached him even
+then. He well knew from which party the cries must proceed, and that he
+was left to the mercy of the victorious Mercians.
+
+It was even so; the charge of the hostile cavalry on the left flank had
+broken down the ranks of the infantry on that side; the hostile foot
+had contrived to cross the brook in the confusion, and all was lost.
+
+The reserve now came rapidly forward, but, seeing at a glance the state
+of things, retired to defend the entrenched camp, so as to give the
+king and his broken and routed followers time to escape, while they
+made good the defence with their lives. So they retired at once into
+the camp, whither Edwy and his few surviving companions galloped a
+moment after them.
+
+Edwy was unhurt; he dismounted: his fair face flushed to a fiery red
+with heat and excitement, he leapt on the entrenchment and looked on
+the plain. He saw those of his own followers who had not yet made good
+their escape, ridden down, cut to pieces, slaughtered in the excitement
+of the moment without mercy; the sight stung him, be would have sallied
+out to their defence, but Cynewulf, who was yet living, met him in the
+gateway, and sternly seized the bridle of his steed.
+
+“My lord and king,” he said; “your life is precious to Wessex, you may
+not throw it away.”
+
+“I cannot see my followers slaughtered: loose my bridle, I command
+you;” and he raised his sword impetuously.
+
+“You may cut me down, and so reward my faithful service; but, living,
+you shall not pass me on your road to destruction. My lord, I am old
+enough to be your father.”
+
+But there was one gay young noble present, who knew better than
+Cynewulf the key to Edwy’s heart. He was one of the boon companions we
+have been before introduced to; but he had fought, poor young fellow,
+gallantly all that day, and now he could fight no longer: Edwy saw him
+reel and fall from his horse.
+
+“Elfgar!” he said; as he strove to raise his friend and subject from
+the ground—“not seriously wounded I hope!”
+
+“Dying, and for my king, as is my duty let a dying voice reach you, my
+dear lord. Save yourself if you would save Elgiva, if you —if you—” the
+words came broken and faint “—are slain, she will be at the mercy of
+her deadly foes.”
+
+His head fell helplessly down upon his shoulder, and ere the king could
+make any reply, he saw that he was indeed past hope.
+
+But his dying words had sunk deeply into the heart of Edwy.
+
+“Poor Elfgar! he was right. O Elgiva! Elgiva! this is a sad day for
+thee.”
+
+“Return then to her, my lord,” said Cynewulf. “See, they are preparing
+now to assault the camp; I can hold it for hours, and if you are not
+here, I can make good terms with our foes; but, if you stay, you but
+embarrass us: ride out, my liege.”
+
+“And desert my subjects?”
+
+“They will all acquit you: haste, my lord, haste, before they surround
+the camp, for your fair queen’s sake, or you are lost.”
+
+“Come, my men, we must fly,” said Edwy, sullenly; and he led the way
+reluctantly to the back of the camp.
+
+The road was partly encumbered with fugitives, but not wholly, as most
+of them sought the entrenched camp. Cynewulf accompanied him to the
+gate, where he stopped to give one last piece of advice.
+
+“Fly, my lord, for Wessex at once; lose no time; the best route will be
+the Foss Way; they will not suspect that you have taken that direction.
+Ride day and night; if you delay anywhere you are lost.”
+
+“Farewell, faithful and wise counsellor. Odin and Thor send that we may
+meet again;” and Edwy with only a dozen followers rode out at full
+speed.
+
+The Mercians had not yet reached that side of the camp, which was
+concealed by woods which were clear of all enemies, and he rode on
+rapidly.
+
+“What has become of Elfric, my Leofric?” he said to one of his faithful
+train.
+
+“I fear me he is dead: I saw him fall in the last struggle.”
+
+“Poor Elfric! poor Elfric! then his forebodings have come true; he will
+never see his father again.”
+
+“It is all fortune and fate, and none can resist his doom, my lord,”
+said Leofric.
+
+“But Elfric; yes, I loved Elfric. I would I had never left that fatal
+field.”
+
+“Think, my lord, of Elgiva.”
+
+“Yes, Elgiva—she is left to me and left all is left. Ride faster,
+Leofric, I fancy I hear pursuers.”
+
+They had, at Cynewulf’s suggestion, taken fresh horses from the
+reserve, and had little cause to fear pursuit. In an hour they reached
+the Foss Way and rode along the route described in our former chapter,
+until, reaching the frontiers of the territory of the old Dobuni, they
+left the Foss, and rode by the Roman trackway which we have previously
+described, until they turned into a road which brought them deep into
+Oxfordshire. Here they were in a territory which had been a debateable
+land between Mercia and Wessex, where the sympathies of the people were
+not strongly enlisted on either side and they were comparatively safe.
+
+They passed Kirtlington; rested at Oxenford, then rode through
+Dorchester and Bensington to Reading, whence they struck southward for
+Winchester, where Edwy rested from his fatigue in the society of
+Elgiva.
+
+So ended the ill-advised raid into Mercia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+EARTH TO EARTH, AND DUST TO DUST.
+
+
+Although Edwy and his little troop had been successful in gaining the
+main road, and in escaping into Wessex, yet few of his followers had
+been so fortunate, and his broken forces were seeking safety and escape
+in all directions, wanderers in a hostile country. A large number found
+a refuge in the entrenched camp; but it was surrounded by the foe in
+less than half-an-hour after the king’s escape, and all ingress or
+egress was thenceforth impossible.
+
+While one large body fled eastward towards the Watling Street, the
+soldiers who had accompanied the king to Æscendune naturally turned
+their thoughts in that direction. It was, as they had seen, capable of
+a long defence—well provisioned, and already partly garrisoned; nor
+could they doubt the joy with which their old companions would receive
+them, either to share in the defence of the post, or to accompany them
+in an honourable retreat southward.
+
+So, not only those who survived of the fifty who had left Æscendune the
+previous morning, but all whom they could persuade to join them,
+actuated separately by the same considerations, made their way in small
+detachments through the forest towards the hall. Redwald had thoroughly
+earned the confidence of all his warriors, and they would follow him to
+death or victory with equal devotion. Now, in adversity, they only
+sought to put themselves once more under the rule of their talented and
+daring chieftain.
+
+Therefore it was that while Father Cuthbert was yet kneeling in the
+chapel, where the body of the departed thane had been placed, the
+devotions of the good priest were disturbed by the blowing of horns and
+the loud shout whereby the first fugitives sought admittance into the
+castle.
+
+Redwald had also been up nearly all night pacing his room, muttering
+incoherently to himself. Over and over again he regarded intently a
+locket containing a solitary tress of grey hair, and once or twice the
+word “Avenged” rose to his lips.
+
+“And they little know,” said he, soliloquising, “who the avenger is, or
+what have been his wrongs; little know they how the dead is represented
+in the halls of his sire—blind! blind! Whichever way the victory
+eventually turn, he is avenged.”
+
+While he thus soliloquised he was aroused by the same noise which had
+disturbed Father Cuthbert’s devotions, and, recognising its source,
+betook himself to the gateway, where some of his own soldiers were on
+guard, who, true to discipline, awaited his permission to allow their
+comrades to enter: it is needless to say it was readily given.
+
+Broken and dispirited was the little troop of ten or a dozen men, who
+first appeared in this manner after the fight; their garments torn and
+bloody, some of them wounded, they yet raised a shout of joy as they
+saw their trusted leader.
+
+“Whence come ye, my comrades in arms?” said he, “and what are your
+news—you look like men who have fled from battle.”
+
+“We did not fly till all was lost.”
+
+The countenance of Redwald indicated some little emotion, though it was
+transient as the lightning’s flash in the summer night.
+
+“The king—is it well with him?”
+
+“He has fled with a small troop to the south.”
+
+“Saw you aught of Elfric of Æscendune?”
+
+“He fell in the last charge of the cavalry.”
+
+“Dead?”
+
+“We think so.”
+
+“How is it that you have suffered yourselves to be beaten?”
+
+“Had you been there it might have ended differently. We became the
+aggressors, and attacked a superior force, while they had all the
+advantage of ground.”
+
+“Come in. You must first have some food and wine; then you shall tell
+me all. We may need your help here, and shall be glad of every
+able-bodied man.”
+
+“More are on the road.”
+
+And so it proved, for party after party continued to fall in. The
+solemn quiet, which so well befitted the house of mourning, was
+banished by the presence of the soldiery in such large numbers, for
+early in the day nearly a hundred and fifty were gathered together, and
+accommodation threatened to fall short.
+
+Under these circumstances the lady Edith became very anxious that
+either the departure of her unwelcome guests should be hastened, or
+that the loved remains should be removed at once to the priory church,
+where she could bemoan her grief in quiet solitude, and be alone with
+her beloved and God. There seemed no rest or peace possible in the
+hall, and Redwald was apportioning all the accommodation to his
+followers as they came, preserving only the private apartments of the
+lady Edith from intrusion.
+
+She was still expecting the arrival of Elfric, for Redwald had not
+communicated the news he had received, and she did not even know that
+King Edwy had been defeated; so absorbed was she in her grief, that she
+did not note the thousand little circumstances which might have told
+her as much.
+
+But before the hour of terce, Alfred came into the room where she was
+seated with her daughter, and she saw by his troubled countenance that
+he had something to communicate which pained him to tell.
+
+“Elfric!” she said—“he is well?”
+
+“He has not come yet, my mother; and I grieve to say that we were
+deceived yesterday—deceived about the battle.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“The king was defeated; he has fled southward, and there has been a
+great slaughter.”
+
+“But Elfric?”
+
+“No one can tell me anything about him,” said Alfred, wringing his
+hands. “Mother, you must leave this place.”
+
+“Leave our home—and now?”
+
+“They talk of defending it against the forces of the Etheling Edgar,
+who has been declared king; and we should all be in great danger.”
+
+“But will they stay here against our will?”
+
+“Yes; for they say their lives depend upon it, that the Mercians scour
+all the country round about, that all the roads are now occupied and
+guarded, so that they can only hope to defend this place until they can
+make terms with the King of Mercia, as they call Edgar, who is likely
+to be acknowledged by all north of the Thames. The curse of the Church
+is, they say, upon Edwy.”
+
+“Father Cuthbert is still here, is he not?—what does he advise? where
+shall we go?”
+
+“He says we can have the old house in which he, and the mass-thanes
+xxix before him, lived while as yet the priory was incomplete or
+unbuilt. It is very comfortable, and close to the church.”
+
+“But to take him so soon from his home!”
+
+“They will place him in God’s house, before the altar; there could not
+be a better place where they or we could wish his dear remains to await
+the last rites upon earth.”
+
+At that moment Father Cuthbert entered the room unannounced.
+
+“Pardon me, my revered lady,” he began; “but I grieve to say that your
+safety demands instant action, and must excuse my intrusion; your life
+and liberty are no longer safe here.”
+
+“Life and liberty?”
+
+“There is some foul plot to detain you all here, on pretence your
+safety requires it. I have been this morning to Redwald, and he refuses
+permission for any one to leave the place, asserting that thus only can
+he assure your safety. Now, it is plain that if the place comes to be
+besieged you would be far safer in the priory or the old priests’
+house. Our own countrymen would not injure us.”
+
+“He will not detain us by force?”
+
+“I would not trust to that; but we must meet guile by guile. I have
+pretended to be content on your behalf and he is just going to leave
+the hall, with the greater part of his followers, to collect provisions
+and cattle. I have told him that the Grange farm is well stocked; he
+has caught the bait, and is going to superintend the work of spoliation
+in person: far better, in the present need, that he should rob the
+estate than that a hair of your head or of those of your children
+should perish.”
+
+“But why do you suspect him of evil?”
+
+“I cannot tell you now. I have overheard dark, dark speeches. So soon
+as he has gone, Alfred and I must summon all your own people who are in
+the hall. We will then bring the body forth, and follow it ourselves;
+as we shall outnumber those left behind I do not imagine they will
+dare, in his absence, to interfere with our progress.”
+
+“I will go at once,” said Alfred, “and summon the household.”
+
+“No; you would be observed. I am older and perhaps a little more
+discreet. Stay with your mother till all is ready.”
+
+Alfred reluctantly obeyed, and Father Cuthbert went forth. So great was
+their anxiety that it almost banished the power of prayer, save such
+mental shafts as could be sent heavenward in each interval of thought.
+
+At last Alfred, who was at the window, saw Redwald and his
+followers—nearly a hundred in number—leave the castle and ride across
+towards the forest in the direction of the farm in question. Another
+moment and Father Cuthbert entered.
+
+“Are you ready? If so, follow me.”
+
+He took them by a private passage into the chapel, where four men
+already stood by the bier, ready to head the procession, and thirty or
+forty others were gathered in the chapel or about the door—their own
+vassals, good and true. They all were armed.
+
+Father Cuthbert ascended the wooden tower above the chapel, which
+served as a bell cot. He looked from its windows; the party of Redwald
+had disappeared behind the trees.
+
+He came down and gave the signal. The sad procession started; they
+descended the steps to the courtyard. Redwald had left some forty or
+fifty men behind—men who had grown old in arms, and who, if they had
+pleased, might perhaps have stopped the exit, but they were not
+sufficiently in the confidence of their leader to take the initiative;
+and the only man who was in his confidence, and whom he had charged to
+see that no one departed, was fortunately at that moment in another
+part of the building. The sentinel at the drawbridge was one of
+Redwald’s troop. He menaced opposition, and refused to let the
+drawbridge be peaceably lowered.
+
+“Art thou a Christian?” said Father Cuthbert, coming forward in his
+priestly attire, “and dost thou presume to interfere with a servant of
+the Lord and to delay a funeral?”
+
+“I must obey my orders.”
+
+“Then I will excommunicate thee, and deliver thy soul to Satan.”
+
+And he began to utter some awful Latin imprecation, which so aroused
+the superstition of the sentinel that he made no further opposition,
+which perhaps saved his life, for the retainers of Æscendune were
+meditating instant violence, indignant at the delay and the outrage to
+their lady.
+
+They themselves let the drawbridge down and guarded the sad cortege
+over the plain. Their numbers increased every moment, and before they
+reached the neighbourhood of the priory they had little cause to fear
+any attack, should Redwald have arrived and have been rash enough to
+attempt one.
+
+The old parsonage house, which had served for the residence of each
+successive parish prior or mass-thane, was a large and commodious
+building, containing all such accommodation as the family absolutely
+required in the emergency, while furniture, provision and comforts of
+all kinds were sent over from the priory, for the good fathers did not
+forget at this hour of need that they owed their own home to the
+liberality of Ella and his father.
+
+So when they had deposited the loved remains before the altar of the
+church, and had knelt a brief season in prayer, the exiled family took
+possession of their temporary home. It was hard—very hard—to give up
+their loved dwelling at such a season of affliction, but the dread
+which Redwald had somehow inspired made it a great relief to be removed
+from his immediate presence.
+
+Yet they could give no reason for the feeling they all shared. Father
+Cuthbert evidently suspected, or knew, things which he as yet concealed
+from them.
+
+“Who could have slain the husband and father?”
+
+This was the unanswered question. Their suspicions could only turn to
+Redwald or some of his crew: no marauders were known to lurk in the
+forest; there was, they felt assured, not one of his own people who
+would not have died in his defence. Again, it was not the lust of gold
+which had suggested the deed, for they had found the gold chain he wore
+untouched. What then could have been the motive of the murderer?
+
+Father Cuthbert had found a solution, which was based upon sad
+experience of the traditional feuds so frequently handed down from
+father to son. Still he would not suggest further cause of disquietude,
+and added no further words.
+
+The utter uncertainty about Elfric was another cause of uneasiness.
+Whether he had gone southward with the king, or had fallen on the
+battlefield, they knew not; or whether he had surrendered with the
+prisoners taken in the entrenched camp, and who had been all admitted
+to mercy.
+
+In the course of the morning they saw Redwald return, laden with the
+spoils of the Grange farm—oxen and sheep, waggons containing corn,
+driven before him. What passed within on his entrance they could not
+tell; how narrow their escape they knew not—were not even certain it
+had been an escape at all.
+
+It was now determined that the interment should take place on the
+morrow, and the intelligence was communicated rapidly to all the
+tenantry.
+
+Hourly they expected the forces of Mercia to appear, and exact a heavy
+account from Redwald for his offences. He was supposed to be the
+instigator of the expedition which had failed so utterly; it was not
+likely that he would be allowed to retain Æscendune a long time. The
+only surprise people felt was that he should have dared to remain at
+the post when all hope of successful resistance had ceased. He had his
+own reasons, which they knew not.
+
+Under these circumstances it seemed desirable to hurry forward the
+interment, lest it should be interfered with from without, in the
+confusion of hostile operations against the hall.
+
+The priory church was a noble but irregular structure, of great size
+for those days. The cunning architect from the Continent, who had
+designed it, had far surpassed the builders of ordinary churches in the
+grandeur of his conception. The lofty roof, the long choir beyond the
+transept, gave the idea of magnitude most forcibly, and added dignity
+to the design. In the south transept was a chapel dedicated especially
+to St. Cuthbert, where the aged Offa reposed, and the mother of Ella.
+There they had removed the body to await the last solemn rites. Six
+large wax tapers burned around it, and watchers were there day and
+night—mourners who had loved him well, and felt that in him they had
+lost a dear friend.
+
+The wife, the son, or the daughter, were ever there, but seldom alone.
+For when the monks in the choir were not saying the canonical hours, or
+the low mass was not being said at one of the side altars, still the
+voice of intercession arose, with its burden:
+
+“Eternal rest give unto him, O Lord,
+And let perpetual light shine upon him.”
+
+
+At length the morning came, the second only after death. The
+neighbouring thanes whom the troubled times did not detain at home, the
+churls of the estate, the thralls, crowded the precincts of the
+minster, as the solemn bell tolled the deep funeral knell. At length
+the monks poured into the church, while the solemn “_Domino refugium_”
+arose from their lips—the same grand words which for these thousand
+years past have told of the eternity of God and the destiny of the
+creature; speaking as deeply to the heart then as in these days of
+civilisation.
+
+The mourners entered, Alfred supporting his widowed mother, who had
+summoned all her fortitude to render the last sad offices to her dear
+lord; her daughter, a few distant relations—there were none nearer of
+kin. The bier, with its precious burden, was placed in the centre
+before the high altar. Six monks, bearing torches, knelt around it. A
+pall, beautifully embroidered, covered the coffin, a wreath of flowers
+surmounting a cross was placed upon it.
+
+The solemn requiem mass commenced, and the great Sacrifice once offered
+upon Calvary was pleaded for the soul of the deceased thane. When the
+last prayer had been said, the coffin was sprinkled with hallowed
+water, and perfumed with sweet incense, after which it was removed to
+its last resting place. The grave was already prepared. Again the
+earthly cavern was sprinkled with the hallowed water, emblematical of
+the blood of sprinkling which speaketh better things than that of Abel,
+and the body—the sacred dust for which Christ had died, in which God
+had dwelt as in a temple—was lowered, to be sown in corruption, that
+hereafter it might be raised in incorruption and joy unspeakable.
+
+All crowded to take the last sad look. Alfred felt his dear mother’s
+arm tremble as she leant on him, yet gazed firmly into that last
+resting place, while the solemn strain arose:
+
+“Ego sum resurrectio et vita. Qui credit in Me, etiam si mortuus fuerit
+vivet; et omnis qui vivit, et credit in Me, non morietur in æternum.”
+xxx
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+“AND THE DOOR WAS SHUT.”
+
+
+The reader is, we trust, somewhat impatient to learn what had really
+been the fate of the unhappy Elfric of Æscendune—whether he had indeed
+been cut off with the work of repentance incomplete, or whether he yet
+survived to realise the calamity which had fallen upon his household.
+
+He lived. When the blow of his adversary, as we have seen, crushed him
+to the earth, and he lay there with his head on the ground, prostrate,
+amidst kicking and plunging hoofs, and the roar and confusion of deadly
+strife, Providence, without which not one sparrow falleth to the
+ground, watched over him, and averted the iron hoofs from his forehead.
+Could one have concentrated his gaze upon that little spot of earth and
+have seen the furious hoofs graze, without injuring, that tender
+forehead, could he have beheld the gallop of the retreating steeds over
+and around that senseless form, for it now lay senseless, he would have
+realised that there is One Whose Eye is observant of each minute detail
+which concerns the life of His beloved ones—nay, Who knows the
+movements of the tiniest insect, while His Hand directs the rolling
+spheres. And his care preserved Elfric for His Own wise ends, until the
+fight receded, leaving its traces behind it, as when the tide of ocean
+recedes after a storm and the beach is strewn with wreck—bodies of men,
+of horses, mutilated, dismembered, dead or dying, disabled or
+desperately wounded.
+
+Hours had passed, during which the sounds of the combat still
+maintained at the entrenched camp came freshly on the ear, and then
+died away, until the solemn night fell upon the scene, and the only
+sound which smote the ear were faint, faint moans—cries of “Water!
+water!” incessantly repeated from hundreds of feeble lips.
+
+It was then that Elfric awoke from the insensibility which had resulted
+from exhaustion and the stunning blow he had received in his fall.
+Every limb seemed in pain, for the loss of blood had not left the vital
+powers strength for the maintenance of the due circulation through the
+body, and the cold night air chilled the frame. He did not at first
+comprehend where he was, but as his senses returned he perceived all
+too well that he was left for dead.
+
+His first impulse was to see whether he had strength to arise. He
+raised himself partially, first on one elbow, and then he strove to
+stand up, but fell back feebly and helplessly, like an infant who first
+essays to escape its mother’s arms and to trust its feeble limbs.
+
+Then he looked around him, thus raising his head, and gazed upon the
+sad and shocking scene. Close by him, with the head cleft literally in
+two by a battle-axe, lay a horseman, and his blood reddened all the
+ground around Elfric’s feet, and had deeply dyed the youth’s lower
+garments; a horse, his own, lay dead, the jugular vein cut through,
+with all the surrounding muscles and sinews; hard by, a rider had
+fallen with such impetus, that his helmet had fixed itself deeply in
+the ground, and the body seemed as if it had quivered for the moment in
+the air; a dart had transfixed another through belt and stomach, and he
+lay with the weapon appearing on either side the body. Near these lay
+another, whose thigh had been pierced to the great artery, and who had
+bled to death, as the deadly paleness of the face showed; here and
+there one yet lived, as faint moan and broken utterance testified; but
+Elfric could bear no more, his head sank upon the ground, and he hid
+his face.
+
+It was bright starlight, and the gleam of the heavenly host seemed to
+mock the wounded youth as he thought of the previous night, when, sound
+in body, he had wandered beneath the glittering canopy of the heavens;
+and thus reminded, all the thoughts of that previous night came back
+upon him, especially the remembrance of his sin, of his desertion of
+his father, of his vicious life at court, of his neglect for three
+years and more of all the obligations of religion, and he groaned aloud
+in the anguish of his spirit.
+
+“Oh! spare me, my God!” he cried, “for I am not fit to die! Spare me,
+that I may at least receive my father’s forgiveness.”
+
+For he felt as if he could not ask God to forgive him until he had been
+forgiven by his father. Little did he think, poor boy, that that father
+lay cold in death; that never could he hear the blessed words of
+forgiveness from his tongue; neither had he the consolation of knowing
+how completely he had been forgiven, and how lovingly he had been
+remembered in his father’s last hours upon earth.
+
+“I cannot die! I cannot die!” thus he cried; and he strove again to
+raise himself from the ground, but in vain; strove again, as if he
+would have dragged his feeble body through pain and anguish all the way
+to Æscendune, but could not. The story of the prodigal son, often told
+him by Father Cuthbert, came back to him, not so much in its spiritual
+as in its literal aspect: he would fain arise and go to his father; but
+he could not.
+
+“O happy prodigal!” he cried; “thou couldst at least go from that far
+off country, and the husks which the swine did eat; but I cannot, I
+cannot!”
+
+While thus grieving in bitterness of spirit, he saw a light flitting
+about amongst the dead bodies, and stopping every now and then; once he
+saw it pause, and heard a cry of expostulation, then a faint scream,
+and all was still; and he comprehended that this was no ministering
+angel, but one of those villainous beings who haunt the battlefield to
+prey upon the slain, and to despatch with short mercy those who offer
+resistance.
+
+He lay very, very quiet, hoping that the light would not come near him,
+and he trembled every time it bent its course that way; but at length
+his fears seemed about to be realised—it drew near, and he saw the face
+of a hideous looking hag, dressed in coarse and vile garments, who held
+a bloody dagger in the right hand, and kept the left in a kind of bag,
+tied to her person, in which she had evidently accumulated great store.
+Her eyes were roaming about, until the light suddenly was reflected
+from the poor lad’s brilliant accoutrements, and she advanced towards
+him.
+
+He groaned, and sank backwards, and her hand was upon the dagger, while
+she cast such a look as the fabled vampire might cast upon her destined
+victim, loving gold much, but perhaps blood most, when all at once she
+turned and fled.
+
+Elfric knew not what had saved him; when voices fell upon his ear, and
+the baying of a dog.
+
+“Which way has that hag fled? Pursue her, she murders the wounded.”
+
+The sound of rushing feet was heard, and Elfric felt that help was
+near, yet leaving him, and he cried aloud, “Help! help! for the love of
+God.”
+
+One delayed in his course, and came and stood over the prostrate form.
+It was a monk, for the boy recognised the Benedictine habit, and his
+heart sank within him as he remembered how pitilessly he had helped to
+drive that habit from Glastonbury.
+
+“Art thou grievously wounded, my son?”
+
+“I feel faint, even unto death, with loss of blood. Oh! remove me, and
+bear me home; if thou art a man of God leave me not here to perish in
+my sins.”
+
+The piteous appeal went to the heart of the monk, and he knelt down,
+and by the aid of a small lamp, examined the wounds of the sufferer.
+
+“Thou mayst yet live, my son,” he said; “tell me where is thy home; is
+it in Mercia?”
+
+“It is! it is! My home is Æscendune; it is not far from here.”
+
+“Æscendune—knowest thou Father Cuthbert?”
+
+“I do indeed; he was my tutor, once my spiritual father.”
+
+“Thy name?”
+
+“Elfric, son of the thane Ella.”
+
+The monk started, then raised a loud cry, which speedily brought two or
+three men in the dress of thralls (theows) to his side.
+
+“She will murder no more, father; the dog overtook her, and held her
+till we came; she was red with blood, and we knocked her down; Oswy
+here brained her with his club.”
+
+“It is well—she deserved her fate; but, Oswy, look at this face.”
+
+“St. Wilfred preserve us!” cried the man “it is the young lord. He is
+not dying, is he? She hadn’t hurt him—the she-wolf?”
+
+“No, we were just in time, and only just in time; we must carry him
+home to his father.”
+
+The monk had started for the expected scene of battle, intent on doing
+good, with a small party of the thralls of Æscendune, just after Edwy
+had left the hall; consequently, he knew nothing of the death of the
+thane or the subsequent events. Oh, how sweetly his words fell upon
+Elfric’s ears, “Carry him home to his father.”
+
+A litter was speedily made; one of the thralls jumped into a willow
+tree which overhung the stream, and cut down some of the stoutest
+boughs. The others wove them with withes into a kind of litter, threw
+their own upper garments thereon in their love, placed the poor wounded
+form as tenderly upon it as a mother would have done, and bore him from
+the field, ever and anon stopping to relieve some other poor wounded
+sufferer, and to comfort him with the intelligence that similar aid was
+at hand for all, as the various lights now appearing testified.
+
+For themselves, they felt all other obligation fade before their duty
+to their young lord. He was object of their solicitude.
+
+So they bore him easily along, until they reached a stream; there they
+paused and washed the heated brow, and allowed the parched lips to
+imbibe, but only slightly, the pure fresh beverage, sweeter far than
+the stimulant the good monk had poured down his throat on the field.
+Then they arranged his dress—bound up his wounds, for the Benedictine
+was an accomplished surgeon for the times; after which, having
+satisfied himself that his patient was able to bear the transit, he
+departed, with a cheerful benediction, to render the like aid to
+others.
+
+So comforted was Elfric, and so relieved from pain, that he slept all
+through the following hours, as they bore him along through woodland
+paths; and he dreamt that he had met his father and was clasped
+lovingly in his forgiving arms.
+
+At daybreak they were six or seven miles from the camp, and they
+rested, for the continued effort had wearied the bearers. They made a
+fire, cooked their breakfast, and tried to persuade Elfric to eat,
+which he did, sparingly.
+
+Then they resumed their journey; they kept as much in the shade as
+possible, for it was a bright day; rested again at noontide, with only
+five or six miles before them; started when the heat was a little
+overpast, and just after sunset came in sight of the halls of
+Æscendune, from the opening in the forest whence Elfric had beheld them
+that night when he first brought Prince Edwy home in company with his
+brother Alfred.
+
+The wounded youth raised himself up, looked with intense affection at
+the home of his youth, and sank back contented on his couch, thinking
+only of father and mother, brother and sister, and the sweet
+forgiveness he felt sure awaited him. Poor boy!
+
+It was almost dark when they reached the gate of the castle, and the
+drawbridge was up. One of the bearers blew his horn loudly, and the
+summons brought the warder to the little window over the postern gate.
+
+“Who are you, and what do you seek?” was the cry.
+
+“We are bringing my young lord, Elfric of Æscendune, home from the
+battlefield wounded.”
+
+“Wait a while.”
+
+A few minutes passed; then the drawbridge was lowered, and the bearers
+bore their burden into the courtyard. Every moment Elfric expected to
+see the beloved faces bending over him; but all seemed strange, till he
+remembered that Redwald had remained behind at the hall; the four
+bearers spoke uneasily to one another, and Oswy disappeared in the
+dusky twilight.
+
+At length three or four men, in the military costume so familiar to
+Elfric, approached the litter; and raising him, bore him into the
+interior of the building, up the stairs, into the gallery, which partly
+ran round at the height of the first floor. The door of a room was
+opened, a familiar room; it had been his father’s bedroom, and Elfric
+was placed on the bed.
+
+“Ask them to come to me,” he said “father, mother, Alfred,
+Edgitha!—where are they?”
+
+But minute after minute passed by, and no one came near; there was no
+light in the room, and it was soon very dark. Elfric became very
+uncomfortable; it was not the kind of reception he had promised
+himself.
+
+“Why does not my father come,” he muttered impatiently, “to see his
+wounded boy?” and he felt at one moment his pride revive, then a
+sickening feeling of anxiety filled his heart.
+
+But it was not until an hour had passed that he heard a heavy step on
+the stairs, and soon the door opened, and Redwald appeared.
+
+Elfric gazed upon him with surprise; especially when he noted the stern
+cold look which sat on his features. As Redwald did not speak, Elfric
+took the initiative.
+
+“Why is not my father here? I want to see him, Redwald; do send him to
+me; say I must see him, I must—I cannot endure this longer; it is more
+than I can bear.”
+
+“Calm yourself and listen to me, for I have a strange story to unfold
+to you.”
+
+“Not now; some other time; do send them to me.”
+
+“It must be heard now; and perhaps when you have heard it, you will
+comprehend why they do not come.”
+
+“But they will come?”
+
+“Elfric, there was, two generations back, a man who had two sons; he
+was a noble thane of high descent, his eldest son was worthy of his
+father, high souled, impetuous, brave, fiery, and in short, all a
+warrior’s son should be: the younger son had the heart of a monk, and
+was learned in all pious tricks; he stole the father’s heart from his
+elder brother.”
+
+Elfric began to listen at this point.
+
+“At last, misjudgment and unkindness drove the elder brother from home,
+and he sought food and shelter from men who had the souls of
+conquerors. With them he lived, for his father disinherited him; he had
+no father, he had no country.”
+
+Elfric began to draw his breath quickly.
+
+“At length war arose between those who had sheltered and protected him,
+and the people who should have been his own people; say what side was
+the exile to be found on?”
+
+“He should have fought with his own people.”
+
+“His own people were those who had really adopted him when his father
+and family disowned him, and with them he fought for victory; but the
+fates were unpropitious, the people with whom his father and brother
+fought were successful; the son was taken prisoner, and adjudged to die
+a traitor’s death, his own father and brother consenting.”
+
+Elfric began to comprehend all.
+
+“They put him on board an open boat, and sent him out to sea, at the
+mercy of winds and waves; but not alone; he had married amongst the
+people who had adopted him, and his boy would not forsake his sire, for
+he had one boy—the mother was dead. This boy besought the hard-hearted
+executioners of a tyrant’s will to let him share the fate of his sire,
+so earnestly, that at last they consented.”
+
+“The boat, as it pleased fate, was driven by wind and tide on the shore
+of Denmark, and there the unhappy exile landed; but he had been wounded
+in the battle, and his subsequent exposure caused his early death;
+before he died he bequeathed one legacy, and only one, to his son—
+
+“Vengeance.”
+
+Elfric was pale as death, and trembled visibly.
+
+“Then you are—”
+
+“Elfric, I am your cousin, and the deadly foe of you and yours!”
+
+“Then my poor father; but if you must find a victim seek it in me;
+spare him! oh, spare him!”
+
+Redwald smiled; but such a smile.
+
+“At least let me see him now, and obtain his forgiveness. Redwald, he
+is my father; you were faithful to your father; let me atone for my
+unfaithfulness to mine.”
+
+“You believe there is another world, perhaps?”
+
+Elfric only answered by a look of piteous alarm.
+
+“Because, in that case, you must seek your father there; although I
+fear Dunstan would say there is likely to be a gulf between you.”
+
+Elfric comprehended him, and with a cry which might have melted a heart
+of stone, fell back upon the bed. For a moment he lay like one stunned,
+then began to utter incoherent ravings, and gazed vacantly around, as
+one who is delirious.
+
+Redwald seemed for one moment like a man contending with himself, like
+one who felt pity struggling with sterner emotions; yet the contest was
+very short.
+
+“It is of no use—he must die; if hearts break, I hope his will break,
+and save me the task of shedding his blood, or causing it to be shed;
+there must be no weakness now; he has been sadly wounded; if he is left
+alone, he will die; better so—I would spare him if I were not bound by
+an oath so dread that I shudder to think of it. The others have
+escaped: he must die.”
+
+Still he walked to and fro, as if pity yet contended with the thirst
+for vengeance in his hardened breast: perhaps it was his day of grace,
+and the Spirit of Him, Who has said “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,”
+pleaded hard with the sinner. Yet the gentle Voice pleaded in vain;
+still he walked to and fro, until his resolution seemed firmly made;
+and he left the chamber, fastening it on the outside.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+“UNDER WHICH KING?”
+
+
+It will be remembered that one of the theows who had borne Elfric home
+from the field of battle had become alarmed by the suspicious aspect of
+things at the hall, and had escaped, by prompt evasion, the confinement
+which awaited his companions. Oswy, for it was he, thus showed his
+natural astuteness, while he also conferred the greatest possible
+obligation upon Elfric, since he bore the news of his ill-timed arrival
+at once to the priory.
+
+Here his worst suspicions were confirmed; and the faithful thrall heard
+for the first time of the death of his late lord, and that he had given
+his young master into the hands of his bitter foes. Alfred was at once
+summoned; and a conference was held, in which Father Cuthbert, his
+brethren, and the chamberlain and steward of the hall, took part.
+
+“It is now generally believed,” said Father Cuthbert, “that Redwald is
+the bitter enemy, for some reason, of the house of Æscendune. Has any
+one here suspected that reason?”
+
+No one could give any reply.
+
+“I fear what I am about to say,” he continued, “will startle you all.
+Redwald is a member of the family himself.”
+
+“A member of the family!”
+
+“Yes. Is there any one present who remembers the unhappy brother of our
+late lamented lord—Oswald, the son of Offa?”
+
+“Yes,” said the old chamberlain, “I remember him well; and I see now
+what you mean.”
+
+“Is not the expression of the face identical? Are they not the same
+features, as one might say?”
+
+“Yet Redwald is much darker.”
+
+“Because his mother was Danish, and he has inherited some of her
+peculiarities, that is all.”
+
+“Still,” said the steward, “every one supposed that the unhappy Oswald
+perished at sea with his son. Never shall I forget the grief of the old
+thane Offa, when inquiring for the son, he learned that he had gone
+with the father to his death. He would have adopted him.”
+
+“And do we not,” added a Benedictine, “say a mass daily at St.
+Wilfred’s altar for the souls of Oswald and his son Ragnar?”
+
+“Oswald may be dead; Ragnar yet lives in Redwald. The name alone is
+changed.”
+
+“But where are the proofs? We cannot wholly trust an imaginary
+resemblance.”
+
+“It is not imaginary; and these are the proofs in question. The night
+after the murder” (all looked at each other as if a sudden inspiration
+struck them), “as I was going to the chapel from the lady Edith’s
+apartments, I passed through a passage little used, but leading past
+the chamber allotted to Redwald, and only separated by a thin
+wainscoting. I was startled as I passed it by the sound of a pacing to
+and fro; an incessant pacing; and I heard the inmate of the room
+soliloquising with himself as in a state of frenzied feeling. I caught
+only broken words but again and again I heard ‘Avenged;’ and once
+‘Father you are avenged;’ and once ‘Little do they know who is their
+guest;’ once ‘It is a good beginning,’ and such like ejaculations. I
+remained a long time, because, as you will all see, the murderer stood
+revealed.”
+
+“Then why did you not tell us before?” exclaimed all, almost in a
+breath.
+
+“Because it would have been of no avail. Had there been the least
+chance of calling him to account, I should, you may be sure, have
+proclaimed his guilt. But early in the morning fresh forces began to
+arrive to his aid. My only endeavour was to get the lady Edith and her
+remaining children safe from the castle; and it was only by dissembling
+my feelings, by talking face to face with the man of blood, by
+pretending to trust him, that I could succeed. Had he not thought us
+all perfectly satisfied, he would never have left the hall to go
+foraging in person; and now all would be well, but for this sad, sad
+chance, which has placed the poor lad Elfric in his power.”
+
+“But,” said Alfred, “this makes the case worse than ever. Poor Elfric!
+they will kill him. Oh, can this be Ragnar?”
+
+The Benedictines expressed themselves convinced, because the
+supposition explained the present circumstances so clearly, and
+accounted for that hitherto unaccountable circumstance—the murder. The
+steward and chamberlain both fancied they recognised the family
+likeness; and so the solution at which Father Cuthbert had arrived was
+accepted by all.
+
+The question was now what course to adopt, for the night was fast
+wearing away.
+
+“Two things are to be done,” said Father Cuthbert. “The first is to
+secure the safety of the lady Edith and her children from any sudden
+attack from the castle, to which effect I propose holding all the
+vassals in arms; and, in case of any force leaving the hall, I purpose
+giving the lady Edith and her daughter instant sanctuary in the priory,
+while the vassals gather round its precincts; for, I fear me, this
+Ragnar is a heathen, and would but little respect the house of God.”
+
+“Could we not attack the hall and release Elfric? Think of Elfric,”
+said Alfred.
+
+“It would be madness; Redwald has more than a hundred and fifty men of
+war within it. The place is full; we could not attack with the least
+chance of success. No: the second thing I meant to propose was this,
+that we should send an instant message to King Edgar, who is near at
+hand, and explain the whole circumstances to him. He has many causes of
+enmity against Redwald, and would probably come to our aid at once, as
+the safety of his realm would require him to do eventually.”
+
+“Let me be the messenger; he will surely listen to the pleadings of a
+brother for a brother.”
+
+“I had so designed,” said Father Cuthbert; “and in order that no chance
+may be thrown away, I will adventure myself in the lion’s den, and
+threaten with the penalties of excommunication this vindictive Redwald
+or Ragnar.”
+
+“No, father; you will never come out alive. No, no!” said they all.
+
+The last proposal was universally discouraged. Redwald had already
+special cause of enmity against Father Cuthbert, who had robbed him of
+part of his destined prey; and it was ultimately settled that Father
+Swithin, another of the order, should be charged with the mission, with
+the power to make conciliatory offers, or to act on the other course as
+he should see fit; in short, to use all his wit for Elfric.
+
+Alfred did not delay a moment unnecessarily, but in the dawning light
+set forward to seek Edgar, of whom he had no definite information, but
+who was believed to linger in the neighbourhood of the battlefield,
+holding council with earls and thanes as to the further steps to be
+taken, and receiving the submission of the whole Mercian, East Anglian,
+and Northumbrian nobility.
+
+Therefore, mounted upon a good steed, and accompanied by Oswy, he
+rapidly traversed the country over which his brother had been so
+painfully borne; slowly, however, in places, for here and there large
+tracts of swamp obstructed the way, and in other places the thickets
+were dense and impervious; even where the country was cultivated the
+unpaved roads were rough and hazardous for riders.
+
+It was past the hour of nones, the ninth hour of the day, when the
+riders reached the battlefield, which still bore frightful traces of
+the recent combat; reddened with blood, which had left its dark traces
+on large patches of the ground, and encumbered with the bodies of
+horses and men which had not yet found sepulture, although bands of
+theows from the neighbouring estates were busily engaged in the
+necessary toil, excavating huge pits, and placing the dead—no longer
+rivals—reverently and decently in their last long home. Several wolves
+could be discerned, hanging about under the skirts of the forest, but
+not daring to come out into the plain while the day lasted and the men
+were about; whole flocks of ravenous birds flew about the scene, now
+settling down on the spots where the strife had been hottest, now
+soaring away when disturbed in their sickening feast.
+
+It was the first time Alfred had ever gazed upon a battlefield; and now
+he saw it stripped of all the romance and glamour which bards had
+thrown over it, and the sight appalled him.
+
+He drew near a large pit into which the thralls were casting the dead.
+Many of the bodies presented, as we have already seen, a most ghastly
+spectacle; and nearly all had begun to decompose. Mentally he thanked
+God that Elfric, at least, was not there; and he turned aside his head
+in horror at the sight.
+
+He now inquired of the foreman of the labourers whether he knew where
+the Etheling Edgar would be.
+
+“You mean King Edgar, for the Mercians will acknowledge no other king.
+The people of Wessex may keep the enemy of the saints, if they like.”
+
+“King Edgar, I mean. Where is he now?”
+
+“He has been holding a council at Tamworth town, in the old palace of
+King Offa; and they say all the tributary kings have come there to be
+his men, and all the great earls.”
+
+“Can you tell me the nearest road to Tamworth?”
+
+“Why, it lies through the forest there, where you see those wolves
+lurking about. They will begin to be dangerous when the sun goes down,
+and perhaps some of them would not mind a snap at a horse or even a
+man, now.”
+
+“We must take our chance;” said Alfred: “life and death hang on our
+speed,” and he and Oswy rode on.
+
+The wolves were no longer seen. In the summer they generally avoided
+men, at least during the day, and they were gradually becoming more
+uncommon at that date. Alfred entertained little fear as he proceeded,
+until the darkening shadows showed that night was near, and they were
+still in the heart of the forest, when he began to feel alarmed. The
+road before them was a good wide woodland path, and easy to follow even
+in the gathering darkness.
+
+Suddenly their horses started violently, as a loud howl was heard
+behind, and repeated immediately from different quarters of the forest.
+
+Alfred felt that it was the gathering of the ferocious beasts, which
+had been attracted from distant forests by the scent of the
+battlefield, and had thus happened to lie in increased numbers around
+their path. The howling continued to increase, and their horses sped
+onward as if mad with fear—it was all they could do to guide them
+safely.
+
+Nearer and nearer drew the fearful sound; and looking back they beheld
+the fiery eyes swarming along the road after them. They had begun to
+abandon hope, when all at once they heard the sound of advancing
+horsemen in front of them, accompanied by the clank of arms. The wolves
+heard it too, and with all the cunning cowardice of their race
+scampered away from their intended prey, just as Alfred and Oswy
+avoided impaling themselves upon the lances of the coming deliverers.
+
+“Whom have we here, riding at this pace through the woods?” cried out a
+rough, manly voice.
+
+“The wolves were after the poor fellows,” said another.
+
+“They may speak for themselves,” said the leader, confronting Alfred.
+“Art thou a Mercian and a friend of King Edgar? Under which king?
+Speak, or die!”
+
+“I seek King Edgar. My name is Alfred, son of Ella of Æscendune.”
+
+“Who sheltered the men of Wessex, and entertained the impious Edwy in
+his castle.”
+
+“We had no power to resist had we wished to do so.”
+
+“Which you evidently did not. May a plain soldier ask you now why you
+seek King Edgar?”
+
+“Because,” said Alfred, “my father has been murdered, and my brother
+made a prisoner by Redwald, the captain of King Edwy’s hus-carles, who
+holds our house, and has driven us all out.”
+
+“Your father murdered! Your family expelled! Your brother a prisoner!
+These are strange news.”
+
+“Why this delay!” cried another speaker, riding up from behind. “The
+king is impatient to get on. Ride faster.”
+
+“The king!” cried Alfred. “Oh, lead me to him.”
+
+“Who is this,” demanded the second officer, “who demands speech of the
+royal Edgar?”
+
+“Alfred of Æscendune. He tells us that the infamous Redwald holds the
+fortified house there, has murdered the thane Ella, and expelled the
+family, save the brother, whom he holds to ransom.”
+
+“No, not to ransom,” cried Alfred. “It is his life that is threatened.
+Oh, take me to Edgar!”
+
+“He is close behind, in company with the Ealdorman of Mercia and Siward
+of Northumbria.”
+
+“Stay behind with him, Biorn, and let us continue our route. You may
+introduce him to the king, if he will see him.”
+
+The first party—the advance guard—now passed on, and was succeeded
+almost immediately by the main body, foremost amongst whom rode Prince
+or rather King Edgar, then only a youth of fifteen years of age. We
+last beheld him a boy of twelve, at the date of Elfric’s arrival at the
+court of Edred. By his side rode Siward, Ealdorman of Northumbria.
+
+“Who is this?” cried the latter, as he saw Alfred and his attendant
+waiting to receive him.
+
+“Alfred of Æscendune, with a petition for aid against Redwald, who has
+seized his father’s castle.”
+
+“Alfred of Æscendune!” cried Edgar. “Halt, my friends, one moment.
+Alfred of Æscendune, tell me your story; to me, Edgar, your king.”
+
+Alfred hastened to pour his tale of sorrows into an ear evidently not
+unsympathising, and when he had concluded Edgar asked —“And tell me
+what is your request. It shall be granted even to the uttermost.”
+
+“Only that you, my lord, would hasten to our aid and deliver my brother
+for his poor widowed mother’s sake.”
+
+“We should send a troop against Redwald in any case, but even had our
+plans been otherwise, know this, Alfred of Æscendune, that he who by
+his devoted service saved the life, or at least the liberty, of
+Dunstan, the light of our realm of England, and the favourite of
+heaven, has a claim to ask any favour Edgar can grant.
+
+“Siward, my father, bid the advanced guard bend its course towards
+Æscendune at once.”
+
+“My lord, the men are too weary to travel all night. We had purposed
+halting when we reached the battlefield on our march southward. There
+is a cross-country road thence to Æscendune, almost impassable in the
+night.”
+
+“Then we will travel early in the morning; and doubt not, Alfred, we
+shall arrive in time to chastise this insolent aggressor. Redwald has
+been my poor brother’s evil spirit in all things; he shall die, I swear
+it,” said the precocious Edgar, a man before his time.
+
+“But, my lord,” said Alfred, “may I ask but one favour, that you will
+permit me to proceed and relieve the anxiety of my people with the
+tidings of your approach?”
+
+“If you must leave our side, such an errand would seem to justify you.
+Poor Elfric! I remember him well. I could not have thought him in any
+danger from Redwald.”
+
+“Redwald is his, is our bitterest foe.”
+
+“Indeed,” said Edgar, and proceeded to elicit the whole history of the
+case from Alfred.
+
+The sad tale was not complete till they reached the battlefield, and
+encamped in the entrenchments the young prince had occupied the night
+before the combat.
+
+“We had intended,” said Edgar, “to march at once for London, owing to
+news we have received from the south, but we will tarry at Æscendune
+until the work is completed there, even if it cost us our crown.
+
+“Nay, Siward, I may have my way this once. I am soldier enough to know
+I may not leave an enemy behind me on my march.”
+
+“But a small detachment might accomplish the work.”
+
+“Then I will go with it myself; my heart is in it. But, Alfred, you
+look very ill; you cannot proceed tonight. When did you sleep last?”
+
+“Three nights ago.”
+
+“Then it would be madness to proceed; you must sleep, and at early dawn
+you shall precede us on my own charger—which has been led all the
+way—if your own is too wearied, and with an attendant or two in case of
+danger from man or beast. Nay, it must be so.”
+
+Alfred, who could scarcely stand for very fatigue, was forced to yield,
+and that night he slept soundly in the camp of Edgar. At the first dawn
+they aroused him from sleep, and he found a splendid warhorse awaiting
+him—a gift, they told him, from Edgar. Two attendants, well mounted,
+awaited him in company with Oswy. He would willingly have dispensed
+with their company; but he was told that the king, anxious for his
+safety, had insisted upon their attending him, and that they were
+answerable for his safe return to Æscendune, the country being
+considered dangerous for travellers in its present disturbed state.
+
+So he yielded; and before the king had arisen he left the camp, after a
+hasty meal, and rode as rapidly as the roads would permit towards his
+desolated home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+LOVE STRONG AS DEATH.
+
+
+Meanwhile Father Swithin had gone alone and unprotected, save by his
+sacred character, into the very jaws of the lion; or rather, would have
+gone, had he been suffered to do so; for when he approached the hall he
+found the drawbridge up, and the whole place guarded as in a state of
+siege.
+
+He advanced, nothing daunted, in front of the yawning gap where the
+bridge should have been, and cried aloud—“What ho! porter; I demand
+speech of my lord Redwald.”
+
+“You may demand speech—swine may demand pearls—but I don’t think you
+will get it. Deliver me your message.”
+
+“Tell your lord, rude churl, that I, Father Swithin, of the holy Order
+of St. Benedict, have come, in the name of the rightful owners of this
+house, and in the power of the Church, to demand that he deliver up
+Elfric of Æscendune to the safe keeping of his friends.”
+
+“I will send your message; but keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Sir
+Monk, and don’t begin muttering any of your accursed Latin, or I will
+see whether the Benedictine frock is proof against an arrow.”
+
+In a short time Redwald appeared on the roof, above the gateway.
+
+“What dost thou require, Sir Monk?” said he; “thy words sound strange
+in my ears.”
+
+“I am come, false traitor,” said Father Swithin, waxing wroth, “to
+demand the person of Elfric of Æscendune, whom thou detainest contrary
+to God’s law and the king’s.”
+
+“Elfric of Æscendune! right glad am I to hear that he is alive; my
+followers have brought me word that they saw him fall in battle.”
+
+“Nay, spare thy deceit, thou son of perdition, for well do we know that
+he was brought home wounded last night. One of his bearers escaped thy
+toils, even as a bird the snare of the fowler, and is now with us.”
+
+“Assuredly the loon has lied unto you. Rejoiced should I be to see the
+unhappy youth, and to know that he yet lived. I but hold this place,
+faithful to his lord and mine, Edwy, King of all England.”
+
+“Then why hast thou expelled the rightful dwellers therein from their
+house and home? We know Elfric is with thee, and that thou art a
+traitor, wherefore, deliver him up, or we will even excommunicate
+thee.”
+
+“Thou hadst better not begin in the hearing of the men who sit upon the
+wall; for myself, excommunication cannot hurt a man who never goes to
+church, and does not company over much with those who do.”
+
+“Infidel! heretic! pagan! misbeliever! accursed Ragnar!” began the
+irate monk, when an arrow, perhaps only meant to frighten him (for they
+could hardly have missed so fair a mark), glanced by him.
+
+He retreated, but still continued his maledictions.
+
+“_Excommunicabo te, et omnes tibi adhærentes_; thou art an accursed
+parricide, who hast raised thine hand against thy father’s house. _Vade
+retro, Sathanas_, I will shake off the dust of my feet against
+thee,”—another arrow stuck in his frock—“thou shalt share the fate of
+Sodom, yea of Gomorrha; _in manus inimici trado te_;” by this time his
+words were inaudible; and he departed, not having accomplished much
+good, but having nevertheless informed Redwald of two great facts—the
+first, that Elfric’s return was blazed abroad; the second, that his own
+identity was more than suspected.
+
+“Ragnar!” said he, “What fiend has told them that? how came they to
+suspect? Confusion! it will foil all my plans, and my vengeance will be
+incomplete. At least this one victim must not escape, and yet I had
+sooner he should escape than any other member of the house. Poor boy!
+the sins of the fathers are heavy upon the children, as these
+Christians have it; but my oath, my oath taken before a dying father!
+no; he must die!”
+
+So spake the avenger of blood, a man whose heart was evidently not all
+of iron; yet from childhood had he striven to restrain every tender
+impulse, and had bound himself to vengeance. Long years of peace in
+England had come between him and the execution of his projects, and he
+had prepared himself for the task he never lost sight of, by acquiring
+all the accomplishments of a knight and warrior, and even of a man of
+letters, at that court of Rouen, now rapidly becoming the focus of
+European chivalry, where the fierce barbarian Northmen were becoming
+the refined but ruthless Normans. Then, in England, he had wormed
+himself into the confidence of the future king with singular
+astuteness, and at length had found the occasion he had long sought, in
+a manner the most unforeseen save as a possible contingency.
+
+And now he turned from the battlements to his own chamber, but on the
+way he paused, for he passed the door of the late thane’s room, where
+poor Elfric lay. He passed the sentinel and entered. The unhappy boy
+was extended on the bed, in a raging fever; ever and anon he called
+piteously upon his father, then he cried out that Dunstan was pursuing
+him, driving him into the pit, then he cried—“Father, I did not murder
+thee; not I, thy son! nay, I always loved thee in my heart. Who is
+laughing? it is not Dunstan; break his chamber open, slay him: is a
+monk’s blood redder than a peasant’s? O Elgiva hast thou slain my
+father? See, I am all on fire; it is thy doing. Edwy, my king, Dunstan
+is burning me: save me!”
+
+Then there was a long pause, and Redwald or Ragnar as we may now call
+him stood over his unhappy cousin. The fair head lay back on the
+pillow, with its profusion of golden locks; the face was red and fiery,
+the eyes weak and bloodshot.
+
+“Water! water! I burn!” he said.
+
+There was no cooling medicine to alleviate the burning throat, no
+gentle hand to smooth the pillow, no mother to render the sweet offices
+of maternal love, no father to whisper forgiveness to the dying boy.
+
+“Better he should die thus,” said Ragnar, “since I cannot spare him
+without breaking my oath to the dead.”
+
+Then he left the room hastily, as if he feared his own resolution. The
+sentinel looked imploringly at him, as the cries of the revellers came
+from below.
+
+“Go!” said Ragnar, “join thy companions; no sentinel is required here.
+Go and feast; I will come and join you.”
+
+So he tried to drown his new-born pity in wine.
+
+At a late hour of the day, Alfred and his attendants arrived, bringing
+news of the coming succour to Father Cuthbert and the other friends who
+awaited him with much anxiety. They had contrived to account for his
+absence to the lady Edith, from whom they thought it necessary to hide
+the true state of affairs.
+
+But everything tended to increase Alfred’s feverish anxiety about his
+brother. The relieving force could not arrive for hours; meanwhile he
+knew not what to do. No tidings were heard: Father Swithin had failed
+and Elfric might perhaps even now be dead.
+
+So Alfred, taking counsel only of his own brave, loving heart, left the
+priory in the dusk, attended by the faithful Oswy, and walked towards
+his former home. The night was dark and cloudy, the moon had not yet
+arisen, and they were close upon the hall ere they saw its form looming
+though the darkness. Neither spoke, but they paused before the
+drawbridge and listened.
+
+Sounds of uproarious mirth arose from within; Danish war songs,
+shouting and cheering; the whole body of the invaders were evidently
+feasting and revelling with that excess, of which in their leisure
+moments they were so capable.
+
+“It is well!” said Alfred; and they walked round the exterior of the
+moat, marking the brightly lighted hall and the unguarded look of the
+place; yet not wholly unguarded, for they saw the figure of a man
+outlined against a bright patch of sky, pacing the leaded roof,
+evidently on guard.
+
+And now they had reached that portion of their circuit which led them
+opposite the chamber window of the lamented Ella, and Alfred gazed
+sadly upon it, when both he and Oswy started as they heard cries and
+moans, and sometimes articulate words, proceeding therefrom.
+
+They listened eagerly, and caught the name “Dunstan,” as if uttered in
+vehement fear, then the cry. “Water! I burn!” and cry after cry, as if
+from one in delirium.
+
+“It is Elfric! it is Elfric!” said Alfred.
+
+“It is my young lord’s voice,” said the thrall; “he is in a fever from
+his wound.”
+
+“What can we do?” and Alfred walked impatiently to and fro; at last he
+stopped.
+
+“Oswy! if it costs me my life I will enter the castle!”
+
+“It shall cost my life too, then. I will live and die with my lord!”
+
+“Come here, Oswy; they do not know the little postern door hidden
+behind those bushes; the passage leads up to the chapel, and to the
+gallery leading to my father’s chamber, where Elfric lies dying. I
+remember that that door was left unlocked, and perhaps I can save him.
+They are all feasting like hogs; they will not know, and if Ragnar meet
+me, why, he or I must die;” and he put his hand convulsively upon the
+sword which was dependent from his girdle.
+
+“Lead on, my lord; you will find your thrall ready to live or die with
+you!” said Oswy.
+
+At the extreme angle of the building there was a large quantity of
+holly bushes which grew out of the soil between the moat and the wall,
+which itself was clothed with the thickest ivy; the roof above was
+slanting—an ordinary timber roof covering the chapel —so that no
+sentinel could be overhead. Standing on the further side of the moat,
+all this and no more could be observed.
+
+The first difficulty was how to cross the moat in the absence of either
+bridge or boat. It was true they might swim over; but in the event of
+their succeeding in the rescue of Elfric, how were they to bear him
+back? The difficulty had to be overcome, and they reflected a moment.
+
+“There is a small boat down at the ferry,” whispered Oswy.
+
+It was all Alfred needed, and he and Oswy at once started for the
+river. They returned in a few minutes, bearing a light boat, almost
+like a British coracle, on which they instantly embarked, and a push or
+two with the pole sent them noiselessly across the moat.
+
+They landed, made fast the boat, and searched in the darkness for the
+door; it was an old portal, almost disused, for it was only built that
+there might be a retreat in any such pressing emergency as might easily
+arise in those unsettled times; the holly bushes in front, and the
+thick branches of dependent ivy, concealed its existence from any
+person beyond the moat, and it had not even been seen by the watchful
+eye of Ragnar.
+
+Alfred, however, had but recently made use of the door, when seeking
+bunches of holly wherewith to deck the board on the occasion of the
+feast given to King Edwy, and he had omitted to relock it on his
+return, an omission which now seemed to him of providential
+arrangement.
+
+He had, therefore, only to turn the rusty latch as noiselessly as might
+be, and the door slowly opened. The key was in the lock, on the inside.
+
+Entering cautiously, taking off their heavy shoes and leaving them in
+the doorway, they ascended a flight of steps which terminated in front
+of a door which entered the chapel underneath the bell cot, while
+another flight led upwards to the gallery, from which all the principal
+chambers on the first floor opened.
+
+Arriving at this upper floor, Alfred listened intently for one moment,
+and hearing only the sounds of revelry from beneath, he opened the door
+gently, and saw the passage lie vacant before him.
+
+He passed along it until he came to the door of his father’s chamber,
+feeling the whole time that his life hung on a mere thread, upon the
+chance that Ragnar and his warriors might remain out of the way, and
+that no one might be near to raise the alarm. With nearly two hundred
+inmates this was but a poor chance, but Alfred could dare all for his
+brother. He committed himself, therefore, to God’s protection, and went
+firmly on till he reached the door.
+
+He opened it with trembling eagerness, and the whole scene as we have
+already described it was before him. Elfric sat up in the bed, uttering
+the cries which had pierced the outer air. When Alfred entered he did
+not seem to know him, but saluted him as “Dunstan.” His cries had
+become too familiar to the present inmates of the hall for this to
+attract attention. Alfred closed the door.
+
+“It is I, Elfric!—I, your brother Alfred!”
+
+Elfric stared vacantly, then fell back on the pillow: a moment only
+passed, and then it was evident that an interval of silence had begun,
+during which the patient only moaned. The noise from those who were
+feasting in the hall beneath, which communicated with the gallery by a
+large staircase, was loud and boisterous as ever.
+
+A step was heard approaching.
+
+Alfred took Oswy by the arm, and they both retired behind the tapestry,
+which concealed a small recess, where garments were usually suspended.
+
+The heavy step entered the room, and its owner was evidently standing
+beside the bed gazing upon the couch. There he remained stationary for
+some minutes, and again left the room. It was not till the last sound
+had died away that Alfred and Oswy ventured to leave their concealment.
+
+The silence still continued, save that it was sometimes broken by the
+patient’s moans.
+
+“Take and wrap these clothes round him; we must preserve him from the
+night air;” and they wrapped the blankets around him; then Oswy, who
+was very strongly built, took the light frame of Elfric in his arms,
+and they left the room.
+
+One moment of dread suspense—the passage was clear—a minute more would
+have placed them in safety, when the paroxysm returned upon the
+unfortunate Elfric.
+
+“Help, Edwy! Redwald, help! Dunstan has seized me, and is bearing me to
+the fire! I burn! help, I burn!”
+
+Alfred groaned in his agony; the shrieking voice had been uttered just
+as they passed the staircase leading down to the hall. Up rushed
+Ragnar, followed by several of his men, and started back in amazement
+as he beheld Alfred and Oswy with their burden. Alfred drew his sword
+to dispute the passage, but was overpowered in a moment. Ragnar himself
+attacked Oswy, who was forced to relinquish his burden. All was lost.
+
+Another moment and Ragnar confronted his prisoners. Elfric had been
+carried back to his bed. Alfred and Oswy stood before him, their arms
+bound behind them, in the great hall, while the soldiers retired at a
+signal a short distance from them.
+
+“What has brought you here?”
+
+“To deliver my brother.”
+
+“To share his fate, you mean. Know you into whose hands you have
+fallen?”
+
+“Yes; into those of my cousin Ragnar.”
+
+“Then you know what mercy to expect.”
+
+“I came prepared to share my brother’s fate.”
+
+“And you shall share it. It must be the hand of fate which has placed
+you both in my power, me, the representative of the rightful lord of
+Æscendune, dispossessed by your father, and being myself the legitimate
+heir.”
+
+“We do not dispute your title; give my brother his life and liberty,
+and take all; we have never injured you.”
+
+“All would be nothing without vengeance; you appeal in vain to me. Did
+I wish to spare you I could not; an oath, a fearful oath, binds me,
+taken to one from whom I derived life, one whose death was far more
+agonising and lingering than yours shall be.”
+
+“Let us at least die together.”
+
+“Do you scorn the company of your thrall in death?”
+
+“God forbid!
+
+“Oswy, you have given your life for us; we die in company. God protect
+my poor mother, my poor childless mother! She will be alone!”
+
+“You shall die together as you desire.”
+
+He addressed a few words in an unknown tongue to his men; his face was
+now pale as death, his lips compressed as of one who has taken a
+desperate resolution.
+
+“Retire to your brother’s chamber again. You will not compel me to use
+force?”
+
+They retired up the stairs; Ragnar followed, two or three of his men at
+a respectful distance from him.
+
+They re-entered the chamber; Ragnar followed and stood before them.
+
+“I will grant you all that is in my power; you shall all die together,
+and you may tend your brother to the last.”
+
+“What shall be the manner of our death?” asked Alfred, who was very
+calm, fearfully calm.
+
+“You will soon discover; my hand shall not be upon you, or red with
+your blood. Believe me, I am, like you, the victim of stern necessity,
+although I am the avenger, you the victims.”
+
+“You cannot thus deceive yourself, or shake off the guilt of murder;
+our father’s blood is upon you. You will answer for this, for him and
+for us, at the judgment seat.”
+
+“I am willing to do so, if there be a judgment seat whereat to answer.
+I had a father, too, who was condemned to a lingering death, by thirst,
+hunger, and madness; I witnessed his agonies; I swore to avenge them.
+You appeal to the memory of your father, who has perished a victim to
+avenging justice; I appeal to that of mine. If there be a God, let Him
+deliver you, and perhaps I will believe in Him. Farewell for ever!”
+
+He closed the door, and, with the aid of his men, securely fastened it
+on the outside, so that no strength from within could open it; he
+descended to the hall.
+
+“Warriors,” he said, “the moment I predicted has come; I have received
+a warning that the usurper Edgar already marches against us; tomorrow,
+at the latest, he will be here; before he arrives we shall be halfway
+to Wessex. Let every one secure his baggage and his plunder, and let
+the horses be all got ready for a forced march. We have eaten the last
+feast that shall ever be eaten in these halls.”
+
+A few moments of bustle and confusion followed, and before half-an-hour
+had expired all was ready, and the men-at-arms from without announced
+that every horse—their own and those of the thane, to carry their
+booty, the plunder of the castle—awaited them without.
+
+“Then,” said he, “listen, my men, to the final orders. _Fire the
+castle, every portion of it; fire the stables, the barns, the
+outbuildings._ We will leave a pile of blackened embers for Edgar when
+he comes; the halls where the princely Edwy has feasted shall never be
+his, or entertain him as a guest.”
+
+A loud shout signified the alacrity with which his followers bent
+themselves to the task; torches flashed in all directions, and in a few
+moments the flames began to do their destroying work.
+
+An officer addressed Ragnar—“There are three thralls locked up in an
+outbuilding, shall we leave them to burn?”
+
+“Nay; why should we grudge them their miserable lives; they have done
+us no harm.”
+
+At that moment a loud cry of dire alarm was heard, the trampling of an
+immense body of horse followed—a rush into the hall already filled with
+smoke—loud outcries and shrieks from without.
+
+“What is the matter?” cried Ragnar.
+
+“The Mercians are upon us! the Mercians are upon us!”
+
+Ragnar rushed to the gateway, and a sight met his startled eyes he was
+little prepared to behold.
+
+The clouds had been driven away by a fierce wind, the moon was shining
+brightly, and revealed a mighty host surrounding the hall on every
+side. Every horse before the gateway was driven away or seized, every
+man who had not saved himself by instant retreat had been slain by the
+advancing host; without orders the majority of his men had repassed the
+moat, and had already raised the drawbridge against the foe, not
+without the greatest difficulty.
+
+“Extinguish the fires which you have raised; let each man fight
+fire—then we will fight the Mercians.”
+
+It was high time to fight fire, rather it was too late.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+“VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY.”
+
+
+When the door was finally closed upon the brothers and their faithful
+thrall, Alfred did not give way to despair. The words of Ragnar, “If
+there be a God, let Him deliver you,” had sunk deeply into his heart,
+and had produced precisely the opposite effect to that which his cousin
+had intended; it seemed as if his cause were thus committed to the
+great Being in Whose Hand was the disposal of all things; as if His
+Honour were at stake, Whom the murderer had so impiously defied.
+
+“‘If there be a God, let Him deliver you,’” repeated Alfred, and it
+seemed to him as if a Voice replied, “Is My Arm shortened, that It
+cannot save?”
+
+But how salvation was to come, and even in what mode danger was to be
+expected, was unknown to them; nay, was even unguessed. They heard the
+bustle below, which followed Ragnar’s announcement of his intended
+departure from Æscendune. They heard the mustering of the horses—and at
+last the conviction forced itself upon them that the foe were about to
+evacuate the hall. But in that case, how would he inflict his sentence
+upon his victims?
+
+The dread truth, the suspicion of his real intention, crept upon the
+minds of both Alfred and Oswy. Elfric yet lay insensible, or seemingly
+so, upon the bed, lost to all perception of his danger. Alfred sat at
+the head of the bed, looking with brotherly love at the prostrate form
+of him for whom he was giving his life; but feeling secretly grateful
+that there was no painful struggle imminent in his case; that death
+itself would come unperceived, without torturing forebodings.
+
+It was at this moment that Oswy, who stood by the window, which was
+strongly barred, but which he had opened, for the night was
+oppressively warm, caught the faint and distant sound of a mighty host
+advancing through the forest; at first it was very faint, and he only
+heard it through the pauses in the storm of sound which attended
+Ragnar’s preparations for departure, but it soon became more distinct,
+and he turned to Alfred.
+
+“Listen, my lord, they come to our aid; listen, I hear the army of
+Edgar.”
+
+Alfred rushed to the window, the hope of life strong within him; at
+first he could hear nothing for the noise below, but at length there
+was a lull in the confusion, and then he heard distinctly the sound of
+the coming deliverers. Another minute, and he saw the dark lines
+leaving the shadow of the forest, and descending the hill in serried
+array, then deploying, as if to surround a foe in stealthy silence; he
+looked around for the object, and beheld Ragnar’s forces all
+unconscious of their danger, not having heard the approach in their own
+hasty preparations for departure. Another moment of dread suspense,
+like that with which the gazer watches the dark thundercloud before the
+lightning’s flash. A moment of dread silence—during which some orders,
+given loudly below, forced themselves upon him:
+
+“Fire the castle, every portion of it; fire the stables, the barns, the
+outbuildings; we will leave a pile of blackened ruins for Edgar when he
+comes; the halls where the princely Edwy has feasted shall never be
+his, or entertain him as guest.”
+
+Meanwhile, the dark forces, unseen by the destroyers, were still
+surrounding the castle, deploying on all sides to surround it as in a
+net; for they saw the intention of their victims, and meant to cut off
+all chance of escape.
+
+But the position of the brothers seemed as perilous as ever—for how
+could Edgar’s troops rescue them if the place were once on fire? Alfred
+gazed with pallid face upon Oswy, but met only a resigned helpless
+glance in return.
+
+Yet, even at this moment of awful suspense, a voice seemed to whisper
+in his ear, “Stand still, and see the salvation of God.”
+
+“Oswy,” he exclaimed, “we shall not die—I feel sure that God will save
+us!”
+
+“It must be soon then,” replied Oswy; “soon, my lord, for they have
+already set the place on fire, just beneath us; can you not smell the
+smoke?”
+
+Just at that moment came the war cry of the Mercians, and the charge we
+have already described.
+
+It was during the following few minutes, while Ragnar and all his men
+were vainly striving to extinguish the conflagration they had
+raised—for the dry timber of which the hall was chiefly built had taken
+fire like matchwood—it was while the friends without were preparing to
+attack, that a sudden change came over the patient.
+
+“Alfred, my brother!”
+
+Alfred looked round in surprise; consciousness had returned, and the
+face was calm and possessed as his own.
+
+“Elfric, my dear Elfric!”
+
+“What does all this mean? How came I here? What makes this smoke?”
+
+“We are in danger, great danger; prisoners in our own house, which they
+have set on fire.”
+
+“I remember now—is not this our dear father’s room?”
+
+“Yes; we are prisoners in it, they have barred the door upon us.”
+
+“But they cannot bar us in: there is another door, Alfred; one my
+father once pointed out to me, but told me to keep its existence a
+secret, as it always had been kept. Who are without?”
+
+“The Mercians, Edgar’s army, come to deliver us; if we can reach them,
+we are safe.”
+
+“I thought they were our foes, but all seems strange now. Alfred, lift
+up the tapestry which conceals the recess where dear father’s armour
+hung.”
+
+Alfred complied.
+
+“Now, just where the breastplate hung you will find a round knob of
+wood like a peg.”
+
+“Yes, it is here.”
+
+“Push it hard—no, harder.”
+
+Alfred did so, and a concealed door flew open; he stepped through it
+with a cry of joy, and found himself on the staircase leading up from
+the postern gate by which he had entered, just below the closed door
+which led into the gallery above.
+
+“God be thanked! we are saved—saved. Elfric!
+
+“Oswy, take him in your arms, quick! quick! I lead the way, and will
+get the boat ready—door open and boat ready.”
+
+It was all the work of a moment; they were on the private staircase,
+carrying Elfric, carefully wrapt up. The smoke had entered even here;
+the next moment they were at the entrance. Happily the whole attention
+of Ragnar was concentrated on self preservation.
+
+One more minute, and Elfric was placed in the coracle. The Mercians on
+the further bank now observed them, and at first, not knowing them,
+seemed disposed to treat them as foes; when Oswy cried aloud, “Spare
+your arrows; it is Elfric of Æscendune;” and they crowded to the bank
+joyfully, for the purpose of the attack was known to all, and now they
+saw its object placed beyond the reach of further risk of failure.
+
+The coracle touched the further bank; a dozen willing hands assisted
+them up the slope. And amidst shouts of vociferous joy and triumph they
+were conducted to King Edgar, who hastened towards the scene with
+Siward.
+
+“Now, let the castle burn, let it burn,” said Oswy.
+
+“Alfred, is it you?” exclaimed the young king; “just escaped from the
+flames! How came you there? and this is Elfric; you have saved him.”
+
+“God has delivered us.”
+
+“But you have been the instrument; you must tell me all another time,
+get him into shelter quickly.
+
+“Here, men, bear him to the priory, while we stay to do our duty here.
+
+“Alfred, you must not linger.”
+
+“One favour, my lord and king; show mercy to Ragnar, to Redwald, you
+know not how sad his story has been.”
+
+“Leave that to me; he shall have all he deserves;” and Alfred was
+forced to be content.
+
+At this moment, aroused by the shouts of joy, Ragnar, forgetting even
+his danger, rushed to the roof. There he saw a crowd surrounding some
+object of their joy; in the darkness of the night he could not
+distinguish more, but the cry, “Long live Alfred of Æscendune!” arose
+spontaneously from the crowd, just as the brothers departed. Faint with
+toil as he was, his heart beating wildly with apprehension, he rushed
+to the chamber through smoke and flame, for the tongues of fire were
+already licking the staircase. He withdrew the bars, he rushed in, the
+room was empty.
+
+“It is magic, sorcery, witchcraft,” he groaned.
+
+But the remembrance of his last words, of his scornful defiance of God,
+came back to him, and with it a conviction that he had indeed lifted up
+his arm against the Holy One. He felt a sickening feeling of horror and
+despair rush upon him, when loud cries calling him from beneath aroused
+him.
+
+“We must charge through them; we cannot burn here; we must die fighting
+sword in hand, it is all that is left.”
+
+Not one voice spoke of surrender amongst those fierce warriors, or of
+seeking mercy.
+
+It was indeed high time, for all efforts to extinguish the flames had
+proved vain; every part of the castle was on fire; the fiery element
+streamed from the lower windows, and curled upwards around the towers;
+it crackled and hissed in its fury, and the atmosphere became unfit to
+breathe; it was like inhaling flame. Sparks flew about in all
+directions, dense stifling smoke filled every room. Not a man remained
+in the hall, when Redwald rushed down the gallery, holding his breath,
+for the hot air scorched the lungs; when, just as he arrived, the
+staircase fell with a huge crash, and the flames shot up in his face,
+igniting hair and beard, and scorching his flesh. He rushed back to the
+opposite end of the passage, only to meet another blast of fire and
+smoke—for they had ignited the hall in twenty places at once; they had
+done their work all too well. He rushed to the room he had left, shut
+the door for a moment’s respite from flame and smoke, and then,
+springing at the window, strove to tear the bars down, but all in vain.
+
+“There must be some egress. How did they escape? How could they
+escape?” he cried; and he sought in vain for the exit, for they had
+closed the door again, and he knew not where to look; in vain he lifted
+the tapestry, he could not discover the secret; and at last,
+overpowered by the heat, he sprang again to the window, and drank in
+deep draughts of fresh cool air to appease the burning feeling in his
+throat.
+
+Crash! crash! part of the roof had given way, and the whole chamber
+trembled; then a single tongue of flame shot up through the floor, then
+another; the door had caught outside. Even in that moment he beheld his
+men, his faithful followers, madly seeking death from the swords of the
+foe; they had lowered the drawbridge, and dashed out without a leader.
+
+“Would I were with them!” he cried. “Oh, to die like this!”
+
+“Behold,” cried a voice without, “he hath digged and graven a pit, and
+is fallen himself into the destruction he made for others.”
+
+It was Father Swithin, who had observed the face at the window, and who
+raised the cry which now drew all the enemy to gaze upon him, for they
+had no longer a foe to destroy.
+
+The flames now filled the room, but still he clung to the window, and
+thus protracted his torments; his foes, even the stern monk, could but
+pity him now, so marred and blackened was his visage, so agonised his
+lineaments; like, as they said, the rude pictures of the lost, where
+the last judgment was painted on the walls of the churches. Yet he
+uttered no cry, he had resolved to die bravely; all was lost now.
+Another moment, and those who watched saw the huge beams which
+supported the building bend and quiver; then the whole framework
+collapsed, and with a sound like thunder the roof tumbled in, and the
+unhappy Ragnar was buried in the ruin; while the flames from his
+funeral pyre rose to the very heavens, and the smoke blotted the stars
+from view.
+
+“Even so,” said the monk, solemnly, “let Thine enemies perish, O Lord,
+but let them that love Thee be as the sun, when he goeth forth in his
+might.”
+
+But those were not wanting who could not sympathise with the stern
+sentiment, remembering better and gentler lessons from the lips of the
+great Teacher and Master of souls.
+
+“He has passed into the Hands of his God, there let us leave him,” said
+Father Cuthbert, who had just arrived at the moment. “It is not for us
+to judge a soul which has passed to the judgment seat, and is beyond
+the sentence of men.”
+
+Meanwhile, they had borne Elfric first to the priory, for they judged
+it not well that he should yet be brought to his mother; they feared
+the sudden shock. Many of the good monks had studied medicine, for they
+were in fact the healers both of soul and body throughout the district,
+and they attended him with assiduous care. They put him to bed, they
+gave him cordials which soon produced quiet sleep, and watched by him
+for many hours.
+
+It was not till the day had far advanced that he awoke, greatly
+refreshed, and saw Father Cuthbert and Alfred standing by him. They had
+allayed the fever, bound up the wound, which was not in itself
+dangerous, and he looked more like himself than one could have imagined
+possible.
+
+And now they thought they might venture to summon the lady Edith; and
+Alfred broke the intelligence to her, for she knew not the events of
+the night.
+
+“Mother,” he said; “we have news of Elfric, both bad and good, to tell
+you.”
+
+“He lives then,” she said; “he lives!”
+
+“Yes, lives, and is near; but he was wounded badly in the battle.”
+
+“I must go to him,” she said, and arose, forgetting all possible
+obstacles in a mother’s love.
+
+“He is near at hand, in the priory; you will find him much changed, but
+they say he will do well.”
+
+She shook like an aspen leaf, and threw her garments around her with
+nervous earnestness.
+
+“Come, mother, take my arm.”
+
+“O Alfred, may I not come, too?” said little Edgitha.
+
+“Yes, you may come too;” and they left the house.
+
+Elfric heard them approach, and sat up in his bed, Father Cuthbert
+supporting him with his arm; while another visitor, Edgar himself,
+stood at the head of the bed, but retired to give place to the mother,
+as if he felt no stranger could then intrude, when the widow clasped
+her prodigal to her loving breast.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+SOW THE WIND, AND REAP THE WHIRLWIND.
+
+
+When Alfred rebuilt the city of Winchester, after it had been burned by
+the Danes, he erected a royal palace, which became a favourite retreat
+of his successors.
+
+Here the unhappy Edwy retired after his defeat, to find consolation in
+the company of Elgiva. Indeed he needed it. Northumbria had followed
+the example of Mercia, and acknowledged Edgar, and he had no dominions
+left north of the Thames, while it was rumoured that worse news might
+follow.
+
+In an inner chamber of the palace, and remote from intrusion, sat the
+king and his chosen advisers. It was early in the year 958, a spring
+day when the sun shone brightly and all things spoke of the coming
+summer—the songs of the birds, the opening buds, the blossoming
+orchards.
+
+But peace was banished from those who sat in that council chamber. Edwy
+was strangely disturbed, his face was flushed, and he bore evidence of
+the most violent agitation.
+
+“It must come to that at last, my king,” exclaimed Cynewulf, “or Wessex
+will follow the example of Mercia.”
+
+“Better lose my crown then and become a subject, with a subject’s
+liberty to love.”
+
+“A subject could never marry within the prohibited degree,” said a
+grey-headed counsellor.
+
+“We have messengers from all parts of Wessex, from Kent, from Essex,
+from Sussex, and they all unite in their demand that you should submit
+to the Church, and put away (forgive me for repeating their words) your
+concubine.”
+
+“Concubine!” said Edwy, and his cheek flushed, “she is my wife and your
+queen.”
+
+“Pardon me, my liege, I did not make the word my own.”
+
+“You should not have dared to repeat it.”
+
+“If I dare, my lord, it is for your sake, and for our country, which is
+dear to us all. Not an Englishman will acknowledge that your connection
+is lawful; from Exeter to Canterbury the cry is the same—‘Let him
+renounce Elgiva, and we will obey him; but we will not serve a king who
+does not obey the voice of the Church or the laws of the land.’”
+
+“Laws of the land! The king is above the laws.”
+
+“Nay, my lord, he is bound to set the first example of obedience, chief
+in that as in all things; an example to his people. Remember, my lord,
+your coronation oath taken at Kingston three years ago.”
+
+Edwy flushed. “Is this a subject’s language?”
+
+“It is the language of one who loves his king too well to flatter him.”
+
+At this moment an usher of the court knocked at the door, and obtaining
+permission to enter, stated that Archbishop Odo had arrived, and
+demanded admission to the council.
+
+“I will not see him,” said the king.
+
+“My liege,” exclaimed Athelwold, the old grey-headed counsellor we have
+mentioned, “permit one who loves you, as he loved your revered father,
+to entreat you to cease from this hopeless resistance. If you refuse to
+see him you are no longer a king.”
+
+“Then I will gladly abdicate.”
+
+“And become the scorn of Dunstan, and receive a retiring pension from
+Edgar, and put your hand between his, kneeling humbly and saying ‘I am
+your man.’”
+
+“No, no. Anything rather than that. Death first.”
+
+“All this may be averted with timely submission. Elgiva herself would
+not counsel you to sacrifice all for her.”
+
+“O Athelwold, my father, the only one of my father’s counsellors who
+has been faithful to his firstborn, what can I do? She is dearer to me
+than life.”
+
+“But not than honour. You have both erred, both disobeyed the law of
+the Church, both forgotten the example due from those in high places.”
+
+“Tell Odo to enter,” exclaimed Edwy.
+
+The archbishop was close at hand, patiently awaiting the answer to his
+demand, yet determined, in case of a refusal, to take his pastoral
+staff in his hand and enter the council room, announced or not. A more
+determined priest had never occupied the primacy, yet he was benevolent
+as determined, and, as we have mentioned, was known as Odo the Good
+amongst the poor. Stern and unyielding to the vices of the rich, he was
+gentle as a parent to the repentant sinner.
+
+He had pronounced, as we have seen, the lesser excommunication,xxxi in
+consequence of Edwy’s refusal to put away Elgiva, immediately after the
+coronation; since which the guilty pair had never communicated at the
+altar, or even attended mass. Their lives had been practically
+irreligious, nay idolatrous, for they had been gods to each other.
+
+And now, in the full pomp of the archiepiscopal attire, with the mitre
+of St. Augustine on his head and the crozier in his hand, Odo advanced,
+like one who felt his divine mission, to the centre of the room. His
+cross bearer and other attendants remained in the antechamber.
+
+“What dost thou seek, rude priest?” said Edwy.
+
+“I am come in the Name of Him Whose laws thou hast broken, and speak to
+thee as the Baptist to Herod. Put away this woman, for it is not lawful
+for thee to have her.”
+
+“And would I could reply to thee as the holy fox Dunstan once informed
+me Herod replied to the insolent Baptist, and send thine head on a
+charger to Elgiva.”
+
+“My lord! my liege! my king! Remember his sacred office,” remonstrated
+the counsellors.
+
+“Peace, my lords. His threats or his blandishments would alike fail to
+move me. The blood of Englishmen slain in civil war—if indeed any are
+found to fight for an excommunicate king—is that which I seek to avert.
+
+“In the Name of my Master, Whom thou hast defied, O king, I offer thee
+thy choice. Thou must put away thy concubine, or thou shalt sustain the
+greater excommunication, when it will become unlawful for Christian
+people even to speak with thee, or wish thee God speed, lest they be
+partakers of thy evil deeds.”
+
+“My lord, you must yield,” whispered Cynewulf.
+
+“Son of the noble Edmund, thou must save thy father’s name from
+disgrace.”
+
+“I cannot, will not, do Elgiva this foul wrong. I tell thee, priest,
+that if thy benediction has never been pronounced upon our union, we
+are man and wife before heaven.”
+
+“I await your answer,” said Odo. “Am I to understand you choose the
+fearful penalty of excommunication?”
+
+“Nay! nay! he does not; he cannot,” cried the counsellors. “Your
+holiness!—father!—in the king’s name we yield!”
+
+“You are all cowards and traitors! Let him do what he will, I cannot
+yield.”
+
+“Then, my lord king, I must proceed,” said Odo. “You have not only
+acted wickedly in this matter, but you have misgoverned the people
+committed to your charge, and broken every clause of your coronation
+oath. First, you have not given the Church of God peace, or preserved
+her from molestation, but have yourself ravaged her lands, and even
+slain her servants with the sword; one, specially honoured of God, you
+sought to slay, sending that wicked man, who has been called by fire to
+his judgment, to execute your impious will.”
+
+“That holy fox Dunstan! Would Redwald had slain him!” muttered Edwy.
+
+“Secondly,” continued Odo, not heeding the interruption, “so far from
+preventing thefts and fraud in all manner of men, you have maintained
+notorious oppressors amongst your officers, and in your own person you
+have broken the oath; for did you not even rob your aged grandmother,
+and consume her substance in riotous living?”
+
+“What could the old woman do with it all?”
+
+“Thirdly, you have not maintained justice in your judicial proceedings,
+but have spent all your time, like Rehoboam of old, with the young and
+giddy, and in chastising your people with scorpions.”
+
+“Would I had a scorpion to chastise you! This is unbearable.
+
+“My lords and counsellors, have you not a word to say for me?”
+
+“Alas!” said Athelwold, “it is all too true; but give up Elgiva now,
+and all will be well!”
+
+“It will be at least the beginning of reformation,” said Odo.
+
+“And the end, I suppose,” said Edwy, “will be that I shall shave my
+head like a monk, banquet sumptuously upon herbs and water, spend
+three-fourths of the day singing psalms through my nose, wear a hair
+shirt, look as starved as a weasel, and at last, after sundry combats
+with the devil, pinch his nose, and go off to heaven in all the odour
+of sanctity. Go and preach all this to Edgar; I am not fool enough to
+listen to it. You have got him to be your obedient slave and vassal;
+you have bought him, body and soul, and the price has been Mercia, and
+now you want to add Wessex. Well, I wish you joy of him, and him of you
+all; for my part, if I could do it, I would restore the worship of Odin
+and Thor, and offer you priests as bloody sacrifices to him: I would!”
+
+“Peace, my lord and king! peace! this is horrible,” said Athelwold.
+
+“Horrible!” said another. “He is possessed. My lord Odo, you had better
+exorcise him.”
+
+But Edwy had given way—he was young—and burst into a passionate fit of
+weeping, his royal dignity all forgotten.
+
+“Give him time! give him time, father!” said they all.
+
+“One day; he must then submit, or I must do my duty; I have no
+choice—none,” replied the archbishop.
+
+And the council sadly broke up; but Athelwold sought a private
+interview with Elgiva.
+
+It was the evening of the same day, and the fair Elgiva sat alone in
+her apartment, into which the westering sun was casting his last beams
+of liquid light; tears had stained her cheeks and reddened her eyes,
+but she looked beautiful as ever, like the poet’s or painter’s
+conception of the goddess of love. Around her were numerous evidences
+of a woman’s delicate tastes, of tastes too in advance of her day. The
+harp, which Edwy had given her the day of their inauspicious union,
+stood in one corner of the apartment; richly ornamented manuscripts lay
+scattered about—not, as usual, legends of the saints, and breviaries,
+but the writings of the heathen poets, especially those who sang most
+of love: for she was learned in such lore.
+
+At last the well-known step was heard approaching, and her heart beat
+violently. Edwy entered, his face bearing the traces of his mental
+struggle; he threw himself down upon a couch, and did not speak for
+some few moments. She arose and stood beside him.
+
+“Edwy, my lord, you are ill at ease.”
+
+“I am indeed, Elgiva; oh! if you knew what I have had to endure this
+day!”
+
+“I know it all, my Edwy; you cannot sacrifice your Elgiva, but she can
+sacrifice herself.”
+
+“Elgiva! what do you mean?”
+
+“You have to choose between your country and your wife; she has made
+the choice for you.”
+
+Here she strove violently to repress her emotion.
+
+“Elgiva! you shall never go—never, never—it will break my heart.”
+
+“It will break mine; but better hearts should break than that civil war
+should desolate our country, or that you should be dethroned.”
+
+“No more of this, Elgiva; you shall not go, I swear it! come weal or
+woe. Are we not man and wife? Have we not ever been faithful to each
+other?”
+
+“But this dreadful Church, my Edwy, which crushes men’s affections and
+rules their intellects with a giant’s strength more fearful than the
+fabled hammer of Thor. It crushed the sweet mythology of old, with all
+that ministered to love, and substituted the shaveling, the nun, the
+monk; it has no sympathy with poor hearts like ours; it is remorseless,
+as though it never knew pity or fear. You must yield, my Edwy! we must
+yield!”
+
+“I cannot,” he said; “we will fly the throne together.”
+
+“But where would you go? this Church is everywhere; who would receive
+an excommunicate man?”
+
+“I cannot help it, Elgiva; say no more, it maddens me. Talk of our
+early days, before this dark shadow fell upon us.”
+
+She took up her harp, as if, like David, she could thereby soothe the
+perturbed spirit; but its sweet sounds woke no answer in his breast,
+and so the night came upon them—night upon the earth, night upon their
+souls.
+
+Early in the morning she rose, strong in a woman’s affection, while
+Edwy yet slept, and hastily arrayed herself; she looked around at her
+poor household gods, at the harp, at the many tokens of his love.
+
+“It is for him!” she said. She imprinted her last kiss on his sleeping
+forehead, she gazed upon him with fond, fond love; love had been her
+all, her heaven: and then she opened the door noiselessly.
+
+Athelwold waited without.
+
+“Well done, noble girl!” he said; “thou keepest thy word right
+faithfully.”
+
+She strove to speak, but could not; her pale bloodless lips would not
+frame the words. Silently they descended the stairs; the dawn reddened
+the sky; a horse with a lady’s equipments waited without, and a guide.
+
+The old thane slipped a purse of gold into her hands.
+
+“You will need it,” he said. “Where are you going? you have not told
+us.”
+
+“It is better none should know,” she said; “I will decide my route when
+without the city.”
+
+They never heard of her again.xxxii
+
+When Edwy awoke and found her gone he was at first frantic, and sent
+messengers in all directions to bring her back; but when one after
+another came back unsuccessful, he accepted the heroic sacrifice and
+submitted.
+
+Wessex, therefore, remained faithful to him, at least for a time, but
+Mercia was utterly lost; and Edgar was recognised as the lawful king
+north of the Thames, by all parties; friends and foes, even by Edwy
+himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+“FOR EVER WITH THE LORD.”
+
+
+Many months had passed away since the destruction of the hall of
+Æscendune and the death of the unhappy Ragnar, and the spring of 958
+had well-nigh ended. During the interval, a long and hard winter had
+grievously tried the shattered constitution of Elfric. He had recovered
+from the fever and the effects of his wound in a few weeks, yet only
+partially recovered, for the severe shock had permanently injured his
+once strong health, and ominous symptoms showed themselves early in the
+winter. His breathing became oppressed, he complained of pains in the
+chest, and seemed to suffer after any exertion.
+
+These symptoms continued to increase in gravity, until his friends were
+reluctantly compelled to recognise the symptoms of that insidious
+disease, so often fatal in our English climate, which we now call
+consumption.
+
+It was long before they would admit as much; but when they saw how
+acutely he suffered in the cold frosts; how he, who had once been
+foremost in every manly exercise, was compelled to forego the hunt, and
+to allow his brother to traverse the woods and enjoy the pleasures of
+the chase without him; how he sought the fireside and shivered at the
+least draught; how a dry painful cough continually shook his frame,
+they could no longer disguise the fact that his days on earth might be
+very soon ended.
+
+There was one fact which astonished them. Although he had returned with
+avidity to all the devotional habits in which he had been trained, yet
+he always expressed himself unfit to receive the Holy Communion, and
+delayed to make that formal confession of his sins, which the religious
+habits of the age imposed on every penitent.
+
+Once or twice his fond mother, anxious for his spiritual welfare,
+pressed this duty upon him; and Alfred, whom he loved, as well he
+might, most dearly, urged the same thing, yet he always evaded the
+subject, or, when pressed, replied that he fully meant to do so; in
+short, it was a matter of daily preparation, but he could not come to
+be shriven yet.
+
+When the winter at last yielded, and the bright spring sun spoke of the
+resurrection, when Lent was over, they hoped at least to see him make
+his Easter communion, and their evident anxiety upon the subject at
+last brought from him the avowal of the motives which actuated his
+conduct.
+
+It was Easter Eve, and Alfred had enticed him out to enjoy the balmy
+air of a bright April afternoon. Close by the path they took, the hall
+was rapidly rising to more than its former beauty, for not only had the
+theows and ceorls all shown great alacrity in the work, but all the
+neighbouring thanes had lent their aid.
+
+“It will be more beautiful than ever,” said Alfred, “but not quite so
+homelike. Still, when you come of age, Elfric, it will be a happy home
+for you.”
+
+“It will never be my home, Alfred.”
+
+“You must not speak so despondently. The bright springtide will soon
+restore all your former health and vigour.”
+
+“No, Alfred, no; the only home I look for is one where my poor
+shattered frame will indeed recover its vigour, but it will not be the
+vigour or beauty of this world. Do you remember the lines Father
+Cuthbert taught us the other night?
+
+“‘Oh, how glorious and resplendent,
+    Fragile body, shalt thou be,
+When endued with so much beauty,
+    Full of health, and strong and free,
+Full of vigour, full of pleasure.
+    That shall last eternally.’
+
+
+“It will not be of earth, though, my brother.”
+
+Alfred was silent; his emotions threatened to overcome him. He could
+not bear to think that he should lose Elfric, although the conviction
+was gradually forcing itself upon them all.
+
+“Alfred,” continued the patient, “it is of no use deceiving ourselves.
+I have often thought it hard to leave this beautiful world, for it is
+beautiful after all, and to leave you who have almost given your life
+for me, and dear mother, little Edgitha, and Father Cuthbert; but God’s
+Will must be done, and what He wills must be best for us. No; this
+bright Easter tide is the last I shall see on earth; but did not Father
+Cuthbert say that heaven is an eternal Easter?”
+
+So the repentant prodigal spoke, according to the lessons the Church
+had taught him. Superstitious in many points that Church of our
+forefathers may have been, yet how much living faith had its home
+therein will never be fully known till the judgment.
+
+“And when I look at that castle,” Elfric continued, “our own hall of
+Æscendune, rising from its ashes, I picture to myself how you will
+marry some day and be happy there; how our dear mother will see your
+children growing up around her knee, and teach them as she taught you
+and me; how, perhaps, you will name one after me, and there shall be
+another Elfric, gay and happy as the old one, but, I hope, ten times as
+good; and you will not let him go to court, I am sure, Alfred.”
+
+Alfred did not answer; he could not command his composure.
+
+“And when you all come to the priory church on Sundays, and Father
+Cuthbert, or whoever shall come after him, sings the mass, you will
+remember me and breathe my name in your prayers when they say the
+memento for the faithful dead; and again, there shall be little
+children learning their paters and their sweet little prayers, as you
+and I learned them at our mother’s knee: and you will show them my
+tomb, where I shall rest with dear father, and perhaps my story may be
+a warning to them. But you must never forget to show them how brotherly
+love was stronger than death when the old hall was burnt.
+
+“After all,” he continued, “our separation won’t be long, the longest
+day comes to an end, and a thousand years are with Him as one day. We
+shall all be united at last—father, mother, Alfred, Edgitha, Elfric. Do
+you not hear the Easter bells?”
+
+They retraced their steps to the priory church for the services of
+Easter Eve.
+
+“And one thing more, dear Alfred; you think me a strange penitent, that
+I am long, very long, before I make my confession. You do not know how
+I sigh for Communion; it is three years since I communicated, nearly
+four. But, Alfred, there is one who tried to stop me when I began going
+downward, downward, and I feel as if I must have his forgiveness before
+I can communicate, and it is to him I want to make my last confession.
+You know whom I mean; he is in England now and near.”
+
+“I do indeed.”
+
+“Now you know my secret, let us go into church.”
+
+Oh, how sweetly those Easter psalms and lessons spoke to Alfred and
+Elfric that night; how sweetly the tidings of a risen Saviour sounded
+in their ears. Easter joy was joy indeed. The very heavens seemed
+brighter that night, the moon—the Paschal moon—seemed to gladden the
+earth and render it a Paradise, like that happy Eden of old times,
+before sin entered its holy seclusion.
+
+Easter tide was over, and Ascension drew near, but the sweet month of
+May had done little to restore health to poor Elfric. He had scarcely
+ever had a day free from pain. His eye was brighter than ever, but his
+attenuated face told a sad tale of the decay of the vital power.
+
+From the time that Alfred knew how his brother yearned for Dunstan’s
+forgiveness, and that he would be shriven by none but him, he had
+sought to accomplish his wish. He heard that Dunstan had returned from
+abroad, and was about to be consecrated Bishop of Worcester, and to be
+their own diocesan, and he sought an early opportunity of seeing him.
+
+At last, but not until after Dunstan’s consecration, he gained the
+opportunity, not without much delay; for Dunstan was sometimes in
+Worcester, sometimes in London, which had thrown off Edwy’s authority,
+and submitted, with all Essex, to Edgar; sometimes ordaining, sometimes
+confirming, sometimes assisting Edgar in the government; and he was,
+like all other great men, very inaccessible.
+
+At last Alfred learned that he would be in Worcester by a certain day,
+and he started at once for that city. He arrived there after a tedious
+journey; the roads were very difficult, and when he reached the city he
+heard the cathedral bells, and went at once to the high mass, for it
+was a festival. There he saw Dunstan as he had seen him before at
+Glastonbury, at the altar, amidst all the solemn pomp in which our
+ancestors robed the sacred office.
+
+Immediately after the service he repaired to the palace, and put in his
+name. Numbers, like himself, were awaiting an audience, but only a few
+minutes had passed ere an usher came into the antechamber and informed
+him that Dunstan requested his immediate presence.
+
+He followed the usher amidst the envy of many who had the prospect of a
+long detention ere they could obtain the same favour, and soon he had
+clasped Dunstan’s hand and knelt for his blessing.
+
+“Nay! rise up, my son, it is thine: _Deus benedicat et custodiat te, in
+omnibus viis tuis_. Thinkest thou, my son, thy name has been forgotten
+in my poor prayers? God made thee His instrument, but thou wast a very
+very willing one; and now, my son, wherein can I serve thee? Thou hast
+but to speak.”
+
+Thus encouraged, Alfred told all his tale, and Dunstan listened with
+much emotion.
+
+“Yet two days and I will be with you at Æscendune. Go back and comfort
+thy brother; he shall indeed have my forgiveness, and happy shall I be
+as an ambassador of Christ to fulfil the blessed office of restoring
+the lost sheep to the fold, the prodigal to his Heavenly Father.”
+
+When Alfred returned to Æscendune he found Elfric eagerly awaiting him;
+he had not been so well in the absence of his brother, and every one
+saw symptoms of the coming end.
+
+Still he seemed so happy when Alfred delivered his message that every
+one remarked it, and that evening he sat up later than usual, listening
+as Father Cuthbert read for the hundredth time his favourite story from
+King Alfred’s Anglo-Saxon version of the Gospels, the parable of the
+prodigal son, which had filled his mind on the night after the battle;
+then he spoke to his mother about past days, before a cloud came
+between him and his home; and talked of his father, and of the little
+incidents of early youth. Always loving, he was more so than usual that
+night, as if he felt time was short in which to show a son’s love.
+
+That night his mother came, as she always came, when he was asleep, to
+his chamber to gaze upon him, when she was struck by the difficulty of
+his breathing; she felt alarmed when she saw the struggles he seemed to
+make for breath, and saw the damp sweat upon his brow, so she called
+Alfred.
+
+Alfred saw at once that his brother was seriously worse, and summoned
+Father Cuthbert, who no sooner gazed upon him than he exclaimed that
+the end was near.
+
+During all that night he breathed heavily and with difficulty, as if
+each breath would be the last. Towards morning, however, he rallied,
+and immediate danger seemed gone, although only for a short time.
+
+He sat up for the last time that day. It was a lovely day in May, and
+in the heat of the day he seemed to drink in the sweet atmosphere, as
+it came gently through the open window, laden with the scents of a
+hundred flowers. Often his lips moved as if in prayer, and sometimes he
+spoke to his brother, and asked when Dunstan would come; but he was not
+equal to prolonged conversation.
+
+At length one of the ceorls came riding in to say that the Bishop, with
+his retinue, was approaching the village, and Father Cuthbert went out
+to meet him. The impatient anxiety of poor Elfric became painful to
+witness.
+
+“He is coming, Elfric! he is coming!” said Alfred from the window. “I
+see him near; see! he stops to salute Father Cuthbert, whom he knew
+years ago; I must go down to receive him.
+
+“Mother! You stay with Elfric.”
+
+A sound as of many feet; another moment, a firm step was heard upon the
+stairs, and Dunstan entered the room.
+
+He advanced to the bed, while all present stood in reverent silence,
+and gazed upon the patient with a look of such affection as a father
+might bestow upon a dying son as he took the weak nerveless hand.
+
+Elfric looked round with a mute appeal which they all comprehended, and
+left him alone with Dunstan.
+
+“Father, pardon me!” he said.
+
+“Thou askest pardon of me, my son—of me, a sinner like thyself; I
+cannot tell thee how freely I give it thee; and now, my son, unburden
+thyself before thy God, for never was it known that one pleaded to Him
+and was cast out.”
+
+When, after an interval, Dunstan summoned the lady Edith and Alfred
+back into the room, a look of such calm, placid composure, such
+satisfied happiness, sat upon his worn face, that they never forgot it.
+
+“Surely,” thought they, “such is the expression the blessed will wear
+in heaven.”
+
+And then, in their presence, Dunstan administered the Blessed Sacrament
+of the Body and Blood of Christ to the happy penitent; it was the first
+Communion which he had willingly made since he first left home, a
+bright happy boy of fifteen; and words would fail to describe the deep
+faith and loving penitence with which he gathered his dying strength to
+receive the Holy Mysteries.
+
+And then Dunstan administered the last of all earthly rites—the holy
+anointing;xxxiii while amidst their tears the mourners yet thought of
+Him Who vouchsafed to be anointed before He sanctified the grave to be
+a bed of hope to His people.
+
+“Art thou happy now, my son?” said Dunstan, when all was over.
+
+“Happy indeed! happy! yes, so happy!”
+
+They were almost the last words he said, until an hour had passed and
+the sun had set, leaving the bright clouds suffused in rich purple,
+when he sat up in the bed.
+
+“Mother! Alfred!” he said, “do you hear that music? Many are singing;
+surely that was father’s voice. Oh! how bright!”
+
+He fell back, and Dunstan began the solemn commendatory prayer, for he
+saw the last moment was come.
+
+“Go forth, O Christian soul, from this world, in the name of God the
+Father Who hath created thee, of God the Son Who hath redeemed thee, of
+God the Holy Ghost Who hath been poured out upon thee; and may thy
+abode be this day in peace, in the heavenly Sion, through Jesus Christ
+thy Lord.”
+
+It was over! Over that brief but eventful life! Over all the bright
+hopes which had centred on him in this world; but the battle was won,
+and the eternal victory gained.
+
+We have little more to add to our tale; the remainder is matter of
+history. The real fate of the unhappy Elgiva is not known, for the
+legend which represents her as suffering a violent death at the hands
+of the partisans of Edgar or Odo rests upon no solid foundation, but is
+repugnant to actual facts of history. Let us hope that she found the
+only real consolation in that religion she had hitherto, unhappily,
+despised, but which may perhaps have come to her aid in adversity.
+
+The unhappy Edwy sank from bad to worse. When Elgiva was gone he seemed
+to have nothing to live for; he yielded himself up to riotous living to
+drown care, while his government became worse and worse. Alas, he never
+repented, so far as we can learn, and the following year he died at
+Gloucester—some said of a broken heart, others of a broken
+constitution—in the twentieth year only of his age.
+
+Poor unhappy Edwy the Fair! Yet he had been his own worst enemy. Well
+has it been written:
+
+“Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine
+heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou that for all these
+things God will bring thee into judgment.”
+
+Edgar succeeded to the throne, and all England acknowledged him as
+lord; while under Dunstan’s wise administration the land enjoyed peace
+and plenty unexampled in Anglo-Saxon annals. Such was Edgar’s power,
+that more than three thousand vessels kept the coast in safety, and
+eight tributary kings did him homage.
+
+Alfred became in due course Thane of Æscendune, and his widowed mother
+lived to rejoice in his filial care many a long year, while the
+dependants and serfs blessed his name as they had once blessed that of
+his father.
+
+“The boy is the father of the man” it has been well said, and it was
+not less true than usual in this case. A bright pure boyhood ushered in
+a manhood of healthful vigour and bright intellect.
+
+Children grew up around him after his happy marriage with Alftrude, the
+daughter of the thane of Rollrich. The eldest boy was named Elfric, and
+was bright and brave as the Elfric of old. Need we say he never went to
+court, although Edgar would willingly have numbered him in the royal
+household. Truly, indeed, were fulfilled the words which the Elfric of
+old had spoken on that Easter eve. To his namesake, and to all that
+younger generation, the memory of the uncle they had never seen was
+surrounded by a mysterious halo of light and love; and when they said
+their prayers around his tomb, it seemed as if he were still one of
+themselves—sharing their earthly joys and sorrows.
+
+And here we must leave them—time passing sweetly on, the current of
+their lives flowing softly and gently to the mighty ocean of eternity:
+
+“Where the faded flower shall freshen,
+    Freshen never more to fade;
+Where the shaded sky shall brighten,
+    Brighten never more to shade.”
+            _Bonar_.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+Footnotes
+
+
+i For authorities for his various statements the Author must beg to
+refer his readers to the notes at the end of the volume.
+
+ii Homilies in the Anglo-Saxon Church
+
+“The mass priest, on Sundays and mass days, shall speak the sense of
+the Gospel to the people in English, and of the Paternoster, and of the
+Creed, as often as he can, for the inciting of the people to know their
+belief, and to retain their Christianity. Let the teacher take heed of
+what the prophet says, ‘They are dumb dogs, and cannot bark.’ We ought
+to bark and preach to laymen, lest they should be lost through
+ignorance. Christ in His gospel says of unlearned teachers, ‘If the
+blind lead the blind, they both fall into the ditch.’ The teacher is
+blind that hath no book learning, and he misleads the laity through his
+ignorance. Thus are you to be aware of this, as your duty
+requires.”—23d Canon of Elfric, about A.D. 957.
+
+Elfric was then only a private monk in the abbey of Ahingdon, and
+perhaps composed these canons for the use of Wulfstan, Bishop of
+Dorchester, with the assistance of the abbot, Ethelwold. They commence
+“Ælfricus, humilis frater, venerabili Episcopo Wulfsino, salutem in
+Domino.” Others think this “Wulfsinus” was the Bishop of Sherborne of
+that name. Elfric became eventually Archbishop of Canterbury, A.D.
+995-1005, dying at an advanced age. No other English name before the
+Conquest is so famous in literature.
+
+iii Services of the Church.
+
+“It concerns mass priests, and all God’s servants, to keep their
+churches employed with God’s service. Let them sing therein the
+seven-tide songs that are appointed them, as the Synod earnestly
+requires—that is, the uht song (matins); the prime song (seven A.M.);
+the undern song (terce, nine A.M.); the midday song (sext); the noon
+song (nones, three P.M.); the even song (six P.M.); the seventh or
+night song (compline, nine P.M.)”—19th Canon of Elfric.
+
+It is not to be supposed that the laity either were expected to attend,
+or could attend, all these services, which were strictly kept in
+monastic bodies; but it would appear that mass, and sometimes matins
+and evensong, or else compline, were generally frequented. And these
+latter would be, as represented in the text, the ordinary services in
+private chapels.
+
+iv Battle of Brunanburgh.
+
+In this famous battle, the English, under their warlike king, defeated
+a most threatening combination of foes; Anlaf, the Danish prince,
+having united his forces to those of Constantine, King of the Scots,
+and the Britons, or Welsh of Strathclyde and Cambria. So proud were the
+English of the victory, that their writers break into poetry when they
+come to that portion of their annals. Such is the case with the writer
+of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, from whom the following verses are
+abridged. They have been already partially quoted in the text.
+
+Here Athelstane king,
+Of earls the lord,
+To warriors the ring-giver,
+Glory world-long
+Had won in the strife,
+By edge of the sword,
+At Brunanburgh.
+The offspring of Edward,
+The departed king,
+Cleaving the shields.
+Struck down the brave.
+Such was their valour,
+Worthy of their sires,
+That oft in the strife
+They shielded the land
+‘Gainst every foe.
+The Scottish chieftains,
+The warriors of the Danes,
+Pierced through their mail,
+Lay dead on the field.
+The field was red
+With warriors’ blood,
+What time the sun,
+Uprising at morn,
+The candle of God,
+Ran her course through the heavens;
+Till red in the west
+She sank to her rest.
+Through the live-long day
+Fought the people of Wessex,
+Unshrinking from toil,
+While Mercian men,
+Hurled darts by their side.
+Fated to die
+Their ships brought the Danes,
+Five kings and seven earls,
+All men of renown,
+And Scots without number
+Lay dead on the field.
+Constantine, hoary warrior,
+Had small cause to boast.
+Young in the fight,
+Mangled and torn,
+Lay his son on the plain.
+Nor Anlaf the Dane
+With wreck of his troops,
+Could vaunt of the war
+Of the clashing of spears.
+Or the crossing of swords,
+with the offspring of Edward.
+The Northmen departed
+In their mailed barks,
+Sorrowing much;
+while the two brothers,
+The King and the Etheling,
+To Wessex returned,
+Leaving behind
+The corpses of foes
+To the beak of the raven,
+The eagle and kite,
+And the wolf of the wood.
+
+
+The Chronicle simply adds, “A.D. 937.—This year King Athelstan, and the
+Etheling Edmund, his brother, led a force to Brimanburgh, end there
+fought against Anlaf, and, Christ helping them, they slew five kings
+and seven earls.”
+
+v Murder of Edmund.
+
+A certain robber named Leofa, whom Edmund had banished for his crimes,
+returning after six years’ absence, totally unexpected, was sitting, on
+the feast of St. Augustine, the apostle of the English, and first
+Archbishop of Canterbury, among the royal guests at Pucklechurch, for
+on this day the English were wont to regale, in commemoration of their
+first preacher; by chance, too, he was placed near a nobleman, whom the
+king had condescended to make his guest. This, while the others were
+eagerly carousing, was perceived by the king alone; when, hurried with
+indignation, and impelled by fate, he leaped from the table, caught the
+robber by the hair, and dragged him to the floor; but he, secretly
+drawing a dagger from its sheath, plunged it with all his force into
+the breast of the king as he lay upon him. Dying of the wound, he gave
+rise over the whole kingdom to many fictions concerning his decease.
+The robber was shortly torn limb from limb by the attendants who rushed
+in, though he wounded some of them ere they could accomplish their
+purpose. St. Dunstan, at that time Abbot of Glastonbury, had foreseen
+his ignoble end, being fully persuaded of it from the gesticulations
+and insolent mockery of a devil dancing before him. Wherefore,
+hastening to court at full speed, he received intelligence of the
+transaction on the road. By common consent, then, it was determined
+that his body should be brought to Glastonbury, and there magnificently
+buried in the northern part of the tower. That such had been his
+intention, through his singular regard for the abbot, was evident from
+particular circumstances. The village, also, where he was murdered, was
+made a offering for the dead, that the spot, which had witnessed his
+fall, might ever after minister aid to his soul,—William of Malmesbury,
+B, ii. e. 7, Bohn’s Edition.
+
+vi A. D. 556—Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.
+
+vii Wulfstan, and the See of Dorchester.
+
+When Athelstane was dead, the Danes, both in Northumberland and Mercia,
+revolted against the English rule, and made Anlaf their king.
+Archbishop Wulfstan, then of York, sided with them, perhaps being
+himself of Danish blood. The kingdom was eventually divided between
+Edmund and Aulaf, until the death of the latter. When Edred ascended
+the throne—after the murder of Edmund, who had, before his death,
+repossessed himself of the whole sovereignty—the wise men of
+Northumberland, with Wulfstan at their head, swore submission to him,
+but in 948 rebelled and chose for their king Eric of Denmark. Edred
+marched at once against them, and subdued the rebellion with great
+vigour, not to say riqour. He threw the archbishop into prison at
+Jedburgh in Bernicia. After a time he was released, but only upon the
+condition of banishment from Northumbria, and he was made Bishop of
+Dorchester, a place familiar to the tourist on the Thames, famed for
+the noble abbey church which still exists, and has been grandly
+restored.
+
+Although Dorchester is now only a village, it derives its origin from a
+period so remote that it is lost in the mist of ages. It was probably a
+British village under the name Cair Dauri, the camp on the waters; and
+coins of Cunobelin, or Cassivellaunus, have been found in good
+preservation. Bede mentions it as a Roman station, and Richard of
+Cirencester marks it as such in the xviii. Iter, under the name
+Durocina.
+
+Its bishopric was founded by Birinus, the apostle of the West Saxons;
+and the present bishoprics of Winchester, Salisbury, Exeter, Bath and
+Wells, Worcester and Hereford, were successively taken from it, after
+which it still extended from the Thames to the Humber.
+
+Suffering grievously from the ravages of the Danes, it became a small
+town, and it suffered again grievously at the Conquest, when the
+inhabited houses were reduced by the Norman ravages from 172 to 100,
+and perhaps the inhabitants were reduced in proportion. In consequence,
+Remigius, the first Norman bishop, removed the see to Lincoln, because
+Dorchester, on account of its size and small population, did not suit
+his ideas, as John of Brompton observes. From this period its decline
+was rapid, in spite of its famous abbey, which Remigius partially
+erected with the stones from the bishop’s palace.
+
+viii Anglo-Saxon Literature.
+
+In the age of Bede, the eighth century, Britain was distinguished for
+its learning; but the Danish invasions caused the rapid decline of its
+renown.
+
+The churches and monasteries, where alone learning flourished, and
+which were the only libraries and schools, were the first objects of
+the hatred of the ferocious pagans; and, in consequence, when Alfred
+came to the throne, as he tells us in his own words—“South of the
+Humber there were few priests who could understand the meaning of their
+common prayers, or translate a line of Latin into English; so few, that
+in Wessex there was not one.” Alfred set himself diligently to work to
+correct this evil. Nearly all the books in existence in England were in
+Latin, and it was a “great” library which contained fifty copies of
+these. There was a great objection to the use of the vernacular in the
+Holy Scriptures, as tending to degrade them by its uncouth jargon; but
+the Venerable Bede had rendered the Gospel of St. John into the
+Anglo-Saxon, together with other extracts from holy Scripture; and
+there were versions of the Psalter in the vulgar tongue, very rude and
+uncouth; for ancient translators generally imagined a translation could
+only be faithful which placed all the words of the vulgar tongue in the
+same relative positions as the corresponding words in the original. An
+Anglo-Saxon translation upon this plan is extant.
+
+Alfred had taught himself Latin by translating: there were few
+vocabularies, and only the crabbed grammar of old Priscian. Shaking
+himself free from the trammels we have enumerated, he invited learned
+men from abroad, such as his biographer, Asser, and together they
+attempted a complete version of the Bible. Some writers suppose the
+project was nearly completed, others, that it was interrupted by his
+early death. Still, translations were multiplied of the sacred
+writings, and the rubrics show that they were read, as described in the
+text, upon the Sundays and festivals. From that time down to the days
+of Wickliffe, England can boast of such versions of the sacred Word as
+can hardly be paralleled in Europe.
+
+The other works we have mentioned were also translated by or for
+Alfred. “The Chronicle of Orosius,” a history of the world by a
+Spaniard of Seville; “The History of the Venerable Bede;” “The
+Consolations of Philosophy,” by Boethius; “Narratives from Ancient
+Mythology;” “The Confessions of St. Augustine;” “The Pastoral
+Instructions of St. Gregory;” and his “Dialogue,” form portions of the
+works of this greatest of kings, and true father of his people. His
+“Apologues,” imitated from Æsop, are unfortunately lost.
+
+ix The Court of Edred.
+
+All the early chroniclers appear to take a similar view of the
+character and court of Edred. William of Malmesbury says—“The king
+devoted his life to God, and to St. Dunstan, by whose admonition he
+bore with patience his frequent bodily pains, prolonged his prayers,
+and made his palace altogether the school of virtue.” But although
+pious, he was by no means wanting in manly energy, as was shown by his
+vigorous and successful campaign in Northumbria, on the occasion of the
+attempt to set Eric, son of Harold, on the throne of Northumbria. The
+angelic apparition to St. Dunstan, mentioned in chapter VII, is told by
+nearly all the early historians, but with varying details. According to
+many, it occurred while Dunstan was hastening to the aid of Edred. The
+exigencies of the tale required a slightly different treatment of the
+legend.
+
+x Confession in the Anglo-Saxon Church.
+
+“On the week next before holy night shall every one go to his shrift
+(i.e. confessor), and his shrift shall shrive him in such a manner as
+his deeds which he hath done require and he shall charge all that
+belong to his district that if any of them have discord with any, he
+make peace with him; if any one will not be brought to this, then he
+shall not shrive him; [but] then he shall inform the bishop, that he
+may convert him to what is right, if he he willing to belong to God:
+then all contentions and disputes shall cease, and if there be any one
+of them that hath taken offence at another, then shall they be
+reconciled, that they may the more freely say in the Lord’s Prayer,
+‘Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against
+us,’ etc. And having thus purified their minds, let them enter upon the
+holy fast-tide, and cleanse themselves by satisfaction against holy
+Easter, for this satisfaction is as it were a second baptism. As in
+Baptism the sins before committed are forgiven, so, by satisfaction,
+are the sins committed after Baptism.” Theodulf’s Canons, A.D. 994
+(Canon 36).
+
+It is evident, says Johnson, that “holy night” means “lenten night,” as
+the context shows.
+
+xi Incense in the Anglo-Saxon Church.
+
+Dr. Rock, in his “Hierurgia Anglicans,” states that incense was used at
+the Gospel. In vol. i., quoting from Ven. Bede, he writes —“Conveniunt
+omnes in ecclesium B. Petri ipse (Ceolfridas Abbas) thure incenso, et
+dicto oratione, ad altare pacem dat omnibus, stans in gradibus,
+thuribulum habens in menu.” In Leofric’s Missal is a form for the
+blessing of incense. Theodore’s Penitential also affixes a penance to
+its wilful or careless destruction. Ven. Bede on his deathbed gave away
+incense amongst his little parting presents, as his disciple, Cuthbert,
+relates. Amongst the furniture of the larger Anglo-Saxon churches was a
+huge censer hanging from the roof, which emitted fumes throughout the
+mass.
+
+“Hic quoque thuribulum, capitellis undique cinctum,
+Pendet de summo, fumosa foramina pandens:
+De quibus ambrosia spirabunt thura Sabæa,
+Quando sacerdotes missas offerre jubentur.”
+Alcuini _Opera_, B. ii,, p. 550.
+
+
+xii Psalm xxi. 3.
+
+xiii “All were indignant at the shameless deed, and murmured amongst
+themselves,” —William of Malmesbury.
+
+xiv The Welsh were driven from Exeter by King Athelstane; before that
+time, Englishmen and Welsh had inhabited it with equal rights.
+
+xv The earliest inhabitants of Ireland were called Scots.
+
+xvi Legends about St. Dunstan.
+
+“It is a great pity,” says Mr. Freeman, in his valuable “Old English
+History,” “that so many strange stories are told about him [Dunstan],
+because people are apt to think of those stories and not of his real
+actions.” This has indeed been the case to such an extent that his
+talents, as a statesman and as an ecclesiastical legislator, are almost
+unknown to many who are very familiar with the story of his seizing the
+devil by the nose with a pair of tongs. Sir Francis Palgrave supposes
+that St. Dunstan’s seclusion at the time had led him to believe, like
+so many solitaries, that he was attacked in person by the fiend, and
+that he related his visions, which were accepted as absolute facts by
+his credulous hearers. Hence the author has assumed the currency of
+some of these marvellous legends in his tale, and has introduced a
+later one into the text of the present chapter. But the whole life of
+the saint, as related by his monkish biographers, is literally full of
+such legends, some terrible, some ludicrous. One of the most remarkable
+deserves mention, bearing, as it does, upon our tale. It is said that
+he learned that Edwy was dead, and that the devils were about to carry
+off his soul in triumph, when, falling to fervent prayer, he obtained
+his release. A most curious colloquy between the abbot and the devils
+on this subject may be found in Osberne’s “Life of Dunstan.”
+
+xvii The Benedictine Rule.
+
+St. Benedict, the founder of the great Benedictine Order, was born in
+the neighbourhood of Nursia, a city of Italy, about A.D. 480. Sent to
+study at Rome, he was shocked at the vices of his fellow students, ran
+away from the city, and shut himself up in a hermitage, where he
+resigned himself to a life of the strictest austerity. Three years he
+spent in a cave near Subiaco, about forty miles from Rome, where he was
+so removed from society that he lost all account of time. He did not,
+however, lead an idle life of self contemplation; he instructed the
+shepherds of he neighbourhood, and such were the results of his
+instruction that his fame spread widely, until, the abbot of a
+neighbouring monastery dying, the brethren almost compelled him to
+become their superior, but, not liking the reforms he introduced,
+subsequently endeavoured to poison him, whereupon he returned to his
+cave, where, as St. Gregory says, “he dwelt with himself” and became
+more celebrated than ever. After this the number of his disciples
+increased so greatly, that, emerging from his solitude, he built twelve
+monasteries, in each of which he placed twelve monks under a superior,
+finally laying the foundation of the great monastery of Monte Cassino,
+which has ever since been regarded as the central institution of the
+order.
+
+Here was drawn up the famous Benedictine rule, which was far more
+adapted than any other code to prevent the cloister from becoming the
+abode of idleness or lascivious ease. To the three vows of poverty,
+chastity, and obedience, was added the obligation of manual labour, the
+brethren being required to work with their hands at least seven hours
+daily. The profession for life was preceded by a novitiate of one year,
+during which the rule was deeply studied by the novice, that the life
+vow might not be taken without due consideration. The colour of the
+habit was usually dark, hence the brethren were called the Black Monks.
+
+St. Benedict died of a fever, which he caught in ministering to the
+poor, on the eve of Passion Sunday, A.D. 543. Before his death, the
+houses of the order were to be found in all parts of Europe, and by the
+ninth century it had become general throughout the Church, almost
+superseding all other orders.
+
+xviii The Roman Roads.
+
+Roman roads were thus constructed: Two shallow trenches were dug
+parallel to each other, marking the breadth of the proposed road; the
+loose earth was removed till a solid foundation was reached, and above
+this were laid four distinct strata—the first of small broken stones,
+the second of rubble, the third of fragments of bricks or pottery, and
+the fourth the pavement, composed of large blocks of solid stone, so
+joined as to present a perfectly even surface. Regular footpaths were
+raised on each side, and covered with gravel. Milestones divided them
+accurately. Mountains were pierced by cuttings or tunnels, and arches
+thrown over valleys or streams. Upon these roads, posting houses
+existed at intervals of six miles, each provided with forty horses, so
+that journeys of more than 150 miles were sometimes accomplished in one
+day.
+
+From the arrival of our uncivilised anceators, these magnificent roads
+were left to ruin and decay, and sometimes became the quarry whence the
+thane or baron drew stones for his castle; but they still formed the
+channels of communication for centuries. Henry of Huntingdon (circa
+1154) mentions the Icknield Street, from east to west; the Eringe, or
+Ermine Street, from south to north; the Watling Street, from southeast
+to northwest; and the Foss Way, from northeast to southwest, as the
+four principal highways of Britain in his day. Once ruined, no
+communications so perfect existed until these days of railroads.
+
+xix The Rollright Stones.
+
+These stones are still to be seen in the parish of Great Rollright near
+Chipping Norton, Oxon, anciently Rollrich or Rholdrwygg. They lie on
+the edge of an old Roman trackway, well defined, which extends along
+the watershed between Thames and Avon. The writer has himself heard
+from the rustics of the neighbourhood the explanation given by Oswy,
+while that put in the mouth of Father Cuthbert is the opinion of the
+learned.
+
+xx For this new translation of Urbs beata the author is indebted to his
+friend the Rev. Gerald Moultrie.
+
+xxi The reader will remember the strong feeling of animosity then
+existing between seculars and regulars.
+
+xxii This demoniacal laughter is one of the many legends about St.
+Dunstan.
+
+xxiii See Preface.
+
+xxiv Ruined British Cities.
+
+The resistance of the Britons (or Welsh) to their Saxon (or English)
+foes was so determined, that, as in all similar cases, it increased the
+miseries of the conquered. In Gaul the conquered Celts united with the
+Franks to make one people; in Spain they united with the Goths; but the
+conquerors of Britain came from that portion of Germany which had been
+untouched by Roman valour or civilisation, and consequently there was
+no disposition to unite with their unhappy victims, but the war became
+one of extermination. Long and bravely did the unhappy Welsh struggle.
+After a hundred years of warfare they still possessed the whole extent
+of the western coast, from the wall of Autoninus to the extreme
+promontory of Cornwall; and the principal cities of the inland
+territory still maintained the resistance. The fields of battle, says
+Gibbon, might be traced in almost every district by the monuments of
+bones; the fragments of falling towers were stained by blood, the
+Britons were massacred ruthlessly to the last man in the conquered
+towns, without distinction of age or sex, as in Anderida. Whole
+territories returned to desolation; the district between the Tyne and
+Tees, for example, to the state of a savage and solitary forest. The
+wolves, which Roman authorities describe as nonexistent in England,
+again peopled those dreary wastes; and from the soft civilisation of
+Rome the inhabitants of the land fell back to the barbarous manners and
+customs of the shepherds and hunters of the German forests. Nor did the
+independent Britons, who had taken refuge finally in Wales, or Devon
+and Cornwall, fare much better. Separated by their foes from the rest
+of mankind, they returned to that state of barbarism from which they
+had emerged, and became a scandal at last to the growing civilisation
+of their English foes.
+
+Under these circumstances the Saxons or English (the Saxons founded the
+kingdoms of Wessex and Essex; the Jutes, Kent; the Angles all the
+others. The predominance of the latter caused the term English to
+become the general appellation.) cared little to inhabit the cities
+they conquered; they left them to utter desolation, as in the case
+described in the text, until a period came when, as in the case of the
+first English assaults upon Exeter and the west country, they no longer
+destroyed, but appropriated, while they spared the conquered.
+
+xxv Seaton in Devonshire.
+
+xxvi Elgiva or Ælgifu, signifies fairy gift.
+
+Xxvii
+
+The gate of hell stands open night and day;
+Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:
+But to return, and view the upper skies—In this the toil, in this the
+labour lies.—Dryden.
+
+
+xxviii Valhalla.
+
+Valhalla or Waihalla was the mythical Scandinavian Olympus, the
+celestial locality where Odin and Edris dwelt with the happy dead who
+had fallen in battle, and who had been conducted thither by the fair
+Valkyries. Here they passed the days in fighting and hunting
+alternately, being restored sound in body for the banquet each night,
+where they drank mead from the skulls of the foes they had vanquished
+in battle. Such was the heaven which commended itself to those fierce
+warriors.
+
+xxix The parish priests were commonly called “Mass-Thanes”
+
+xxx “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that
+believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever
+liveth, and believeth in Me, shall never die.”
+
+It was not the usual English custom, in those days, to bury the dead in
+coffins, still it was often done, in the case of the great, from the
+earliest days of Christianity. For instance, a stone coffin, supposed
+to contain the dust of the fierce Offa, who died A. D. 796, was dug up,
+when more than a thousand years had passed away, in the year 1836, at
+Hemel-Hempstead, with the name Offa rudely carved upon it. The earliest
+mention of churchyards in English antiquities is in the canons called
+the “Excerptions of Ecgbriht,” A.D. 740, when Cuthbert was Archbishop
+of Canterbury; and here the word “atria” is used, which may refer to
+the outbuildings or porticoes of a church.
+
+
+xxxi The Greater and Lesser Excommunications.
+
+The lesser excommunication excluded men from the participation of the
+Eucharist and the prayers of the faithful, but did not necessarily
+expel them from the Church. The greater excommunication was far more
+dreadful in its operation. It was not lawful to pray, speak, or eat,
+with the excommunicate (Canons of Ecgbright). No meat might be given
+into their hands even in charity, although it might be laid before them
+on the ground. Those who sheltered them incurred a heavy “were gild,”
+and endangered the loss of their estates; and finally, in case of
+obstinacy, outlawry and banishment followed.
+
+—King Canute’s Laws Ecclesiastical.
+
+xxxii Disappearance of Elgiva.
+
+The writer has already in the preface stated his reasons for rejecting
+the usual sad story about the fate of the hapless Elgiva. The other
+story, that she was seized by Archbishop Odo, branded on the face, and
+sent to Ireland, as Mr. Freeman observes, rests on no good authority;
+all that is certainly known is that she disappeared.
+
+At the time commonly assigued to these events, Dunstan was still in
+Flanders; yet he is generally credited with the atrocities by modern
+writers, even as if he had been proved guilty after a formal trial. His
+return probably took place about the time occupied by the action of the
+last chapter, when the partition of the kingdom had already occurred.
+
+xxxiii The last Anointing.
+
+The priest shall also have oil hallowed, separately, for children, and
+for sick men; and solemnly anoint the sick in their beds. Some sick men
+are full of vain fears, so as not to consent to the being anointed. Now
+we will tell you how God’s Apostle Jacob hath instructed us in this
+point; he thus speaks to the faithful: “If any of you be afflicted, let
+him pray for himself with an even mind, and praise his Lord. If any be
+sick among you, let him fetch the mass priests of the congregation, and
+let them sing over him, and pray for him, and anoint him with oil in
+the Name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith shall heal the sick; and
+the Lord shall raise him up: and if he be in sins they shall be
+forgiven him. Confess your sins among yourselves, pray for yourselves
+among yourselves, that ye be healed.” Thus spake Jacob the Apostle
+concerning the unction of the sick. But the sick man, before his
+anointing, shall with inward heart confess his sins to the priest, if
+he hath any for which he hath not made satisfaction, according to what
+the Apostle before taught: and he must not be anointed, unless he
+request it, and make his confession. If he were before sinful and
+careless, let him then confess, and repent, and do alms before his
+death, that he may not be adjudged to hell, but obtain the Divine
+mercy.
+
+Such is Johnson’s version of the 32d canon of Elfric, in which he has
+preserved closely Elfric’s translation, or rather paraphrase, of the
+passage in St. James. The name James was not then in use, the Latin
+Jacobus was rendered Jacob.—Johnson’s English Canons, A.D. 957, 32.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13215 ***