Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune<br />A Tale of the Days of Edmund Ironside, A. D. Crake [best romance books of all time TXT] 📗

In Anlaf's quarters one huge fire blazed for all. Alfgar seemed the only silent member of the company; the warriors related their successes, and boasted of their exploits, and the bards sang their ferocious ditties, until all were tired, and the quiet moon looked down upon the sleeping camp.

O the contrast--the calm passionless aspect of the heaven and the human pandemonium beneath.

St. Matthew's Day, 1006.--

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write the events of the last few days. They have been so calamitous, so unexpected. We have heard of such things afar off, we had prayed for our brethren in Wessex, exposed to similar calamities, and now they have fallen upon us personally. May God, who alone is sufficient for these things, give us strength to bear all for His name's sake.

It was a fortnight ago, and our harvest was all gathered in. God had blessed our increase, and our garners were full with all manner of store; women and children had mainly been the reapers, but the Lady Hilda herself had been present amongst them, and so had her daughter, my niece, Ethelgiva, even sometimes labouring with their own hands.

Alfgar and Bertric had worked like common serfs, and did themselves honour thereby, for true nobility lies not in being idle, save in the field of battle, as the bloody Northmen vainly think.

Well, the work was over, and we had a mass of thanksgiving, after which Bertric and Alfgar went hunting in the forest. In the evening there was a harvest home; it was of course a strange one without the men, who were afar off, fighting for their country, but we tried to be thankful for mercies vouchsafed, and I and Father Adhelm were there to bless the food.

We found a large party assembled--as many, indeed, as the hall would contain. My sister, the Lady Hilda, was somewhat uneasy, because Alfgar and Bertric were not yet back, but still not much alarmed, for what harm could befall such lads in the woods? So I blessed the food and the feast commenced.

Eating and drinking were over, and the old gleeman, striking his harp, was beginning a song of harvest home, when in rushed the two young theows who had gone out with Alfgar and Bertric, with the startling intelligence that there was a band of Northmen lurking in the woods, who had seized their young lords, and were, they thought, bent on attacking the place.

Words of mine cannot paint the terror and dismay the tidings caused; the scene of distress and fear is yet before my eyes as I write. One woman rose superior to fear--the Lady Hilda; aided by her, I stilled the tumult, and we took hasty counsel together.

Nothing could be done for the poor lads, and the preservation of the lives of the whole population depended upon our promptitude. It was wonderful to see how the mother stifled her agony in her own breast, while she strove to remember that, in the absence of her lord, she was in charge of the safety of all her people, and the mother of all. I had already interrogated the two churls; their story was but too evidently true; and I learned that they had discovered the footmarks of the Northmen in crossing a ford that afterwards, while returning hastily home, they stumbled upon them, and Alfgar and Bertric were taken. The party were evidently awaiting the approach of night, and were doubtless bent on attacking the castle and village.

Fifty men! and how could we resist them? The poor old gleemen expressed their readiness to fight for the old hall, and so did even the boys; but these accursed pagans are the very spawn of the evil one, and fight like fiends, whom they equal in skill, so that I saw at once there was no chance in resistance.

But there was safety in retreat and flight, and under our circumstances no dishonour in so seeking it. So I saw the path clear at once, and not a minute too soon.

In the depths of the forest, about ten miles from Aescendune, in the opposite direction to that in which the enemy lay, is a solitary valley, surrounded by such morasses and quagmires that only those who know the paths could safely journey thither. But the valley is fertile, and my father years ago built a substantial farm house with outbuildings there, which has ever since been occupied by our chief forester.

Thither I saw at once the whole party must retreat, alike from the hall, the priory, and the village. In such a way only could they hope to escape the wretches to whom bloodshed and cruelty are pastimes.

Yet I was deeply puzzled to understand what motive could have brought a war party so far, and why they had passed so many flourishing homes to come to poor secluded Aescendune. Surely, thought I, there is some great mystery hidden in this, which time may perhaps show.

In a brief space of time, shorter, indeed, than under other circumstances we should have conceived possible, everything was prepared; horses were loaded with provisions and all things necessary for immediate use. Old men and children were also mounted, who could not otherwise travel, and we started. It was indeed painful to part from home, and to leave all we had to the mercy of the Danes, but "skin for skin, all that a man hath will he give for his life."

So soon as I saw the party safely away from the town, I left them under the guidance of some ancient foresters, who knew every woodland path, and hastened to my brethren, who had been duly forewarned, and were awaiting my arrival. I found them prepared for immediate departure. We had a large flat-bottomed boat on the river which washes the monastery garden; they had placed all the sacred vessels and the treasure of the priory therein, and had sent the novices and lay brethren to seek their safety with the rest in the woods, only the brethren, properly so called, remaining.

And now, ready for immediate flight, we went forth with calm composure, which God sent us. Then, upon the brink of the stream, we stopped and listened. No sound broke the dread silence of the night, and we stood in perfect quiet for some minutes.

At last we heard the sound of muffled footsteps, as of those who sneak about on the devil's work, approaching the priory, and we pushed the boat into the stream. The moon had not yet arisen; it was quite dark. It was the one boat near.

We knew well what they were doing--surrounding the priory to prevent any chance of escape, supposing, of course, that their victims would be within. This accomplished, they knocked loudly at the doors, and receiving no answer, raised their fierce battle cry, and looked, happily in vain, for the pallid faces they expected to see at windows or loopholes. Then they proceeded to break the doors down with their battle-axes. A similar din, beginning a moment before, told us that the hall and the priory were simultaneously attacked.

We had heard enough. We let the boat drop down the stream till we reached a small island, where we waited to see the end, praising the Lord who had not delivered us over for a prey unto their teeth.

While we waited in suspense, we saw a fierce light flash forth from the hall, and perceived that, having plundered it of all that was portable, they had fired it in many places at once; and while we looked, we saw our own once happy home share the same fate, and emulate the hall in sending forth its volume of ruddy flame towards the skies.

This we had waited for, and we held council, and decided that, having no home, the brethren should depart with the sacred vessels and treasure to the mother house at Abingdon, while I remained, as also Father Adhelm, to minister to our afflicted flock in the woods as best we might.

Alas for our poor priory! the foundation of Offa and Ella, once the light of the neighbourhood! but now our candlestick is removed out of its place.

Our minds being made up as to the course to be pursued, we rowed quietly down the stream, fearing pursuit.

Down the stream about two hours' journey an old Roman road, leading southward, crossed the river, where a bridge had once existed, long since swept away by time, but there was a tolerable ford quite safe, save in winter floods.

Hard by stood a hostelry, and thither we journeyed in our heavily-laden bark.

The light of the conflagration grew dimmer as we rowed down the stream, but it still lighted up the heavens with an angry glare. It was yet deep night when we drew near the inn, and we lay awhile on our oars, to listen for signs of pursuit; but there was nought to disturb the dead silence of the night, so we proceeded.

All the household were buried in sleep when we knocked at the doors--a proof that they had not observed the redness in the skies, or little sleep, I trow, would they have taken.

We were so exhausted with the fatigues and excitement of the enemy, that we hailed this lonely habitation as a little Zoar. It showed how safe people were feeling in Mercia, that we could not wake the good people for a long time, and we were getting impatient, for they seemed like the seven holy sleepers of Ephesus, awaiting the cessation of persecution. I wish we could all sleep like those Ephesians, and awake in better days.

But their dogs were awake, and saluted us with a vociferous barking, and would not allow us to land until they were driven away by the oars which our theows used with much effect upon their hides.

At last a window was thrown open above.

"Who are you who travel at this time of night?" said a voice, which tried to be firm.

"The poor brethren of St. Benedict from Aescendune."

"Now the saints help thy lying tongue," thus irreverently he spoke, "do holy men travel like robbers in dead of night?"

"Look, my brother, over the tree tops, and you may learn the cause of our wanderings; dost thou not even yet see the angry glare in the heavens? It is from Aescendune; the Danes have burned it."

"Good lack, poor Aescendune! and the people?"

"Are all safe, we trust, in body."

"God be praised!" and the host hurried down and admitted us.

His wife hasted to light a good fire, and to prepare us a breakfast; in short, we had fallen amongst the faithful, and we met great hospitality, for which may God repay the worthy host, Goodman Wiglaf.

We were so fatigued in mind and body that we no sooner lay down than we fell asleep, and slept until the sun was high in the heavens.

Wiglaf watched the river jealously to see that no foe pursued; but, as we afterwards learned, they had other things to think of.

The road which ran across the river at this spot continued southward into Wessex, and, so far as we could learn, was free from danger, so I determined to send my brethren to Abingdon by easy stages along its course, while I turned back with Father Adhelm, to share the misfortunes of my kindred and lay brethren in the woods. So we embraced each other and parted; and we two watched, with loving hearts, until the glades of the forest hid our brethren, dear to us in the Lord, from our sight, dimmed as were our eyes with tears. Then we plucked up our courage, and turned our thoughts to those others, dear and near to us, who had taken to the woods, where it was again our duty to seek them.

Wiglaf rowed us back in a light skiff up the stream, not without much protest, for he feared the Danes would surely catch us, and at every bend of the stream he crept round, as if he expected to see a fleet of boats sweep towards us, while he kept in the middle, as if dreading an arrow from every bush. At length we reached the immediate neighbourhood, over which the smoke still hung like a black pall. Here Father Adhelm and I landed, and, giving Wiglaf our blessing, bade him depart in peace, which the good soul flatly refused to do until assured of our safety.

So, hiding the boat behind some bushes, we crept forward together, till, getting through the underwood, we came to the edge of the covert.

Before us lay the fated village, one mass of deformed and blackened ruins, from which the dark smoke ceaselessly arose, and made the air painful to breathe.

But there was no sign of life; no living thing seemed to breathe there; the place seemed abandoned for ever. It was a dull day, dull as the gloom which was upon our spirits; the very