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] 📗

"Sharp the adder's tooth, but sharper Spake the sea king to his foes, Spake while savage brows grew darker, As he told the countless woes Which the bear's fierce cubs should bring To those who slew their father and their king."

Then he described the retribution, and the lingering death of Ella under the agonies of the "rista oern" so vividly, that every Danish heart was filled with emulation.

"Well sung!" shouted the Danes. "Thou dost sing a song worth hearing. Hast not taught thy son to sing likewise?"

In turn Alfgar was forced to support his assumed character. Luckily his tenacious memory retained the words of many an old song, and the warriors were well pleased.

"Why must thou go to shore? We will feed and guerdon thee well if thou wilt stay with us."

"We are aweary now, and would fain return to our comrades on the shore, but we will return by and by."

"Do so, here is thy reward;" and one of the speakers threw a gold chain round the gleeman's neck. Gold was plentiful with the robbers.

They were allowed to return to their boat; but as they did so, many a keen eye was fixed upon them. The dawn was already beginning to appear in the east, and every moment was of importance.

"Thou hast borne the test well," said the gleeman, "and hast not flinched."

"I could not in your presence."

At this moment they heard the rapid splash of a boat, manned by many rowers, behind, and a voice shouted aloud to the men on board the ship they had left:

"Hast seen a boat with a gleeman and harp bearer?"

"They have just left the ship."

"Follow; they are English spies. Sweyn will give the weight of their heads in red gold."

Instantly they heard the sound of hurried voices, the lowering of boats, the splash of numerous oars, and all nearly close behind them. They took an oar each, and pulled with all the energy of men who pull for life or death.

The light was gradually growing stronger, and their chance of escape seemed feeble, when Alfgar saw before them a dense cloud of mist rolling round the eastern promontory, and uttered a cry of joy as it enfolded them.

"The wind is east, keep it on your right cheek, and steer straight forward. I will take both oars," said the gleeman.

It was wonderful with what energetic force and success the gleeman pulled until they had cleared the mist, and saw that they were in the red light of dawn, in the midst of the Solent.

One half-mile behind them a solitary boat pursued. There appeared to be only five men, four rowing and one steering. Other boats there were, but wide of the mark.

"Alfgar," said the gleeman, "you will find a quiver of arrows and a long bow at the bottom of the boat behind you."

Alfgar handed them to him.

"The points are passing sharp, and the bow is in order; take your turn to row."

Alfgar obeyed; he could not do otherwise, the gleeman's tone of command was so powerful, but he feared they would loss time by the change.

"You need not hurry yourself; let them approach. They are not likely to have brought other weapons than their swords and axes."

The boat gained on them rapidly, until it was within a hundred and fifty yards.

"Keep just this distance if you can," said the gleeman, and drew an arrow suddenly to its head; it whistled through the air, and the steersman, transfixed, rose, leapt in the boat, and fell in the sea a corpse.

"Gone to seek oysters for King Sweyn's table, I suppose," said the gleeman.

Another steersman promptly took the place, but some yards were lost by the pursuers.

"Slacken, we are too far for accurate aim; and we English must not disgrace ourselves in Danish eyes."

They slackened, another arrow sped, and the foremost rower fell. Evidently the Danes had no means of reply.

"Slacken yet more;" and before the pursuers could recover their confusion, a third fell, then a fourth, before the unerring shafts. The fifth was at the fearful gleeman's mercy, but he restrained himself, now danger had vanished.

But as he did so he cried aloud:

"Dane, we give thee thy life, blood sucker though thou art. Go, and tell King Sweyn that Edmund {viii} the Etheling, son of Ethelred of England, has been his gleeman, and hopes he enjoyed the song which told the doom of parricides."

CHAPTER XII. THE MONASTERY OF ABINGDON.

One of the central lights of civilisation and Christianity in the early days of Wessex was the monastery of Abingdon. St. Birinus had fixed the centre of his missionary labours at Dorchester, only six miles distant, but the Abbey was the fruit of the heroic zeal of another evangelist, upon whom his mantle fell--St. Wilfrid. After the death of Birinus, the zeal of his successors failed to evangelise the southeastern districts of Wessex, until, at length, came Wilfrid, fervent in zeal, and, stationing himself at Selsey, near Chichester, evangelised both Sussex and Wessex, sending out missionaries like-minded with himself, even into the most inaccessible wilds.

Centwin was then king of Sussex, but various petty states were tributary to him, and ruled by viceroys. One of these viceroys was Cissa, whose dominions included Wiltshire and the greater part of Berkshire {ix}. This Cissa and his nephew, Hean, founded Abingdon. A mission was sent out from Chichester which attracted great multitudes of the Berkshire folk. Hean was present, and heard the preacher take for his text that verse of St. Matthew which declares that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. These words entered into the hearts of Hean and his sister Cilla, who was with him. They determined to go and sell all that they had and embrace a life of poverty. From their uncle, Cissa, they obtained grants of land, whereon they founded monastic homes. Cilla dedicated the convent she reared to St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, traditions of whose life in the neighbourhood had survived the Saxon Conquest.

Hean obtained the land of which Abingdon formed the central point, then generally known by the name Cloveshoo. He was tardy in his work as contrasted with his sister, and Cissa died without seeing the work for which he had given the land accomplished. Ceadwalla succeeded him (A.D. 685), and further augmented the territory. He rebelled against Centwin, and became king of Wessex; spending most of his life in warfare; it was through his conquest of the island that the "Wight" became Christian. He made a pilgrimage to Rome, where he died, after his baptism by Pope Sergius.

Ina, his successor (A.D. 688), was so angry at the long delay in building the monastery, that at first he revoked the grant of his predecessors to Hean, but becoming reconciled, gave all his energy to the work, and Cloveshoo {x}, or Abingdon, became a monastic town, and its history commences as a house of God from Ina, about A.D. 690-700.

Important benefits were thus conferred on the whole neighbourhood; agriculture flourished, learning increased, a sanctuary for the oppressed was provided, and last, though not least in Ina's eyes, a bulwark against Mercia was provided for the neighbourhood; while the poor and the afflicted found their happiness in every way promoted by the neighbourhood of the monastery.

Several times the monastery was in peril by reason of the wars between Wessex and Mercia. In A. D. 752, Cuthred of Wessex defeated Ethelbald of Mercia at Burford, hard by, and protected Abingdon from further aggressions. Twenty-five years later the decision of war was reversed. Offa, the great and fierce king of Mercia, defeated Cynewulf of Wessex, at Bensington, and spoiled the land, destroying the convent of St. Helena, founded by Cilla, and grievously robbing and oppressing Abingdon.

But the most awful calamity it ever underwent was its destruction in the first great Danish invasion, in the early days of King Alfred, when it was literally levelled with the ground, only, however, to arise in greater magnificence when the storm had passed away.

However the period of anarchy had introduced evils which required a stern reformer, and one was found in the person of the abbot Ethelwold, the friend of St. Dunstan, who, in conjunction with him and Oswald, introduced the rule of St. Benedict into Abingdon, Glastonbury, Ely, and other great houses, which, by its absolute prohibition of monastic idleness, and its wise regulations, caused the religious houses of that period to become the central points of civilisation and learning in the land.

Here, at this famous monastery, we resume Father Cuthbert's Diary.

In festo St. Edmundi.

Again I resume my diary, at the great monastic house of Abingdon, where I have rejoined my brethren. I have already told how, in company with Elfwyn, Father Adhelm and I sought the forest farm where our beloved ones had found refuge from the cruel oppressor. The joy of the women and children to whom their husbands and fathers were thus restored was very touching; all seemed willing to forget the destruction of their homes, since they had been spared to each other, and I, to whom, by my vows, such love is unknown, yet could but feel how holy a thing is family affection.

Alas, there was one family where the bitterness of death had found its way. I cannot describe the touching scene when Elfwyn told the fate of dear Bertric. Well, they will learn by and by to thank God for him and his example, for we doubt not he died a martyr, although we know not the details, and, unless Alfgar yet lives, shall perhaps never know them.

We held a long consultation upon our future movements. It was wisely decided not to rebuild Aescendune at present, for the place where they now are can be rendered very commodious, and is far more secure against a foe. We do not dare to hope that we have seen the last of our troubles; the Danes are wintering in the Wight, ready for fresh mischief next spring and summer.

We have been able to learn nothing of Alfgar; but we think that Anlaf probably yet lives, and that he has recovered his son; yet we cannot imagine how he escaped on St. Brice's night.

Well, to return. We at once set to work, and erected a church of timber, for the service of God; and I said mass in it the first Sunday after our arrival there. It may be supposed it is not a very grand church; but God looks at the living stones, and reads the heart.

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