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] 📗

Lady Alftrude of Rollrich. Elfric, my eldest brother, died young. Elfwyn is now thane, and I, the third boy, was given to the Church, for which I had ever felt a vocation, perhaps from my love to my godfather. We only had one sister, Bertha, and she has married the Thane Herstan of Clifton, near Dorchester, the seat of our good bishop Aelfhelm, and the shrine of holy Birinus.

My father and mother both sleep the sleep of the just. They lived to see their children happy and prosperous, and then departed amidst the lamentations of all who had known and loved them. Taken from the evil to come, we cannot mourn them, nor would we call them back, although we sorely missed their loved forms. They were full of years, yet age had not dimmed their faculties. My father died in the year 998, my mother the following year. They rest by the side of their ancestors in the priory church.

My brother Elfwyn married Hilda, the daughter of Ceolfric, a Thane of Wessex, in the year 985. He has two children--Bertric, a fine lad of twelve, and as good as he is manly; and Ethelgiva, a merry girl of ten. His household is well-ordered and happy-- nurtured in the admonition of the Lord.

For myself I have had many offers of promotion in the brotherhood of St. Benedict, but have refused them. I was once offered the high office of abbot in one of our great Benedictine houses, but I wished to be near my own people and my father's house, and here I trust I shall stay till I seek a continuing city, whose builder and maker is God.

And now a little about the state of the country round us. In this neighbourhood we have as yet been preserved from the evils of war, but for many years past the Danes, those evil men, have renewed their inroads, as they used to make them before the great King Alfred pacified the country. They began again in the year 980, and, with but slight intermission, have continued year by year.

The awful prophecy which God forced from the lips of Dunstan {ii}, at the coronation of our most unhappy king, has been too sadly fulfilled. Ah me! I fear the curse of the saints is upon him. When the holy bishop departed this life, I was one of the few who stood round his bed, and as he foretold of the evil to come, he bade us all bear our portion manfully, for the time, he said, would be short in which to endure, and the eternal crown secure.

Many of those to whom he spoke have since died the martyr's or the patriot's death, but as yet no evil has reached us at Aescendune, although many parts of Wessex, nay, all the sea coast and the banks of the great rivers have been wasted with fire and sword, and the money which has been given the barbarians has been worse than wasted, for they only come for more.

Our armies seem led by traitors; our councils, sad to say, by fools. Nothing prospers, and thoughtless people say the saints are asleep. Every day we say the petition in our Litany, "That it would please Thee to abate the cruelty of our pagan enemies, and to turn their hearts; we beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord," and we must wait His time, and pray for strength to submit to His will.

Around the priory live the serfs, the theows, and ceorls of the estate, each in his own little cottage, save the domestics, who live at the Hall, which is only half-a-mile distant.

On Sundays and Saints' days they all assemble in our minster church. It was full this day at the high mass, and I preached them a homily upon the Saints, great part of which I took from a sermon I once heard the holy Dunstan preach. And he showed us how saints did not live idle lives on this earth, but always went about, like their Lord and Master, doing good, and that through much tribulation they entered the eternal kingdom, which also bids fair to be our lot nowadays, although we be all miserable sinners, and not saints.

Ah! how I thought of the dear ones we have lost when the Gospel was read at mass, about the great multitude which no man could number, and I almost seemed as if I could see father, mother, and Elfric there. I would not wish them back; yet my heart is very lonely sometimes. I wonder whether they remember now that it is All Saints' Day, and that we are thinking of them. Yes, I am sure they must do so.

There have been few troubles from the Danes, close at hand; so few that they seem trivial in comparison with those our countrymen suffer elsewhere. Still we have many of the pagans living as settlers in our neighbourhood, whose presence is tolerated for fear of the reprisals which might follow any acts of hostility against them. Kill one Dane, the people say, and a hundred come to his funeral. Many of these settlers have acquired their lands peaceably, but others by the strong arms of their ancestors in periods of ancient strife; and these have been allowed to keep their possessions for generations, so that if they did not retain their heathen customs we might forget they were not Englishmen.

One of these lives near us. His name is Anlaf. Some say he boasts of being a descendant of that Anlaf who once ravaged England, and was defeated at Brunanburgh. He married an English girl, whose heart, they say, he broke by his cruelty. They had one child, Alfgar by name.

The mother died a Christian. Taking my life in my hands, I penetrated their fortalice, and administered the last sacrament to her; but they threatened my life for entering their domains, and, perhaps, had I been but a simple priest, and not also, small boast as it is, the son of a powerful English thane, whom they feared to offend, I had died in doing my duty. When the poor girl was dying she committed the boy as well as she could to my care, begging me to see that he was baptized; but the father has prevented me from carrying out her wishes, asserting that he would sooner slay the lad.

But it seems as if the boy retained some traces of his mother's faith; over and over again I have seen him hiding in some remote corner of the church during service time, but he has always shrunk away when any of the brethren attempted to speak to him.

I am sure he wishes to be a Christian.

I may, perhaps, find a chance of speaking to him, and a few words may reach his heart. He knows my brother's family, and has once or twice joined them in expeditions in the woods, and even entered their gates. His must be a lonely life at home; there are no other children, but from time to time hoary warriors, upon whose souls lies, I fear, the guilt of much innocent blood, find a home there.

November 2d.--

This morning we said the office and mass for the dead, as usual on All Souls' Day. My brother Elfwyn and his children were, of course, present. That boy, Bertric, with all his boyish spirit and brightness, is very pious. It was a sight which I thought might gladden their guardian angels to see him and his sister kneeling with clasped hands at their uncle Elfric's tomb, and when service was over, they made me tell them the old old story about the first Elfric, the brother of my father, and how my father rescued him when the old castle was burnt {iii}.

When I had told them the story, I saw my brother was anxious to say a few words to me.

"Cuthbert," he said, "have you seen the young Dane, Alfgar, lately?"

"Not very long since," I replied; "he was at mass yesterday."

"Because I believe the lad longs to be a Christian, but does not dare speak to any one."

"He fears his stern father."

"Yes, Anlaf might slay him if he was to be baptized; yet baptized I am sure he will be, sooner or later."

"Does the boy love his father, I wonder?" said I, musingly.

"Doubtless; it would be unnatural did he not; but perhaps he loves the memory of his mother yet more. We both knew her, Cuthbert."

"Yes, when she was a bright-hearted merry village maiden. Poor Kyneswith!"

"For her sake, then, let us both try to do something for the boy."

"With all my heart. I will seek an opportunity of speaking to him, perhaps he may unburden his mind."

"Have you seen Edric the sheriff?" asked Elfwyn.

"Not lately. Has he been here?"

"He has, and there was something in connection with his visit which troubled me. He had been telling me for a long time about the cruelties and insolence of the Danes, when he added, in a marked manner, that they might go too far, for hundreds of their countrymen, like Anlaf here, were living unprotected amongst us."

"What could he mean?"

"I understood him to hint that we might revenge ourselves upon them, and replied that whatever their countrymen might be guilty of, our neighbours would, of course, always be safe amongst Christians."

"What did he reply?"

"He changed the subject."

Elfwyn said no more, but bade me goodbye and returned to the castle; still I saw that he was a little discomposed by the sheriff's words. I don't like that sheriff; he is a cruel and a crafty man; but I daresay his words were only the expression of a passing thought.

CHAPTER II. "ALFGAR, SON OF ANLAF."

SUNDAY, November 6th.--

Today I noticed Alfgar, the son of Anlaf, at the high mass, and felt a little discomposed at the relaxation of discipline, which, contrary to the canons of the church, permits the unbaptized, as well as persons who ought rightly to be deemed excommunicate, or at least penitents, to be present at the holy mysteries.

But it is not this poor boy's fault that he is not a Christian, for I have seen him, and learned for a certainty the real state of his mind.

The way in which it came about was this. I marked that after service he entered the woods, as if he shunned the society of his fellow worshippers, and there I followed him, coming upon him at last, as if by accident, in a chestnut glade, the leaves of which strewed the ground--emblem of our fading mortality.

He started as he saw me, and at first looked as if he were inclined to fly my presence, but I gently addressed him.

"Dominus vobiscum, my son," I said. "I am pleased to see you sometimes at the minster church."

"I did not know I was noticed amongst so many," he replied.

"You mean, my boy, that you would sooner your presence were not observed. I can guess your reason too well."

He looked so sad, that I was sorry I had spoken precipitately, and a deep red blush suffused his dark countenance. He has a most attractive face--so thoughtful, yet so manly; his mother's gentle lineaments seem to have tempered the somewhat fierce and haughty bearing of his sire, as they meet in the countenance of their child.

My sympathy became so deep that I could not restrain myself and spoke out:

"My boy, will you not confide your troubles to me, for your dear mother's sake? Do you not remember how she commended you to my care? And never have I forgotten to pray daily that her God may be your God also."

At the mention of his mother the tears filled his eyes. We were sitting together on the trunk of a fallen tree, and he covered his face with his hands, but I could see that the tears forced their way between the fingers, and that he was sobbing violently. He is only as yet a mere boy, and such emotion is excusable.

At last he looked up.

"I long to be a Christian like her," he said; "over and over again she taught me, during her last days on earth, of the Christ she loved, and who, she said, was ever near her. I have heard all about the faith she loved, yet I am an outcast from it. What can I do?--my father will not let me be baptized, and I dare not oppose his will; yet I sometimes think I ought to chance all, and to die, if death should be the penalty."

"Die? You do not surely think he would slay you?"

"I know he would."

"In that case, my child, your duty seems plain: your Lord calls you to give Him your love, your obedience, and to seek refuge in the fold of His church."

"Ought I to leave my father?"

I felt very much puzzled indeed what to say. I could have no doubt as to