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] 📗

longer opposed his entrance, and Alfgar staggered into the hall, forgetting that he was come amongst them like one risen from the dead.

He entered the hall at first unnoticed, but the merry laughter and cheerful conversation withered before his presence, as of one who came to blast it.

Father Cuthbert and Edmund, amongst others, turned round to see what caused the lull, and started from their seats as they beheld at the end of the room Alfgar, his face pale as one risen from the dead, his black locks hanging dishevelled around his neck, his garments torn, his whole person disordered. At first they really believed he had returned from the tomb.

They hesitated, but for one moment in speechless surprise, then rushed forward.

"Alfgar!" cried the Prince.

"My son!" cried Father Cuthbert, "whence hast thou come? dost thou yet live?"

"Father; Prince; I live to warn you--the Danes, the Danes!" and he sank fainting into the arms of Herstan.

"Surely he raves," said they all.

The porter here ventured to speak.

"My lord, please go to the front of the house and look over the water."

Father Cuthbert and Edmund at once left the hall, followed by several others.

The mansion was seated on a considerable elevation; below them rolled the Isis; across the river a couple of miles of flat meadow land lay between them and the Synodune hills, and beyond the lessening range of those hills, on the southeast, they looked, and behold the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace.

CHAPTER XVII. FOR HEARTH AND HOME.

The inhabitants of Clifton stood on the terrace in front of the hall, gazing upon the fiery horizon, wrapped in emotions of surprise and alarm. Living as they did in an unsettled age, and far more prepared than we should be for such a contingency, yet the sense of the rapid approach of a cruel and remorseless foe struck terror into many hearts.

But they had one amongst them to whom warfare and strife were a second nature--one in whom the qualities which form the hero were very fully developed. He gazed with sadness, but without fear, at the coming storm, and to their late patient the inmates of the hall turned for advice and aid in their dread emergency.

"What shall we do?" asked Herstan, gazing with indescribable feelings at those who clung to him for support.

"The case is clear as the day," said the prince. "The storm I foretold in vain has broken over the land, and the levies are not ready to meet it. Listen; you may hear the sounds of alarm from Dorchester even here. They see their danger."

The tolling of the alarm bells, the sound of distant shouts, the blowing of trumpets rolled in a confused flood of noise across the intervening space--a distance of between two and three miles-- and manifested the intense alarm of the city, so cruelly aroused from dreams of peace.

"But what shall we do?"

"Defend the place if attacked; it is well adapted for defence. You have the river on one side, and a cliff no Dane could scale in the face of our battle-axes; on the other side, your earthworks and palisades keep the foe at a distance from the main building. How many able-bodied men are present now?"

"Happily we have all our force; the feast has brought them all here. There would be from sixty to seventy men, besides a score of boys."

"And how are you provided with weapons?"

"Each man has a battle-axe, and there are scores of spears in the armoury."

"And arrows?"

"Whole sheaves of them; and as good yew bows as were ever bent."

"Come, we shall do; and now about provisions?"

"You see we have bounteous fare now, but it would not last many days."

"Many days we shall not want it--many days? Why, the levies must all be out within twenty-four hours, and the Danes are not strong enough to maintain themselves here. It is but a raid; but they might all have been taken or slain had my father but believed me. As it is, they have shed much innocent blood by this time."

"You think, then, our buildings are capable of defence?"

"Assuredly; it would be madness to sacrifice such a position. If the Danes are about in the neighbourhood, it would be far more dangerous to expose your helpless ones without the fortifications. Have you all your people here, or are there a few sick?"

"A few sick, only."

"Let them be sought at once; the heathen will be revelling like fiends about the country. For the present I think Dorchester and Abingdon safe. Wallingford, if I may judge by the light over the hills, has utterly fallen. They were probably taken unawares; and their defences were never good. Now we must at once to work."

"Prince, you have more experience of war than I; you will be our commander."

"I accept the post. To tell the truth, it will be a treat for me after the illness and confinement I have gone through; the thought of the struggle makes me feel myself again."

And so this strangely constituted man went forth and spoke to the assembled multitude, who stood passively gazing at the distant conflagration.

"Now, Englishmen, a few words to you all. We shall have, I hope, to fight these Danes; and for the honour of our country must even quit ourselves like men. Why should not the Englishman be a match for the Dane? ay, more than a match for the cutthroat heathen? Here we stand on a rock with our defence secure; and here we will live or die in defence of our women and children. What say you all?"

"We will live or die with you."

"Well said, men. Now, one good hearty cheer; no, stop, I should like them to be caught in their own traps. I know their plan. If they find the good people of Dorchester are awake, as the noise shows, they will swarm all over the neighbourhood like wasps after honey, to plunder the isolated houses and farms, and carry off all they can; and this place is too conspicuous--too much of a city on a hill--to be hidden. Well, we will be ready for them. Now, first of all, we must set our outposts around to give us due warning of their approach; and then every man must arm himself as best he can, and let me see what figure you can all make."

He was interrupted by a childish voice, and saw Herstan's little son, a boy of twelve years, touching his garment, and looking at him with unfeigned admiration.

"May I not fight the Danes, Prince?"

"No, you are too young; you must go and take care of your mother and sisters."

"I don't want to be shut up with the women. I have killed a wolf. I shot him with my bow in Newenham wood."

"Well, we will see by and by, my brave boy. We shall have work for all; go and arm with the rest.

"Well, Alfgar?"

"Let my post be near you."

"You will fight in this quarrel, then?"

"Yes; to save Christian blood."

"Then I adopt you as an Englishman--Dane no longer. I know your courage and coolness, and will employ it where it is wanted. Now, you know the place; come and place the outposts where they can retire easily."

The small sally port, as it would have been called in later times, was opened, and two men were in each case posted together all round the building, under cover of trees, at convenient distances. The trees immediately around the house had been cut down a few weeks earlier, by order of Herstan, who saw they might afford cover to an enemy, in case the prince's prophecies were fulfilled, as proved now to be the case.

The building was large and irregular, and had been added to at various times, the hall, looking over the river, forming its most conspicuous portion; but it had not originally been built for purposes of defence, and could not have endured the Danish assault for a moment, but for external defences, utterly independent of the building, which had been recently added; a mound, surmounted by crossed palisades, skilfully strengthened by osier bands, and a deep outer ditch, now full of snow, surrounded the building on three sides. The fourth was defended by the river, which, being full owing to the late rains, rushed impetuously along below.

"Alfgar," said Edmund, "ask Father Cuthbert to see that all the helpless ones--women and children--are safely shut up in an inner apartment, where no Danish arrow can find them."

This was accomplished, and Father Cuthbert cheered them all with his calm placid manner; reassuring this one and cheering that, seeming quite insensible to fear himself: one moment all sympathy, then all brightness, his presence was invaluable in the crisis.

"And now," said Edmund, "to the stables; the horses and cattle must be turned loose tonight, or the Danes will burn them in their barns and sheds."

The farm buildings lay some little distance without, and the Etheling and Alfgar, with two or three farm servants, carried out the task hastily but effectually. Duties were meanwhile assigned to all the able-bodied women and boys: some provided buckets and ladders, that, in case the Danes attempted to kindle a flame, they might attempt in vain; others tore up lint and prepared bandages for the wounded, while others passed into the upper apartments to see that no lights remained which could direct the aim of the foe.

The night had somewhat changed its character while all these things were going on; clouds obscured the moon, and light flakes of snow commenced to fall. The wind began to moan, as if a storm were at hand.

Alfgar visited the outposts while Edmund assigned their several stations to the men, who were now armed in readiness for the defence. When the former reached the post on the river's bank lower down, he saw that the sentinel had thrown himself ear to the earth, and was listening intently; he imitated his example.

A deep dull sound from the distance was heard, and Alfgar recognised the tread of an approaching host.

"Let us withdraw," he said.

They fell back quietly; Alfgar, passing rapidly round, warned all the other sentinels, and when all had entered, the gates were closed; all was done in profound silence.

Then Edmund caused the men to fit their arrows to the string, and to lie upon the inward slope of the earthworks, so as to be invisible; he placed all the rest of the men at the windows and loopholes of the building. Similarly prepared, Edmund, with Alfgar and young Hermann by his side, waited at the window commanding the gateway, when the Lady Bertha came up to them.

"Has not Father Cuthbert returned?"

"Returned?"

"Yes, he went to the church to bring in the sacred vessels and vestments."

Alfgar rose instantly.

"I will go and seek him," he cried.

"Then pass out by the postern gate, on the angle nearest the church; I fear the danger is great, but he must be told that the foe is near, or he may fall into their hands."

Alfgar left the hall and passed to an angle of the defences where a little gate led out towards the church; the bridge had been removed, and he had absolutely to descend into the ditch amongst the deep snow.

Emerging, he crossed the burial yard, and found the good father returning heavily laden with the precious vessels and other objects he had been able to save.

"Father," he said; "the enemy is near."

"Indeed! so soon?"

"We must enter by the postern gate."

"I could hardly cross the snow burdened as I am; is it unsafe to try the other gate? I hear no sound, see no symptom of danger."

They paused; all was so quiet that Alfgar yielded, and they passed round the mansion. The drawbridge was up, and no danger seemed near; the trees were in deep shadow, for the clouds, obscuring the moon, made the night very dark.

Alfgar gave the signal, and the drawbridge was lowered; but they had scarcely set foot upon it when dark figures rushed from the shadows behind them. The bridge, which they both had passed, was actually rising, when the foremost Dane leapt upon it, but was rewarded by a blow from the battle-axe of Alfgar, which sent him tumbling into the snow; two or three others leapt forward and clung to the edge of the bridge, but fell into the ditch like the first; the two fugitives entered, and the gate was closed.

Then the awful war cry of the Danes arose from earth to heaven, chilling the very blood and, disdaining all further concealment, the murderous warriors rushed forward, doubtless expecting to find the place almost undefended, and to carry the defences at a rush.

But they were soon fatally undeceived, for so perfect had been Edmund's arrangements, that a storm of arrows burst from all parts of the building and embankment, laying nearly half the assailants dying or wounded on the ground.

Still the survivors threw themselves into the ditch, and strove in