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] 📗

at this inauspicious moment that the Danes charged the palisades again with deadly fury, while the attention of all was drawn to the flames; so fierce was the attack, that it was necessary once more to concentrate all the strength of the besieged to repel them; and the fire gained in strength, roared and hissed in its fury, seizing for its prey the whole roof of the eastern wing of the building.

And now the Danish archers, drawing nearer, sent fresh flights of arrows on those who were labouring on the house top, and, killing several, drove the others away. The condition of the English was rapidly getting desperate.

Edmund threw himself into the strife, and drove the foe back from the breach they had previously made, but even his valour could not restore confidence.

"All is lost! all is lost!" cried some panic-stricken trembler, as he saw the flames spread.

"To the river, to the river, to the boats!" cried others.

"Nay, nay," shouted Edmund, "we are not conquered yet; we can defend ourselves till daylight, or we can depart in order. Alfgar, bid the women and children prepare to leave the hall as the fire spreads; and you, Herstan, see that if the worst comes to the worst, the retreat to the river is made in order. We will defend the place if necessary till the last man, and cover your retreat; but all is not lost yet. Take a dozen stout men, mount the roof, the fire is not lower down; let them destroy the burning portion with their axes; let the women stand behind with the water.

"Archers, keep the Danes back. See those brutes there aiming at your wives on the roof; bring them down; make them keep their distance. Guard well the palisades."

But, although his orders were obeyed, the Danes grew bolder; the men could not work on the roof in the midst of the arrows. The women and children, emerging terror-struck from the hall, made every father's heart sink within him.

Edmund cried aloud:

"To the gate, to the gate! the villains have got the drawbridge down."

He rushed to the spot himself, and found that some adventurous Dane had severed the chains and lowered the bridge in the momentary confusion of its defenders, and the gate was yielding before their strokes.

He arrived; and that moment the gate fell. He stood in the breach himself; one man against a dozen. He did all a hero could; but he was already bleeding. Alfgar, ever faithful, fought like a lion by his side. Herstan and his bravest warriors brought their aid, but all seemed lost.

"Tell them to retreat to the river.

"Herstan, conduct the retreat; Alfgar and I can keep them out for five minutes more."

"All is lost! all is lost!" the cry arose within.

"No; saved! saved!" cried Father Cuthbert from the roof. "What! Englishmen, to the rescue! to the rescue!"

The Danes suddenly wavered, then turned in surprise and despair; for from the darkness behind emerged the forms of hundreds of Englishmen, who fell upon the Danes. The levies were out, and only just in time.

"One charge!" said Edmund; and, rushing forward, led the way into the heart of the foe.

. . . . . .

The Danes who had attacked the house of Herstan were so far in advance of their countrymen that they were forced to retreat instantly before the superior force which came to the rescue of the besieged; and they fell back, at first in some order, but shortly, owing to the darkness and the pressure of their foes, in utter confusion.

But Edmund could pursue them no longer. His strength, having been so lately an invalid, was utterly gone. He fell from sheer exhaustion, and was borne back by Alfgar to the hall.

But there was no longer need for his protection. He had saved the mansion and all its inmates, as they most readily owned. And now he received all the loving care and attention he deserved.

Meanwhile the English continued the pursuit until a small remnant of Danes repassed the river; only a small remnant of the party which, as it will be easily guessed, instigated by Edric, had sallied forth to besiege the place where Edmund had found refuge, who had so recently provoked the bitter hostility of Sweyn.

The following day the whole army of the Danes retreated from the ruins of Wallingford towards the south; and the next day encamped in the village of Cholsey, which, with its priory, they utterly destroyed. Then they continued their retreat along the slope of the downs, by Aston, until they reached Cuckamsley hill, where they abode as a daring boast; for it had been said that if they ever reached that spot they should never see the sea again. Alas! the prediction was unfulfilled {xii}.

CHAPTER XVIII. FATHER CUTHBERT'S DIARY.

In the Aescendune Woods, Easter Tide, 1007.--

Here I am at home, if I may call these woods home, once more, having spent my Lent with my brethren in the monastery of Abingdon. We are a very large party: Herstan and all his family are here, the Etheling Edmund, and Alfgar.

We all travelled together from Abingdon. Passing through Oxen ford, Kirtlington (where Bishop Sidesman of Crediton died at the Great Council, whose body is buried in the abbey), Beranbyrig, and Warwick, we reached the domains of Aescendune.

We passed through the desolated village where lie the blackened ruins of priory and hall, not without a sigh, and entered the forest. Although I had so recently travelled by that path (in September last), yet I could hardly find my way, and had once or twice like to have lost the party in quagmires. So much the better; for if we can hardly escape such impediments, I do not think we need fear that the Danes will find their way through the swamps and brakes.

But the woods were so fresh and delightful to men like ourselves, who have but just escaped from the confinement of the town. Blessed, thrice blessed, are they who dwell in the woods, God's first temples, apart from strife and the turmoil of arms!

So spake I to my companions. The while the birds from each tree and bush chanted their Maker's praise, and the sweet fresh green of springtide enlivened the scene, as if to welcome us pilgrims to our home.

"And not less, father," said the Etheling, "need we be grateful for yon fat buck, which I mean to send an arrow after. See, we have the wind of him."

So speaking, while we all stood motionless, he crept near his victim, and drawing an arrow to its head, while all we saw was the branching horns of the stag, he let it fly. It whizzed through the air, and drank the life blood of the poor beast, which bounded a few steps, staggered, and fell, when in a moment Alfgar ended its struggles by drawing his knife across its throat, while young Hermann, a true hunter by instinct, clapped his hands with joy.

"We shall bring our dinner with us," quoth the boy.

At this point I found great difficulty. A brook coming down from the hills had overflowed the land until a swamp or quagmire had been formed, whereon huge trees rotted in slime, while creeping plants hid the deformity of decay.

Our horses refused the path, and it took me a good hour's search, for I was guide, to find a more secure one. At last I found the tracks where others had gone before me, and we followed a winding path for a full hour, until we arrived in a deep valley, where a brook made its way between deep rocky banks, by the side of which lay our upward path.

"What a splendid place for defence!" said Edmund. "With a score or two warriors, one might hold an entire army at bay here."

He pointed out to Alfgar and Hermann, who look upon him as a sort of demigod, all the capabilities of the place.

"A few more steps, and we shall see our friends," said I; and we advanced until, from the summit of the pass, we saw the valley wherein they have found rest.

They had worked well during autumn and winter, and the land was well cultivated; the brook ran through the midst of the vale, which was bounded by low hills on either side, and clear from forest growth.

In the centre of the valley the brook divided, forming an island of about an acre of ground, containing several dwellings. From the central one, which possessed a chimney, smoke issued, and told of the noon meat.

By this time our approach was discovered, and I saw my brother, with a few serfs, advancing to meet us. It was a happy moment when we embraced each other again. And then he saw Alfgar, and embraced him as a son. They did not speak--their feelings were too deep for words. All that had passed since they last met must have rushed into their minds. Then Herstan, the Lady Bertha, Hermann, Ostryth, and Alfreda, all had their turn.

"Pardon me, prince," said I, when I introduced Edmund; "pardon brothers who scarcely expected to meet again. Elfwyn, let me introduce the Etheling Edmund as your guest."

"The Etheling Edmund!" repeated Elfwyn, with great respect; "it is indeed an honour which I receive."

"The less said of it the better," said Edmund. "I am come to be one of you for a time, and am thankful to find a free-born Englishman to welcome me to the woods. Never, by God's help, will I return to the court so long as they pay tribute to the Danes."

"It is true, then," said Elfwyn--"we hear scant news here-- that peace has been bought?"

"Yes, bought for thirty-six thousand pounds, by Edric's advice. I should like to know how much of the money he retains himself. He is hand and glove with Sweyn. But I purpose deriving one benefit from the peace, upon which the Danes do not reckon."

"And that?--"

"Is to train up an army of Englishmen who shall not be their inferiors in warlike skill. In courage they are not their inferiors now. Perhaps you will let me amuse myself by training your own retainers in their spare moments?"

"Most willingly. I could desire nothing better," said my brother, smiling inwardly at the enthusiasm of the young warrior.

The labourers had just returned from wood and field, and when Edmund was recognised he was greeted with vociferous cheers, which made the woods ring.

But I cannot describe the meeting of Alfgar with the mother and sister of Bertric; they were alone a long time together after the noon meat, and I saw afterwards their eyes were red with weeping; well, they were not all tears of sorrow.

On the whole it has been a day of deep happiness, hallowed rather than shadowed by the thought of Bertric, the circumstances of whose heroic death were only now fully known to his parents and sister.

. . . . . .

The voluminous pages of Father Cuthbert's diary for the years of bitter woe and misery which followed cannot be fully transcribed; they would fill a volume themselves, and we must content ourselves with a few extracts, which will probably interest our readers, and carry on the thread of the history to the place where our narrative will again flow free and uninterrupted.

Ascension Tide, 1007.--

Edmund, assisted by Alfgar, has begun his task of disciplining and training all our able-bodied men. He says, and rightly, that he is sure we shall very soon have the Danes back for more money, and that there will be no peace till we can defend ourselves properly. It is amusing to see with what zeal young Hermann takes lessons in arms from Alfgar; that boy is born to be a soldier.

September 1007.--

We hear of an appointment which causes us much apprehension. The king Ethelred has appointed Edric Streorn ealdorman of Mercia; we are in his district, and fear it may bode evil to us all. Edmund is beside himself with rage; he vows that if Edric appears in these woods he will slay him as he would a wolf.

May 1008.--

Every three hundred and ten hides of land has been charged with the cost of a ship, and every eight hides with the cost of breastplate and helmet; we do trust to recover our supremacy at sea, and then the Danes cannot return.

March 1009.--

Alas, we are grievously disappointed of our hope. The fleet is miserably destroyed; Brihtric, Edric's brother, a man like-minded to himself; accused Wulfnoth, the ealdorman of Sussex, of high treason; the ealdorman, knowing that he had no chance of justice, seduced the crews of twenty ships, and became a pirate, like unto the Danes themselves. Brihtric pursued him with eighty ships, but being a bad sailor, got aground in a storm, and Wulfnoth came and burned all which the storm spared. The commanders and crews have forsaken the rest of the fleet in disgust.

Whitsuntide, 1009.--

Poor Alfgar came to me in great trouble. He and