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] 📗

I thought, and the bishop said, in his Master's name, was my duty--well, I have my reward in the approbation of my conscience. Goodnight, Alfgar, goodnight; I shall sleep soundly tonight; I hope some day I may lay me down for my last long sleep as peacefully."

Alfgar followed his example, and, commending himself to God, slept.

About half-an-hour after midnight Alfgar awoke with a strange impression upon his mind that some one was in the room. It was very dark and stormy, and the wind, finding its way through crevices in the ill-built house, would account for many noises, but there was something stirring which was not the wind, and the impression was strong on his waking senses that between him and the window, which was opposite his bed, a figure had passed.

Not fully trusting impressions produced at such a moment, yet with a heavy vague sense of evil weighing him down like a nightmare, Alfgar lay and listened.

At length he heard a sound which might have been produced by falling rain percolating through the roof, drop, drop upon the floor, but it was strange, for there was no sound of rain outside at that moment.

At length a cold draught made him turn his head, and he dimly saw Edmund's door open and disclose the window within the room, then shut slowly again.

He could control his apprehensions no longer, and rose gently from his bed, so as not to warn the foe, on the one hand, should one be present, or if, as he strove to believe, all was fancy, not to awake Edmund. No one was in his own little room, that he felt rather than saw in a moment; but some one might be in Edmund's, and he passed through the door, which he remembered, with a shudder, was shut firmly when Edmund said "goodnight." At that instant he heard a low click, as of a spring lock, but very faintly; hesitating no longer, he passed into the monarch's room, and advanced to the bedside.

"My lord!" he gently whispered, but there was no answer; he spoke again in vain.

Just then he felt his naked feet come into contact with some wet substance, slightly glutinous, on the floor, and shuddered at the contact. All trembling, he put his hand to the pillow, and drew it back; it was wet with the same fluid, which his reason and experience told him was blood. He could hardly refrain from crying for help, but first sought a light. The process of procuring light then from flint, steel, and tinder was very slow, and it was some minutes before he had a taper lighted, when its beams disclosed to his horror-stricken sight Edmund, weltering in his blood; a dagger had been driven suddenly and swiftly to his heart, and he had died apparently without a struggle. The weapon yet remained {xviii}.

Here his affliction and grief overpowered him; he threw himself upon the body from which he had withdrawn the weapon; he kissed the now cold lips; he cried, half distracted, "O Edmund, my lord, speak!"

Alas! those lips were never to speak again while time lasted. At length the first deep emotion passed away, and left the unhappy Alfgar comparatively master of himself, whereupon he left the chamber, and cried aloud for help.

It was his cry which the ladies heard in their distant bower.

The piercing cry, "Help! Edmund, the king, is slain!" roused the household--Elfwyn, Herstan, Hermann, the ladies, agitated beyond measure; the household guard; and, last of all, Edric.

They beheld Alfgar in his night dress, all bloody, holding a dagger in his hand, and with his face blanched to a death-like paleness, uttering cry upon cry.

"Help! Edmund, the king, is slain!"

They (the men) rushed to the chamber, and, passing through Alfgar's little room, beheld, by the light of many torches, Edmund bathed in his own blood, which still dripped with monotonous but terrible sound on the floor.

Edric entered, and with woe, real or affected (no one could tell), painted in his face, approached the body; and Elfwyn and Herstan beheld, or thought they beheld, a prodigy: they thought they saw the eyes open, and regard Edric, and that they saw the blood well up in the wound. But doubtless this was fancy.

"One thing we all must do," said Edric; "we must all help to find the murderer. The first step to that effect will be to note all present appearances. First, where is the weapon?"

"Here," said Alfgar, extending it.

"Why, Alfgar, it is your own dagger," said Elfwyn; "one which he gave you himself."

Alfgar uttered a plaintive and pitiful cry.

Edric possessed himself of the blood-stained weapon.

"Alfgar," said he, "you must have slept soundly. Tell us what you heard and saw."

He briefly related the particulars with which the reader is acquainted.

"But how could they enter? Was your door unfastened?"

"No; it was bolted on the inside, even as I left it last night."

"Bolted on the inside! then they must have entered through the window," said Edric, noting the words.

"Impossible," said both the thanes; "they are barred, both of them--heavily barred."

"We can no longer assist our departed lord save by our prayers," said Edric. "God be thanked, he died friends with me. I shall value the remembrance of that kiss cf peace in St. Frideswide's so long as I live. And now I, once his foe, but his friend and avenger now, devote myself to hunt the murderer. So help me God!"

"So help me God!"

"So help me God!" said all present, one after the other.

"We are then of one heart and soul, and no tie of kindred, no friendship, shall bar our common action. And now we must rouse the reeve and burgesses; the gates of the city must be closed, that none escape. I will send members of the guard to do this, and when they have assembled we will all take counsel together."

"O Alfgar," whispered Elfwyn, "how came your dagger there?"

"I know not. I feel as one distracted," said the faithful and loving Alfgar, who had lost by this fell stroke a most faithful friend, with the warmest heart which had ever beaten beneath a monarch's breast.

Oh, how the thought of the conversation last night came back to him now--the warning of Canute, the loving words of affection which had been spoken to him by those lips now cold in death!

All the imperfections of his character now faded away; he seemed so brave, yet so loving, so invincible in combat, yet so gentle and forgiving, as he had shown in forgiving even--even--even-- said Alfgar to his own wounded bleeding heart--even in forgiving his murderer. For in his eyes it was Edric, and none but Edric, who had done this deed.

But a terrible suspicion of a very opposite nature was rapidly assuming sway in other men's minds.

A council met before daybreak--the reeve or mayor, the chief burgesses, two or three thanes then in the town, the officers of the royal guard, Elfwyn, Herstan, and Edric. After a few preliminaries Edric rose and spake as follows:

"We have met together under the most awful responsibility which could fall upon subjects. Edmund, our king, has been murdered, and by whom we know not."

All were silent.

"I grieve to say," he continued, "that there is but one upon whom our suspicions can now fall with any shadow of probability-- one who is now absent, for I thought it well not to summon him to this council; and before naming him, I must recall to you, Elfwyn, and to you, Herstan, the solemn oath we have all three taken to disregard all appeals of natural affection, and to ascertain the truth, God being our helper."

"We have."

"We have," said they with bursting hearts, for they foresaw what accusation Edric was about to bring.

"I grieve, then, to say," he continued, "that this natural affection must be bitterly tried, for there is but one to whom my words can apply. Meanwhile, I will put a few questions. With whose dagger was the deed committed?"

"Alfgar's," replied those who had been there the previous night.

"Whose chamber commanded the only entrance to the royal chamber?"

"Alfgar's."

"Who incautiously, as if forgetting himself, stated that he found the door bolted on the inside?"

"Alfgar."

"But the motive--the motive? The poor fellow loved him as he loved his own father."

"I cannot explain that difficulty, but I can suggest one motive which may already have suggested itself to several. But let me ask of what nation is Alfgar?"

"A Dane; but an Englishman by long habit."

"I can answer for that," said Elfwyn.

"Once a Dane always a Dane. Now a secret messenger arrived from Canute yesterday, and had a long private interview with Alfgar. In short, I dare not say all I know or suspect, for there can be little doubt who will reign in England now."

All were silent.

At length Edric continued, "none can deny that we have grounds for our suspicions."

"Yes, I do deny it," said Elfwyn, "the more so when I remember who makes the accusation."

"You do well to reproach me; I deserve it, I confess, and more than deserve it. Yes, I was Edmund's enemy once; but perhaps you remember yesterday and the early mass at St. Frideswide's."

"We do, we do," cried all but Elfwyn and Herstan; but they were utterly outvoted, and the order was given to the captain of the hus-carles to arrest Alfgar.

Alfgar, desolate and almost distracted, not heeding that he was not summoned to the council, as he might so naturally have expected to be, wandered mechanically about the palace until the bell summoned him to the early mass. The bishop was the celebrant, for Father Cuthbert was to have officiated at the celebration of the marriage of his son in the faith. The solemn pealing of the bell for the mass at the hour of daybreak fell upon Alfgar's ears, and he turned almost mechanically to the cathedral, yet with vague desire to communicate all his griefs and troubles to a higher power than that of man, and to seek aid from a diviner source.

He entered, knelt in a mental attitude easier to imagine than describe, but felt some heavenly dew fall upon his bleeding wounds; he left without waiting to speak to any one at the conclusion of the service, and was crossing the quadrangle to the palace which occupied a portion of the site of modern Christ Church, when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder.

He turned and saw the captain of the guard; two or three of his officers were beside him.

"It is my painful duty to arrest you and make you my prisoner."

"On what charge?" said the astonished Alfgar.

"The murder of the king."

CHAPTER XXIV. THE ORDEAL.

The news of the murder of Edmund spread far and wide, and awakened deep sorrow and indignation, not only amongst his friends and subjects, but even amongst his former enemies, the Danes, now rapidly yielding to the civilising and softening influences of Christianity, following therein the notable example of their king, Canute, who was everywhere restoring the churches and monasteries he and his had destroyed, and saying, with no faltering voice, albeit, perhaps, with a very inadequate realisation of all the words implied, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

Ealdorman and thane came flocking into Oxenford from all the neighbouring districts of Wessex and Mercia. The body of the lamented monarch was laid in state in St. Frideswide's; there wax tapers shed a hallowed light on the sternly composed features of him who had been the bulwark of England; and there choking sobs and bitter sighs every hour rent the air, and bore witness to a nation's grief. And there, two heartbroken ladies, a mother and a daughter, came often to pray, not only for the soul of the departed king, but also for the discovery of his murderers and the clearing of the innocent, for neither Hilda nor Ethelgiva for one moment doubted the spotless innocence of Alfgar.

They were refused admittance to the cell wherein he was confined by Edric, who had assumed the direction of all things, and whose claim, such is the force of impudence, seemed to be tacitly allowed by the thanes and ealdormen of Wessex.

But Elfwyn and Herstan could hardly be denied permission to visit him, owing to their positions, and they both did so. They found him in a chamber occupying the whole of the higher floor of a tower of the castle, which served as a prison for the city and neighbourhood, rudely but massively built. One solitary and deep window admitted a little air and light, but the height rendered all escape hopeless, even had the victim wished to escape, which he did not.

"Alfgar, my son!" said Elfwyn, finding the poor prisoner did not speak, "do you not know us?"

"Indeed I do; but do you believe me guilty, nay, even capable of --"

He could add no more, but they saw that if they doubted they would hear no more from him--that he scorned self-defence.

"Guilty!--no, God forbid!