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] 📗

thoroughly sickened by the very remembrance of the bloodshed and treachery which have disgraced Christian England, and which will assuredly bring down God's judgment upon us.

But I will do violence to myself, and will write all things accurately, in order it may serve to show that there were those amongst us who were not consenting parties, who entered not into the counsels of those men of blood, whom may God "reward after their deeds, and according to the wickedness of their own inventions."

Well, to begin. When supper was ended at the hall last night, my brother bade his wife and children seek their bower, and Alfgar went with them; then he addressed his people with that confidence and affection he not only shows in his outward speech, but really feels in his heart.

"Are all the folk present within the gates?" he asked.

"We are all here, my lord," replied they; "none have been wanting in their duty."

"It is well; and now, my people, I ask you, whom I have ever trusted, and to whom I have tried to be a friend as well as a master, have you any of you a suspicion what the sheriff is about tonight, and why he desired the prior to tell good Christians to keep within doors?"

There was a dead silence. At last one of the ceorls rose up, and spoke with some hesitation:

"I think, my lord, that they intend to avenge themselves upon the Dane folk."

"Did they say anything about it to you or any other of my people?"

"Yes; they tried to get two or three of us to join in the work, but when they found we would do nothing without your knowledge, they told us no more."

"Then you do not know what is the exact work they have in hand?"

"No. But I heard something which made me think that plunder and massacre were both likely to be committed."

"Did you hear any particular names mentioned?"

"Yes. That of Anlaf."

"This explains Siric's insolence, Cuthbert."

"It does," I replied.

"But surely they cannot intend to do anything tonight. They would not choose Sunday for a deed of darkness. Men who have attended mass during the day, surely would not so forget their God as to go through the country like cowardly wolves, pulling down the prey in company which they dare not attack singly."

"I should hope the same; but then the looks and words of today," said I.

"Did they say what authority they had for their projected scheme?"

"They dared to say," replied the ceorl who had before spoken, "they had the sanction of the king."

There was again a painful silence. We groaned in the bitterness of our hearts--O Ethelred, son of Edgar, hast thou forgotten all truth and mercy?--thou, the son of Edgar the Magnanimous?

Every impulse of our hearts led us to detest the cruel deed of treachery about to be consummated, but which we could not prevent.

At least there was one whom we could save from the general destruction, the young Alfgar, and we determined to detain him if possible by persuasion, keeping the truth from him, but in any case to detain him at the hall during the night.

I could not remain at the hall myself, for, on such a night, it seemed necessary to be with my own people, and to be ready to seize any opportunity of saving the effusion of blood, or of giving protection to any who might seek refuge under the shelter of our roof, where murder would be sacrilege, a consideration of some importance where Christians, shame to say, were the murderers.

But before I went my brother and I sent to Alfgar that we might speak to him, and prevail upon him to stay with us the night.

"Alfgar," said Elfwyn, "the night is very stormy and blustering, and we wish you to remain with us, and share our hospitality till the morn. Your father will not miss you?"

"I do not think he will; for after one of these debauches he generally sleeps far into the next day. But the domestic serfs may remark my absence."

"There is another reason, my boy, why we wish you to stay. Wild men who hate your father's race are abroad, and did you fall into their hands while returning home it might fare hard with you."

"I can imagine that. I marked the looks they cast upon me in God's house, even there, this day. They cannot forgive me my Danish blood, although my mother was one of themselves, and a Christian."

"They have suffered much, my lad; and suffering, as is often the case, has blunted their feelings. But you will stay with us, will you not?"

"I will stay; many thanks for your kindness."

After this I had nothing further to detain me at the castle, so I left for the priory.

It was a black dark night. The violence of the wind almost lifted me from my feet; not a star could be seen but occasionally a sharp hailstorm pelted down. Glad was I, although the distance was not great, to see the lights of the priory, and to dry my chilled limbs and wet garments before the fire in the common room while I told my brethren the tidings of the night, and the suspicions which we entertained.

When I had finished there was a dead pause, during which the howling blast without, as it dashed the hail against the casement, seemed a fitting accompaniment to our sombre thoughts.

The compline bell rang.

This office is always full of heavenly comfort, but there seemed a special meaning tonight in one verse--"A thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee."

Yet the thousands were heavy on our hearts, and I meditated some means of carrying tidings of their danger to our pagan neighbours; but I knew nothing of the details of the plot, only that there was a plot, and I knew that if I sent a brother, the Danes, in their hatred to monks, would probably set their huge dogs at him before he could speak, and perhaps worry him to death. Neither could any other messenger approach their dwellings safely at night.

I tried to hope, but against reason, that we had perhaps exaggerated the danger. Still, after the compline was over, we sat in deliberation a long time in the hall. The novices and lay brothers, ignorant of the peril, had retired to rest; but we, who knew the portentous state of things around us, could not have slept had we retired. Ever and anon we looked forth from doors and windows into the black darkness without; but although it was near midnight, neither sight nor sound told of aught amiss, and we were beginning to yield to fatigue, when I ascended the tower in company with Father Adhelm, to survey the scene for the last time. It was so windy that we could hardly stand upon the leaded roof, and although we gazed around, nought met our eyes until we were on the point of returning.

"Listen!" said Father Adhelm, the subprior.

It was unnecessary. Borne upon the wind, a loud noise, as of men who shout for mastery, met our ears, followed or intermingled with cries for help or mercy--so we fancied at least.

While we stood rooted by horror to the spot, a bright light arose, which rapidly increased, as a conflagration well might in such a wind, and soon the whole horizon was illuminated. I knew but one homestead in that direction--the fortified house of Anlaf.

I thought of the poor boy, with thankfulness that we had restrained him from returning home. He is saved, at least, thought I, as a brand from the burning.

The other brethren joined us, and after a short consultation, we determined to go to the scene in a body, to mitigate the rage of the people, and save life where we could.

So, putting our cowls over our heads, we sallied forth into the black night--black and dark save where the light of the fire illumined the horizon, and even cast a faint ray upon our own path. We were not used to journeys in such weather, and I am afraid we made very slow progress, but it was not for want of good will. The fire grew brighter and brighter as we proceeded, and the shouts louder and louder. We knew that Anlaf had a party of his countrymen, all of them obnoxious to the English, and could easily understand that they had collected themselves together for their own destruction. Yet, when we looked around, we perceived by the blood-red reflection in the skies at other points, that the same ruthless task was being carried out in many a distant spot, as well as close at hand.

Reaching the bank of the river, we directed our course along its banks until the dark forest closed in upon us, and rapid progress became difficult. The trees were all rocking wildly in the wind, and here and there a severed branch fell down before us. Occasionally a gust of rain and hail descended. The path was wet and slippery. Poor Father Adhelm groaned aloud. He had the podagra, (or gout), and ought not to have ventured forth; but zeal would not let him rest.

"Verily our path is hedged about with thorns. It is hard to kick against the pricks," said the chamberlain.

"It is God's work," said I, "and we may not falter."

Yet I felt my own heart weak.

But for the red light, which shone even through the shade of the forest, we could not have pursued our path. But plainer and plainer the wind brought the fierce shouts of the assailants to our ears, until, emerging from a dark belt of underwood, the whole horror of the scene burst upon us.

Before us, at the distance of a few hundred yards, defended by a mound and a ditch, rose the irregular and fortified dwelling of Anlaf. It was wrapped in flames from top to basement, and even as we looked one of the towers gave way, and fell upon the hall beneath, with hideous din, in headlong ruin.

Around the blazing pile stood some two or three hundred men, who completely encircled it, and who had doubtless prevented the escape of the inmates. We were evidently too late; the passive attitude of the assailants showed that their bloody work was done.

We learned afterwards that the domestics, who were English serfs, had betrayed the place to the foe, while the Danish lords were revelling in the great hall, and half drunk with wine. Surprised at the banquet, they fell an easy prey, and were slaughtered almost without resistance, after which the house was plundered of everything worth carrying away, and then set on fire in every part. Further details we could not gather. All was over when we arrived.

Full of indignation, I and my brethren advanced straight upon the group surrounding the sheriff, the crafty and cruel Edric Streorn, and in the name of God denounced the cruelty and sin of which they had been guilty.

"Sir monk," was the reply, "are you traitor to your king that you thus league yourself with his deadly enemies? All that is done this night is done by his order."

"God will avenge the deed," said I. "Ye have not fought like men, but crept on like serpents, and slain those who, trusting to the faith of Christians, dwelt blindly in our midst. And now, what can we say? How can we hope to win our foes to God and Christ when we set at naught his precepts and despise his example?"

"Sir monk, I have not time to listen to a homily; keep it for next Sunday, when I will try to attend. For the present--"

Here he was interrupted by a loud cry which arose near us.

"The wolf cub! the wolf cub! Slay him, and the work is complete."

The cry, "Slay him! slay him!" was taken up by a dozen voices, when I recognised Alfgar, who by some means had learned the danger of his kinsfolk, and had come to share their fate.

"Save him, sheriff!" I cried; "save him! He is a Christian. His mother was English."

And I rushed forward myself, and saw that the poor lad had already been brought on his knees by more than one fell stroke.

I held up the crucifix, which hung at my girdle, on high; I threw my arm over his head, and abjured them under the name of Christ, and as they feared the curse of the Church, to forbear. My brethren all aided me.

Sullenly they dropped their weapons, and the sheriff, coming forward, seconded me, although in a very contemptuous manner.

"Let him have the lad for his share of the night's work," he said.

And so God gave me the poor lad's life.

I had scarcely time to lay him on a sloping bank, where the light which shone so luridly from his burning home might fall upon him, when my brother Elfwyn