Many of the village folk loitered on the bridge and in the lanes,
looking curiously at the Danes, and talking of the wedding and the
like. And some of these I saw Ingvar's men questioning, and very
soon a knot of them gathered round one man, and there was some loud
talking.
Then I would have hastened back, but Ingvar saw me, and waved
sternly to me to depart, and slowly enough I went on my way. But I
could not forbear looking back when I reached the road to the
house.
Only Ingvar was now on horseback, and the men seemed to be swarming
over the bridge railings, and climbing under it among the timbers.
Then were shouts, and the village churls began to run every way,
and one or two came up the hill towards me.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Oh, master," the first man cried, "when the bridal folk went over
the bridge on the way to the church, one man looked over into the
water, and cried that he saw somewhat sparkle therein like gold,
and others looked, and some saw naught, but others said that they
saw in the water as it were the image of golden spurs. And the
Danes asked us if we saw the king; but we had not. Only one man
laughing, in his fear as I think, said that the nearest thing to a
crown that he had seen was the glint of golden spurs shining from
the water yonder. Then looked the Danes--and now--oh master!"
The man grew white, pointed, and fled.
Haled and pushed and buffeted by the hands of the Danes, a man was
dragged over the rail of the bridge from the network of cross
timbers among which he had hidden, and I saw that the armour was
that of Eadmund the King.
There, in that seemingly secure place, his thanes must have made
him hide when his horse fell lame, for doubtless he would not
hinder them in their flight, but would have taken sanctuary in the
church. From some point in the road they must have seen their
pursuers before I cared to look behind me to see who followed, for
there was no mistaking the red cloaks that the Danes of the king's
courtmen always wear.
This I thought at the time, and long afterwards learnt from one of
those thanes that I was right. And it was their doing, not his, for
the king would have gone to the church and there warned my people.
But as it chanced there were no men in sight when the king hid, for
all were gathered to the thane's house. And I asked that thane if
they sent no warning message--and he said they had done so by a
certain churl whom they met. But our folk never had it.
Now I knew not what to do, being torn with grief and fear. I dared
not cross Ingvar again, lest I should change his mood, mild enough
now, to some wild fit of rage, for I had not bided so long in his
hall without learning that much of his ways. I stayed till I knew
for certain that they had not harmed the king, and so saw him
bound, and mounted behind one of the courtmen; and then when I saw
them begin to come towards me, I went to the thane's house and told
him all, calling him out from the feast.
"Let us mount and rescue the king," I said.
"Then will they kill him--better not. They will but hold him to
ransom," the thane said.
I knew his first word was right, and now I left that and urged him
to hasten the flight of all the party, bidding him take the road
towards the south, ever away from the Danes.
"What will you do?" he asked, for I spoke not of coming with him.
"This," I answered. "I will pledge Ingild's word, as I know I may,
for any ransom, going after the Danes and finding Guthrum, who will
listen to me."
He thought that well, and then I asked where Humbert the Bishop
was. He had gone back to South Elmham at once, and would be far on
his road by this time, the thane said.
Then I went out and took a fresh horse from the stables and rode
away into the great road. And when I came there, I saw with others
the man who told me how the king's hiding place was found.
"How long have the Danes been gone?" I asked.
"Master," he answered, "they have gone back over the bridge, some
of them riding forward towards Hoxne."
At that I knew that some plan of Ingvar's was that his men after
victory should cross the river at Thetford, and so perhaps strike
at Framlingham where the king's household was. But all along the
march of the Danish host had been unresting, so that men had no
time to prepare for their coming, or even to know what point they
would reach next.
Then I sent by this man urgent messages to the thane that they
should fly coastwards, crossing the river Waveney, perhaps, so as
not to fall into the hands of the host at the first starting, for
Ingvar's horsemen would be everywhere south of this and Thetford.
I rode fast over the bridge, for I feared for Humbert our good
bishop, and when I came near the church the bells jangled, all
unlike the wedding peals that I had heard so lately.
They had found a few late flowers, violets and marigolds and
daisies and the like, and had strewn them before the bride as she
left the church; and they lay there yet with bright hedgerow leaves
to eke them out--but across the path, too, lay the dead body of a
poor churl, dressed in his holiday gear, slain by a spear thrust,
and the church was burning. Now the men who jangled the bells for
help came down in haste, terrified as the fire took hold of the
roof, for the church was all of wood and very old.
When they saw me they ran, thinking me yet another of their foes;
but I rode after one and caught him, for he would by no means stay
for calling, and I asked him what had happened, and where the
bishop was.
"Alas, master," the man said, "they have slain my brother and fired
the church, and now have ridden after the bishop. They slew my
brother because he would not say by which road he had gone; and
another told them, being in fear for his life--and our king is
taken."
"Did they take the king by the road to South Elmham?"
"Four rode after the bishop with the great man on the black horse
who was the leader. The rest went with the king up the track
through Hoxne woods, but slowly."
Had I but one or two more with me surely now I should have followed
up the king and tried to rescue him. But I think it would have been
vain, for Ingvar's men would have slain him rather than lose him.
But most of all I wondered at the boldness of these few men, who,
with their leader, dared venture so far from their forces. Well did
they know, however, how complete is the rout of a Saxon levy; and I
too might have guessed it, since I had fled alone after the first
five miles, while all those who had left the town with me scattered
all ways.
Now the church was blazing from end to end, and one or two more men
had gathered to me, seeing who I was.
"Take up yon body," I said, "and cast it into the church. So shall
his ashes lie in holy ground at least. For you and yours must even
take to the woods for a while. The Danes will be here."
That I think they did, for they were lifting the body as I went
away and rode along the way that the bishop had taken, meaning at
least to meet Ingvar, for I feared lest the men who had the king
should slay him if they were followed.
Hardly a mile had I gone when Ingvar and his men came riding slowly
back. Their beaten horses could do no more, and they had left
following the bishop. Ingvar's face was black as night, and as he
came he roared at me: "You here again! Now this passes all. Did I
not bid you stand aside and hinder me not?"
"Aye, King," I answered, coldly enough. "But I cross you not. I
have ransom to offer for the king."
"I will have no ransom," he said, very savagely.
"Nevertheless," I said quietly, knowing that his word was not the
only one to be spoken on that matter, "let me tell you of it, that
you may tell the other chiefs."
"I am the king," he answered, glaring at me.
"Then, King, hear my words, and give them to those under you."
"Speak to this man," he said, pointing to one of the courtmen; for
they heard all I said, and he could not refuse to listen altogether
to what concerned his fellow chiefs. Then he rode past me, and the
men, save that one of whom he spoke, followed him.
Now I was angry as he, but kept that to myself, and waited till he
was out of hearing before I looked at the man who waited. And when
I did so, the man grinned at me, saying:
"Truly it is like old times to see you stand up thus to the
jarl--king, I mean. There is not a man in our host dare do it."
And lo! it was my friend Raud the forester. His beard was gone, and
he had a great half-healed scar across his jaw, so that I had not
known him even had I noticed any but Ingvar.
Then I was glad, for here was one whom I could trust, even if his
help was of little use.
"Glad am I to see you, Raud my friend, though it must be in this
way. Why is the jarl so angry?"
"Why, because the bishop has escaped us. We never saw so much as
his horse's tail. And if he be like the bishop we saw at Hedeby, I
am glad."
"Surely he is," I said. "But now I have come to offer ransom for
the king, and you must tell Guthrum and the other chiefs that it
would be paid very quickly if they will take it."
At that Raud shook his head.
"I will tell them, but it is of little use. There has been talk of
it before, but when we came into East Anglia Ingvar claimed the
king for himself, giving up all else."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because when he made Beorn speak, Beorn said that Eadmund the King
had set him on to slay Lodbrok. I heard the man confess it."
"But he left that story, telling the truth about himself," I said.
"Aye, so he did. But the tale has stuck in Ingvar's mind, and
naught will he hear but that he will have revenge on him."
"What will he do?" I said, looking after the Danish king, who went,
never turning in his saddle, with bowed shoulders as one who
ponders somewhat.
"How should I know?" answered Raud, carelessly. "Let us go on.
Maybe if you come with me we shall hear them speak together."
"Raud," I said, "if harm is done to the king, I shall surely fall
on some of you--and Ingvar first of all."
"Not on me with axe, I pray you," he answered laughing, and
twisting his head on one side. "I mind me of Rorik."
"Let us be going," I said, for I could not jest.
So we trotted after the party, and when we were near, Raud left me
and went to Ingvar's side, speaking to him of what I had said. Then
the jarl turned round to me, speaking quietly enough, but in a
strange voice.
"Come with me and we will speak of this matter to Eadmund himself.
Then will the business be settled at once."
That was all I would wish, and being willing to speak yet more with
Raud, I said I would follow. He turned again, and looked no more at
me.
Then I asked Raud of his brother, and of Thoralf, my other
companion of flight. They were both slain, one at Gainsborough and
one at Medehamstede. Thormod was with Halfden in Wessex, where they
had made a landing to keep Ethelred, our Wessex overlord, from
sending to our help. But as to Halfden, men said that he would not
come to East Anglia, for the Lady Osritha had over persuaded him.
Then, though I would not ask in any downright way, I found that
Osritha was well, but grieving, as they thought, for the danger of
her brothers--and of that I had my own thoughts.
So with talk of the days that seemed so long past, we went on into
Hoxne woods, through which Raud said that he had learnt we must go
to meet the host in its onward march from Thetford.
"Jarl Ingvar lets not the grass grow under his feet," I said.
We came to a place where the woodland track broadened out into a
clearing, and there waited the other Danes, and with them, sitting
alone now on the horse, was Eadmund the King.
Pale he was, and all soiled with the stains of war, and with the
moss and greenery of his strange hiding place; but his eye was
bright and fearless, and he sat upright and stately though he was
yet with his hands bound behind him.
I rode past Ingvar and to Eadmund's side, and throwing myself from
my horse stood by him, while the Dane glared at us both without
speaking.
"Why run thus into danger, Wulfric my son?" said the king, speaking
gently; "better have let me be the only victim."
"That you shall not be, my king," I answered; "for if you must die,
I will be with you. But I have come to try to ransom you."
"There are two words concerning that," said Ingvar in his cold
voice. "Maybe I will take no gold for Eadmund."
"What shall we give you then?" I asked, looking earnestly at him.
"You heard what I said this morning before the battle. I have no
other terms but those. And I think they are light--as from the son
of Lodbrok whom this king's servant slew."
Now Eadmund spoke, saying to Ingvar:
"Let me hear what are your terms for my freedom. In the slaying of
Lodbrok my friend I had no part."
"That is easily said," Ingvar answered, frowning. "I have my own
thoughts on that--else had I not been here. But this land is in my
power, therefore I will let you go if you will hold it for me, and
own me as overlord, doing my will."
"My answer is the same as it was this morning. It is not for me to
give over this land into the hands of heathen men to save myself."
That was Eadmund's calm answer, and looking on Ingvar I saw the
same bode written in his face as had been when I would not honour
his gods. Then he spoke slowly, and his words fell like ice from
his lips.
"It seems to me that this land is in the hands of us heathen
without your giving."
"So that may be, for the time," answered Eadmund; "but your time of
power has an end."
"Has it so?" said Ingvar, and his eyes flashed. "Where is your help
to come from? Do you look to Ethelred?--He is busy in Wessex with
more of us heathen. Where is Mercia?--It is ours. Will Kent help
you?"
"Our help is in the name of the Lord, who hath made heaven and
earth," answered Eadmund, lifting his eyes heavenwards so
earnestly, that in spite of himself the wild heathen king followed
their upward gaze for a moment.
It was but for a moment, and that weakness, as he would deem it,
was the spark to light Ingvar's wrath, that as yet he had kept
under.
"Hammer of Thor!" he shouted, "you dare throw that in my face! Now
will I show you if heathen or Christian is stronger."
Then with his face white with rage he turned to his men: "Bind him
to yon tree, and we will speak with him again!"
Now if it is well that I did not die with my king, it was well at
that moment for me that my axe hung at my saddle bow, and that my
horse--to which I had paid no heed in my troubles--had wandered a
little way, for I should surely have fought to prevent this
dishonour being wrought. And I sprung to reach the axe, for the
short sword I wore was of no use against so many. But Raud was
close on me, and he dropped from his saddle on my shoulders as I
passed him, so that I fell, half stunned under him, and one of the
other men ran up, and ere they had stripped and bound the king to a
tree, I was bound hand and foot, and rolled by Raud into a thicket
where I might escape Ingvar's eye. And, indeed, he paid no heed to
me, but watched the king.
So must I lie there with my heart like to break, seeing all that
went on, and I will tell it as best I may.
Ingvar strode to the young oak tree to which they had bound the
king and looked fixedly at him. Then he said, "Scourge this man,"
and his men did so. But the king made no sign by word or motion. I
saw Ingvar's rage growing, and he cried as his men forbore,
shrinking a little from their quiet victim:
"Ask for mercy, Christian, at the hands of Ingvar the godar, the
priest of Odin and Thor, and you shall go free."
But the king met his gaze sadly and firmly, answering:
"That were to own that you have power over me through your false
gods."
"Power I have," said Ingvar; "ask for mercy."
Thereat the king answered no word, though his lips moved, and I
alone knew what his words might be, for though his hands were bound
he moved his noble head in such wise as to make the sign of the
Cross. And I think that he spoke to himself the prayer of
forgiveness that he had learnt therefrom.
Almost then had the Dane smitten him in the face, but to this
cowardice Ingvar the king had not yet fallen. He drew back a few
paces, and took his long dagger from his belt, and at that I
thought that he was going to slay the king, and I closed my eyes,
praying. But he spoke again.
"Ask for peace on the same terms for your people, if you will not
for yourself."
Then the king grew pale, but he set his lips close, still gazing at
Ingvar. Hard was this for him who loved his people so well.
The Dane's dagger flashed, and he hurled it at Eadmund, but so
skilfully that it did but graze his head, sticking firmly into the
tree trunk. And he cried in a voice that shook with rage:
"Answer me!"
But the king held his peace, closing his eyes, and waiting for what
might come, most bravely.
Then Ingvar turned to his men, and bade them unsling their bows and
see if they could make this man find his tongue. Seven of them went
to work with a good will, but Raud and the others would not, but
turned away.
The men shot, and in many places the king was pierced, and lo! he
lifted up his voice and sang gloriously, even as if in the church
and on some high festival, the psalm that begins "De Profundis".
Nor did his voice falter, though now he might move neither hand nor
foot by reason of the piercing of the arrows.
At that the men stayed in amazement, and one threw away his bow and
turned aside to where Raud stood, near where I lay. But Ingvar
ground his teeth with rage, and stamping on the ground, cried to
the men to shoot again.
And again the arrows flew, and now it seemed to me that no more
arrows might find mark in the king's body without slaying him; and
before my eyes was a mist, and my mouth was dry and parched, yet I
could not turn away and look no more. But the men fitted arrows to
the bowstrings once more, while Ingvar stood still and silent with
his strong hands clasped together behind him, gazing at the king,
whose lips moved in prayer, the psalm being ended, and, as I think,
his strength ebbing fast from his many wounds.
Now they were about to shoot once more, unbidden, keeping up their
torture if they might; but there was one more merciful than the
rest. Forward before the bowmen strode Raud, with his sword drawn,
and he cried to Ingvar:
"Let me slay him, king, and end this for pity's sake!"
Ingvar turned his eyes gloomily on him for a moment, and then
answered:
"What know you of pity? Slay him if you will."
Then when he heard that, Eadmund looked at Raud, smiling on him
with a wondrous smile and saying:
"Thanks, good friend."
So Raud slew him in pity, and that was now the best deed that might
be done.
Thereat I cried out once, and my senses left me, and I knew no
more.