When I began to come to myself it was late afternoon. At first into
my mind came the fancy that I sat on the side of King Eadmund's bed
in the king's chambers at Reedham, and that he told me a wondrous
dream; how that--and then all of a sudden I knew that it was no
shadowy dream, but that I had seen all come to pass, and that
through the arrow storm Eadmund had passed to rest.
All round me the trees dripped with the damp November mist that
creeps from the river, and the smell of dead leaves was in my
nostrils, and for a while I lay still, hardly yet knowing true from
false, dream from deed. So quiet was I that a robin came and
perched close to me on a bramble, whose last leaves were the colour
of the bird's red breast, and there it sang a little, so that I
roused to life with the sound. Then swooped down a merlin with
flash of gray wings on the robin and took it, and that angered me
so that I rose on my elbow to fray it away; and with that the last
cloud left my mind and I knew where I was. Then, too, from where he
waited my waking came Vig, my great Danish dog, who had been tied
at the thane's house, and must have left the flying party to seek
me. And he bounded in gladness about me.
Now I found that my bonds were gone, and next that my weapons were
left me, and that but for cramp and stiffness I had not any tokens
of what had befallen. And at first it seemed to me that Ingvar thus
showed his scorn of me, though soon I thought that he had forgotten
me, and that it was Raud who had freed me.
I heeded not the dog, looking only in one place. But the body of
the king was gone, and his arms and mail were gone. The hoofmarks
of Ingvar's horses were everywhere; but at last I made out that
they had gone on through the wood.
Presently the dog growled, looking towards the village, and I heard
voices coming nearer, and with them I heard the tread of a horse.
But soon the dog ceased, and began to wag his tail as if to welcome
friends, and when the comers entered the clearing, I saw that they
were Egfrid's men, and that it was my horse that they were leading.
My axe was yet at the saddle bow.
"Why, master," said the foremost, "surely we looked to find you
slain. This is well--but what has befallen?"
For I must have looked wildly and strangely on them.
"Well would it be if I were slain," I said. "Why did you seek me?"
"We found the horse coming homewards, and one knew that you had
gone into the wood after the king. Yet we would seek you before we
fled."
I saw that all were armed, and I thanked them. But--
"What ails you, master?" said the leader of the group.
"They have slain Eadmund the king," I answered, "and they have
taken his body away."
Thereat they groaned, wondering and cast down, and one said:
"They will not have carried him far. Let us search."
We did so, and after a long time we found the king's body in a
thicket where it had been cast. But his head we could not find,
though now I bade my dog search also. He led us westward through
the wood, until we came to a rising ground, and there we could go
no further. For thence we saw the Danish horsemen by scores
pressing towards us, searching for cattle and sheep as the army
passed southward. And the farms were blazing in the track that they
had crossed everywhere.
Then said the men:
"We must fly. We who live must save ourselves, and must come back
and end this search when we may."
"Let us bear back the king's body," I said, "and find some hiding
place for it at Hoxne."
So we did, hurriedly, and hid it in a pit near the village,
covering it with boards and gravel as well as we could for haste.
Then I asked the men where they would go.
"By boat down the river," they said, "and so join the thane and his
party wherever they might be. They have gone to Beccles, for they
hear that a ship lies there whose master will gladly take them to
London."
That was good hearing, for so would all be safe. The men pressed me
to come with them, but I would not do so, meaning to hasten on to
the bishop's place and make him fly to Beccles and take ship also,
starting this very night. So I bid them go, and on that their
leader, a stout freeman named Leof, whom I knew well as one of
Egfrid's best men, said that he would come with me. Nor would he
hear of aught else.
"What would Egfrid my master say if I left his brother to go
alone?" he asked me simply; and so I suffered him, and we two went
towards South Elmham together.
Soon Leof saw a horse in a field and caught it, mounting bareback,
and after that we went on well enough.
Darkness fell, and all the low clouds were reddened with the light
of fires behind us, and ever as we looked back would be a fresh
fire and light in the sky, for the Danes were at their work. We
pushed on steadily, but the lanes were rough, and the miles seemed
very long in the darkness; but at last we crossed the Elmham stream
and rode to the stockaded house that was the bishop's, and which
stands pleasant and well placed on a little hill beyond the low
ground, and with no woodland very near it.
We shouted, and at last men fully armed came and let us in. And as
I looked back once before the gates closed after me, I thought that
the fires were nearer. The Danes were not staying their hands for
darkness, for so the terror they spread would be the greater. So
also was the bishop's peril therefore.
"Where is Bishop Humbert?" I asked.
"Master, he is in the church, nor will he leave it," said the old
steward. "He says he must pray for king and land day and night now
till this terror is overpast."
"I will go to him--he must fly," I said.
"Aye, pray him to do so, Wulfric; he will listen to you," said the
old man earnestly.
"Have all things ready," I said. "See--there is little time."
"What of the king, master?" asked he, looking at the fires with a
white face as he once more opened the gate.
"The king has gone where he would wish to be," I answered very
gravely; and he understood me, turning away that I might not see
his weeping.
Then Leof and I splashed back through the stream that ran between
house and church, and came quickly to the porch. The church is very
small and more ancient than I can say, for it is built of flint
bound together with such mortar as the Romans used in their
castles, hard as stone itself, and it stands in the midst of the
Roman camp that guarded the ford, so that maybe it was the first
church in all East Anglia, for we use wood; and, moreover, this
stone church is rounded at the east end, and has a barrier dividing
the body of the building into two, beyond which the as yet
unbaptized must sit, as men say. And so strong and thick are the
walls that I do not know how they can ever fall.
Now through the narrow windows shone lights, and I heard the sound
of chanting. Leof held my horse, and I opened the door gently and
went in.
At once there was a shrinking together of a group of men, mostly
monks, who stood at the upper end of the church where the chancel
begins. They were chanting the third psalm, for help against the
heathen, and it faltered for a moment. But they were mostly monks
of the bishop's own household, and knew me well enough, and they
ended it shortly.
Then there was silence, for they were holding none of the set
services, but rather as it seemed doing the bishop's bidding, and
praying with him in the best way for the ceasing of this new
trouble, as in time of pestilence once I remembered that he made
litanies for us. And Humbert himself knelt before the altar during
that psalm, fully vested, but as in times of fast and penitence.
When he rose, I came up the aisle towards him, and my mail clanged
noisily as I walked in the hush. At the chancel steps I stood, helm
in hand, and did reverence, not daring to speak first.
"What is it?" asked the bishop, when he turned and saw me. "Speak,
Wulfric, my son. Is all well?"
"I have heavy news, father," I answered. "Close on us are the
Danes, and you must fly. Then I will tell you all on the way."
"I will fly no more," he answered, "here I will bide. Is the king
at my house?"
"He is not there, father," I said; and then I urged him to fly at
once, and with me his monks joined, even going on their knees in
their grief. Yet he would not be moved.
"Surely the king will come here," he said, "nor will I go without
him."
"Father," I said, "the Danes have taken the king."
"Then must I bide here, and pray and scheme for his release."
Now I knew not how to tell him all, but at last I said:
"Eadmund the king has escaped from the hands of the heathen."
At that the bishop looked long at me, judging perhaps what I meant,
by my voice. But the monks rejoiced openly, at first, until they
saw what was meant also, and then they trembled.
"Where is he?" he asked, speaking low.
"Father," I said, "this twentieth day of November will be the day
when England shall honour a new martyr. Eadmund the King is
numbered among them."
"How died he?" then said the bishop, folding his hands.
But now the monks bade him fly, and reasoned with and prayed him.
But he bade them save themselves, for that there would be work for
them to do among the heathen.
"As for me, I am an old man," he said, "and I would fain go the
same road as the king."
Still they clung to him, and at last, speaking to each by name, and
giving each some message to take to cell or abbey where they must
go at his bidding, he commanded them; and so, unwillingly, kissing
his hand and receiving his blessing, they went one by one, till he
and I and one or two laymen besides were left in the little church.
Then he spoke to the other men, and they went also, and we were
alone.
"That is well," said the bishop; "tell me all, and then do you
fly."
He sat down in his great chair, leaning his head in his hand while
I told him all in that quiet place. Never once was there trembling
flash from the great jewel of his ring, that shone in the
candlelight, to show how moved he was; but when I had ended, the
tears were running down his venerable face, and he said:
"Now is there truly one more added to the noble army of martyrs,
and he is at rest. Now do you go, my son."
But I had other thoughts in my mind, and I rose up silently from
beside him, saying only: "Not yet, father," and I went down the
aisle and out into the darkness to Leof.
"See yonder!" said he pointing, and there was a fresh fire not many
miles from us. "I think they scour the country for our bishop. We
have little time."
"Tell me, Leof," I said, "have you a mind to live?" for there was
somewhat in the man's weary voice that seemed to say that he and I
thought alike.
"None, master, after today's work, if I may find a brave man or two
to die with me."
"Here is a brave man waiting with a like thought in the church.
Shall you and I die with him?"
"Aye, surely," said Leof quietly.
"Bide here then," I said, and took the horses from him.
I mounted mine and rode to the house, where the steward and one or
two others watched from the gateway. I bade the old man call his
folk together, and I told them to fly. Many were already gone, now
others went at once.
But a few stayed, and to them I said like words as to Leof.
"Hither will the Danes come presently, but in no great force. We
may beat them back, and if we do, then maybe the bishop will fly.
But we shall more likely die with him."
"Let us stand by him, come what will," they answered me in steady
voices; "better to die with him and our king."
They took their arms and gave me a sword, and we left the horses in
the stable, for we might even yet need them. I thought that we
could maybe, as I said, beat off the first few Danes, and then
that, to save further bloodshed, the bishop would go with us. And
if not, we had done our best.
Five men came with me to the ford. When we were at the other side
there were but four. One had gone back, and I did not blame him.
Leof sat in the little porch, and so we six went into the church
together. The bishop sat where I had left him, but he raised his
head when we came up the aisle.
"Nay, my sons," he said, "you must fly. Maybe these men will
respect an old man like myself and lonely."
Then I said:
"Father, we would have you say mass for us ere the light comes
again."
Now it wanted about an hour to midnight.
"Is there yet time?" he said.
Then I answered that I thought we might wait in peace for so long,
and he, knowing nothing of the nearness of the Danes, consented. So
we bided there in the aisle benches to wait till midnight was past,
and soon one or two of the men slept quietly.
Now, when it may have been almost midnight, and the time for mass
would soon be come, the bishop, who had been so still that I
thought he slept, lifted his head and looked towards the altar. And
at the same time my dog whined a little beside me.
Then Humbert the Bishop rose up and held out both his hands as to
one whom he would greet, and spoke softly.
"Aye, Eadmund, I am coming. Soon shall I be with you."
So he stood for a little while very still, and then went to his
place again.
Then Leof, who sat next to me, said, whispering:
"Saw you aught, master?"
"I saw nothing, but surely the bishop had a vision."
"I myself saw Eadmund the king stand before the bishop, and he had
a wondrous crown on his head," said Leof, speaking as though of
somewhat not terrible, but good to think on.
"I also saw him," said the old steward from behind me. "I saw him
plainly as in life, and I thought he smiled on us."
But I had had no such sight, and it grieved me. Moreover, two of
the other three men whispered, and I thought one of them told of
the like vision. And I think, too, that the dog saw it, as the
innocent beasts will see things beyond our ken.
Soon the bishop judged that the time was come for mass, and he
called softly to me, bidding me serve, for I had often done so for
him in the old days when I was a boy and he was at Reedham, and I
knew well what to do.
Then was said a most solemn mass with that one aged priest, and us
few men present. And all was very quiet round us, for no wind
stirred the trees on the old rampart.
The bishop's voice ceased with the benediction, and the hush
deepened; but suddenly Leof and I looked in each other's faces. We
had heard a shout from no great distance, and the blood rushed
wildly through us.
Now the bishop rose from his knees, and I took the holy vessels, as
he gave them to me, putting them into their oaken chest in its
niche. And when that was done, he said:
"Now I will not bid you fly, my sons, for I think that somewhat has
bidden you bide with me. And I have seen the king, so that I know
the time is short. Take therefore the holy vessels and drown them
in the deep pool of the stream. I have used them for the last time,
but I would not have them profaned by the heathen in their
feasting."
I knew that this should be done as at Bosham, but already I heard
the shouts yet nearer, and I was loth to leave the church, and so
paused.
"I know your thoughts," said the bishop. "Yet go, as I bid you; it
is not far."
So I took the heavy, iron-bound chest on my shoulder and went
quickly, running as well as I might to the stream below the
rampart, where it curled deep and still under crumbling banks.
There I plunged my burden, hearing it sink and bubble into the
depths.
Then I went back, and reached the gap in the rampart that had been
the gate next the ford, and that was at the east end of the church,
so that the porch was far from me. And before I had gone halfway to
the church--over the western rampart spurred a score of horsemen,
dimly seen in the half moonlight that was now. And the leader of
them saw me, and rode straight at me, calling to me to hold, while
I drew my sword and ran to reach the door before he met me; and my
dog, which was at my heels, flew at the horse's throat.
But I must fail, and I whirled up my sword to strike--and then a
long flash of light from a spear point smote me, and over me the
man rode, pinning me to the ground with the spear through my left
shoulder. His horse trod on me, and the man wrenched the weapon
from me as he passed on, and I had but time to call out to Leof to
warn him, when a rushing came in my ears, and a blaze of light
before my eyes, and the world passed from me.
Then I seemed to stand in darkness, while past me, gloriously
shining, went Leof, and then the old steward and one of those two
men who had whispered together, and then Humbert the Bishop
himself. But it seemed to me that he paused and looked on me,
saying, in a voice that was like music:
"Hereafter--not now. Twice have you offered your life today, and
yet there is work for you. Be content to wait."
So he passed, looking kindly at me, and then the blackness came
over me again.
When I came round at last it was high day, and the air was full of
smoke around me. One sat on a great brown horse looking at me, and
by my side cried my dog; and I groaned, whereat the man got off his
horse and came to me. And I knew that it was Hubba, and some of the
men I knew were there also.
"Why, Wulfric, friend, how is this? I thought you were dead. Who
has dared to hurt you? What has happened here?"
"You know well," I gasped.
"Nay, I know not; I have but now ridden this way with our rear
guard," he answered, seeming to pity me.
"Look in the church and see," I said, groaning. "You Danes are all
one in the matter."
"Now I am not the man to harm you, nor would any of our folk," he
said. "Some of our courtmen found you here, and brought me."
"Slay me and have done," I muttered; for that was all I would have
him do.
"That will I not, Wulfric," he answered; and he called to some men
who were busy about the walls of the church.
The smoke rose thickly from within them, for the burnt roof had
fallen in.
"Take this warrior and bind his wound," he said. "It is Wulfric of
Reedham, our friend."
The faintness came over me again when the men raised me, though
they tended me gently enough, and I could say naught, though I
would rather they had cast me into the burning timbers of the
church, even as I had bidden men do with that poor churl at Hoxne,
that my ashes might be with those of our bishop.
So they bore me far, and at last left me in a farm where they
promised all should be safe if they tended me well. And Hubba rode
with them, and came to bid me farewell. But I could not speak to
him if I would, so he went away sadly. And as in a dream I heard
him speak of care for me to the widow and her two sons to whom the
farm belonged, and whom his men had taken unawares, so that they
had not time to fly.
Presently came the best leech from Ingvar's host and tended me
carefully; and I needed it, for besides the spear wound, my right
thigh was broken, by the trampling of the horse, as was most
likely.
Thereafter I lay for many weeks, as they told me presently, sick
and nigh to death; but being young and strong and no high liver at
any time, I came through the danger well enough, and began to mend
slowly. Yet my sickness, when I could begin to think, was more of
mind than body, and that kept me back. For long did it lie heavily
on my mind that I should have died with the king, and it was that
sorrow and blame of myself that went sorely against me. But after a
time the love of life came back to me again, and I began to see
things as they really were, untouched by a sick man's fancies. And
then the words of the good Prior of Bosham helped me, teaching me
that my life was surely spared for somewhat.
These good folk of the farm tended me most kindly, for they knew me
by sight as a close friend of both king and bishop, and for their
sakes were glad to do all they might for me. But I pined for the
touch of that one who had tended me when I was wounded before,
Osritha, whom I had learnt to love as she did so.
Sometimes I would think that between her and me had now risen up a
barrier stronger than the sea that was washing our shores alike,
because that of Ingvar's sister I might not think aught any longer.
And then I would set before me how that of these cruel doings nor
she nor Halfden had any part, hating them rather, and so would
comfort myself. Long are the thoughts that come to a sick man.
Now it was not till February that I might take much heed of
anything, but then I learnt that the Danes had wintered in
Thetford, and that the land was in peace. The war had passed on to
the Wessex borders and then had slackened, as winter came earnest,
and now the north and south folk, Dane and Angle, were foes no
longer openly. But Ingvar and Hubba were at Nottingham, waiting to
fall on Wessex, leaving only strong garrisons in our towns.
Then one of the dame's sons would go to London for me, there to
seek Ingild and tell him of my hap, for, the lad said:
"Now that these Danes need fight no more they are decent folk
enough, and will not hinder a man who has not whereof to be
robbed."