Our Sussex was the last land in all England that was heathen. I
suppose that the last heathen thanes in Sussex were those whose
manors lay in the Andredsweald, as did ours. Most of these thanes
had held aloof from the faith because at the first coming of good
Bishop Wilfrith, some twelve years ago, those who had hearkened to
him were mostly thralls and freemen of the lower ranks, and they
would not follow their lead. Yet of these there were some, like my
father, who had no hatred, to say the least, of the Christian and
his creed, and did but need the words of one who could speak
rightly to them to turn altogether from the Asir.
Maybe the only man who was at this time really fierce against the
faith was Erpwald, the thane of Wisborough, some half-score miles
from us northwards across the forest. He had been the priest of
Woden in the old days, and indeed held himself so even now, though
secretly, for fear of Ina the Wessex king, who ruled our land well
and strongly. This Erpwald was no very good neighbour of ours, as
it happened, for he and my father had some old feud concerning
forest rights and the like which he had taken to heart more than
there was any occasion for, seeing that it was but such a matter as
most thanes have, unless they are unusually lucky, in a place where
boundaries are none. It is likely enough that but for the easy ways
of my father, who gave in to him so far as he could, this feud
would have been of trouble some time ago, for as the power of
Erpwald, as priest, waned he seemed to look more for power in other
ways. Yet in the end both the matter of the faith and the matter of
the feud seemed to work together in some way that brought trouble
enough on our house, which must be told; for it set Owen and me out
into the world together for a time, and because of it there befell
many happenings thereafter which have not all been sad in their
ending.
Owen had been with us for a year and a half when what I am going to
tell came to pass, and in that time my father had come to look on
him rather as a brother than as a guest, and the thought that he
might leave him at any time was one which he did not like to keep
in his mind.
That being so, it was not at all surprising that in this summer my
father had at last borne witness that he wished to become a
Christian altogether, and so it had come to pass that he and Owen
and I used to ride to Bosham, the little seacoast village beyond
Chichester town, to speak with Dicul, the good old Irish priest,
who yet bided there rather than in the new monastery which Wilfrith
built at Selsea, until we were taught all that was needful, and the
time came when we should be baptized.
That my father would have done here at Eastdean, that all his
people, who were Christians before him, should see and rejoice. Yet
it was not an easy matter for him as it had been for them, for now
he would stand alone among his fellows, the heathen thanes; and
most of all Erpwald the priest would be wroth with him for leaving
that which he had held so long. He must meet these men often
enough, and he knew that they would have biting words to hurl at
him, but that thought did not stay him for a moment. It was more
than likely that one or two more would follow him when once the old
circle was broken.
So on a certain day Dicul rode over from Bosham on his mule, and
early on the next morning he set up a little wooden cross by the
spring above the hall, and there my father and I and Stuf, the head
man of the house-carles, who had bided in the old faith for love of
my father, were baptized, Owen and one of the village freemen
standing sponsors for us, and that was a wondrous day to us all, as
I think. For when all was done my father gave their freedom to all
our thralls, for the sake of the freedom that had been given him,
and he promised that here, where he and they had been freed, a
church should be built of good forest oak, after the woodcutting of
the winter to come.
Then Dicul went his way homewards, with one of our men to lead his
mule and carry some few presents for his people to Bosham, and
after he was gone we had a quiet feasting in our hall until the
light was gone. And even as our feasting ended there came in a
swineherd from the forest with word that from the northward there
came a strong band of armed men through the forest, and he held it
right that my father should be warned thereof, for he feared they
were some banded outlaws, seeing that there was peace in the land.
That was no unlikely thing at all, for our forests shelter many,
and game being plentiful they live there well enough, if not
altogether at ease. As a rule they gave little trouble to us, and
at times in the winter we would even have men who were said to be
outlaws from far off working in the woods for us.
Yet now and then some leader would rise among them and gather them
into bands which waxed bold to harry cattle and even houses, so
that there might be truth in what the swineherd told. Nevertheless
my father thought of little danger but to the herds, and so had
them driven into the sheds from the home fields, and set the men
their watches as he had more than once done before in like alarms.
Presently I was awakened, for I had gone to rest before the message
came, by the hoarse call of a horn and the savage barking of the
dogs. I heard the hall doors shut and open once or twice as men
passed in and out, and in the hall was the rattle of weapons as the
men took them from their places on the walls, but I heard no voices
raised more than usual. Then I got out of my bed and tried to open
the sliding doors that would let me out on the high place from my
father's chamber, where I always slept now, but I could not move
them. So I went back to my place and listened.
What was happening I must tell, therefore, as Owen has told me, for
I saw nothing to speak of.
As the horn was blown, one of the men who had been on guard came
into the hall hastily and spoke to my father.
"The house is beset, Lord. Stuf blew the horn and bade me tell you.
There are men all round the stockade."
"Outlaws?"
The man shook his head.
"We think not, Lord. But it is dark, and we cannot fairly see them.
We heard them call one 'Thane.' Nor are there any outland voices
among them, as there would be were they outlaws."
Then my father armed himself in haste and went out. The night was
very dark, and it was raining a little. Stuf had shut the stockade
gates, which were strong enough, and had reared a ladder against
the timbers that he might look over.
Close to the ladder stood Owen, armed also, for he had been out to
see that all was quiet and that the men were on guard.
"There are men everywhere," he said. "I would we had some light."
"Heave a torch on the straw stack," my father answered; "there will
be enough then."
The stack was outside the stockade, and some twenty yards from its
corner. One of the men ran to the hall and brought a torch from its
socket on the wall, and handed it to Stuf, who threw it fairly on
the stack top, from the ladder. It blazed up fiercely as it went
through the air, and from the men who beset us there rose a howl as
they saw it. Several ran and tried to reach it with their spears,
but they were not in time. The first damp straws of the thatch
hissed for a moment, dried, and burst into flame, and then nought
could stop the burning. The red flames gathered brightness every
moment, lighting up two sides of the stockading, in the midst of
which the hall stood. Then an arrow clicked on Stuf's helm, and he
came down into shelter.
"This is a strange affair, Master," he said. "I have seen three men
whom I know well among them."
"Who are they?"
"Wisborough men--freemen of Erpwald's."
My father and Owen looked at one another. Words my father knew he
should have to put up with, after today, from Erpwald, but this
seemed token of more than words only.
Then came the blast of a horn from outside, and a strange voice
shouted that the thane must come and speak with those who called
him. So my father went to the gate and answered from within it:
"Here am I. What is all the trouble?"
"Open the gate, and you shall know."
"Not so, Thane," cried one of our men, who was peering through the
timbers of the stockade. "Now that I can see, I have counted full
fifty men, and they are waiting as if to rush in."
Then said my father:
"Maybe we will open the gate when we are sure you are friends. One
may be forgiven for doubting that when you come thus at midnight to
a peaceful house."
"We are friends or not, as you choose, Aldred," the voice answered.
"I am Erpwald, Woden's priest, and I am here to stay wrong to the
Asir of which I have heard."
"I will not pretend not to know what you mean, Erpwald," answered
my father. "But this, as it seems to me, is a matter that concerns
me most of all."
"If it concerns not Woden's priest, whom shall it concern?"
answered Erpwald. "It is true, then, that you have left the Asir to
follow the way of the thralls, led aside by that Welshman you have
with you?"
"It is true enough that I am a Christian," said my father steadily.
"As for leaving the Asir, that is not to be said of one whose line
goes back to Woden, his forefather. But I cannot worship him any
longer. Forefather of mine he may be, but not a god."
"Ho! that is all I needed to hear. Now, I will not mince matters
with you, Aldred. Either you give up this foolishness, or I am here
to make you do so."
Now, my father looked round at the men and saw that all the
house-carles and one or two from the village were in the courtyard,
fifteen of them altogether, besides himself and Owen. They were all
Christian men, and they stood in a sort of line behind him across
the closed gate with their faces set, listening.
"Don't suppose that there is any help coming to you from the
village," said the hard voice from outside. "There is a guard over
every house."
"Erpwald," said my father, "it is a new thing that any man should
be forced to quit his faith here in Sussex. Nor is it the way of a
thane to fall on a house at night in outlaw fashion. Ina the king
will have somewhat to say of this."
"If there is one left to tell him, that is," came back the reply.
"There will not be shortly, unless I have your word that tomorrow
you come to me at Wisborough and make such atonement to the Asir as
you may, quitting your new craze."
Then said Stuf, the leader of the house-carles, growling:
"That is out of the question, and he knows it. He means to fall on
us, else had he spoken to you elsewhere first, Thane. It seems to
me that here we shall die."
He looked round on his fellows, and they nodded, and one set his
helm more firmly on his head, and another tightened his belt, and
one or two signed the cross on their broad chests, but not one
paled, though they knew there was small hope for them if Erpwald
chose to storm the house. The court was light as day with the
flames of the stack by this time.
"What think you of this, Owen," my father said.
"That it is likely that we must seal our faith with our blood,
brother," he answered. "Yet I think that there is more in this than
heathenism, in some way."
"There is an old feud of no account," said my father, "but I would
not think hardly of Erpwald. After all, he was Woden's priest, and
is wroth, as I myself might have been. It is good to die thus, and
but for the boy I would be glad."
"I do not think that he will be harmed," said Owen, "even if the
worst comes to the worst."
"Well, if I fall, try to get him hence. After that maybe Erpwald
will be satisfied. I set him in your charge, brother, for once you
have saved him already. Fail me not."
Owen held out his hand and took his.
"I will not fail you," he said--"if I live after you."
Now from outside the voices began to be impatient, and Erpwald had
been crying to my father to be speedy, unheeded. But in the midst
of the growing shouts of the heathen my father turned to the men
and asked them if they were content to die with him for the faith.
And with one accord they said that they would.
Then with a thundering crash a great timber beam was hurled against
the gate, shaking its very posts with the force of the six men who
wielded it at a run, and in the silence that fell as they drew back
Erpwald cried:
"For the last time, Aldred, will you yield?"
But he had no answer, and after a short space the timber crashed
against the gate again and again. And across it waited our few,
silent and ready for its falling.
I heard all this in the closed chamber, and the red light of the
fire shone across the slit whence the light and fresh air came into
it, but it was too high for me to look out of. I got up and dressed
myself then, for no reason but that I must be doing something. I
waxed excited with the noise and flickering light, and no one came
near me. My old nurse was the only woman in the house, for the
married house-carles lived in the village, and I daresay she slept
through it all in her own loft. There was no thunderstorm that
could ever wake her.
At this time my father sent a few of the men to the back of the
house, that they might try at least to keep off the foe from
climbing the stockade and so falling on them in the rear. But the
timbers were high, and the ditch outside them full of water, and as
it happened there was no attack thence.
Erpwald watched the back indeed, but all his force was bent on the
gate.
It was not long before that fell, crashing inwards, and across it
strode the heathen priest into the gap. He was fully armed, and
wore the great golden ring of the temple--all that was left him of
his old surroundings since Ethelwalch the king, who sent Wilfrith
to us, had destroyed the building that stood with the image of
Woden in it hard by his house. Men used to take oath on that ring,
as do we on the Book of the Gospels, and they held it holier than
the oaken image of the god itself. I do not think that any man had
seen it since that time until this night.
Now Erpwald stood for a moment in the gate, with his men hard
behind him, expecting a rush at him, as it would seem. But our folk
stood firm in the line across the courtyard, shoulder to shoulder,
with my father and Owen before them. So they looked at one another.
Then Erpwald slipped the golden ring from his arm and held it up.
There may have been some thought in his mind that my father was
hesitating yet.
"By the holy ring I adjure you, Aldred, for the last time, to
return to the Asir," he said loudly.
My father shook his head only, but Stuf the house-carle, who had
stood beside him at the font this morning, had another answer which
was strange enough.
"This for the ring!" he said.
And with that he hurled a throwing spear at it as it shone in the
firelight, with a true aim. The spear went through the ring itself
without harming the hand of the holder, and coming a little
slantwise, twitched it away from him and stuck in the timber of the
stockade whence the gatepost had been riven. The ring hung spinning
on the shaft safely enough, but to Erpwald it seemed that his
treasure had gone altogether, and he yelled with rage and sprang
forward. After him came his men, and in a moment the two parties
were hand to hand.
Then was fighting such as the gleemen sing of, with the light of
the red fire waxing and waning across the courtyard the while. The
strange lights and shadows it cast were to the advantage of our men
for a little while, but the numbers were too great against them for
that to be of much avail. Soon they who had not fallen were borne
back to the hall door, and there stood again, but my father was not
with them.
He fell at the first, as Owen tells me. Another has told me that
Owen stood across his body and would have fallen with him, but that
Stuf drew him away, calling on him to mind his promise concerning
me, and so he went back, still fighting, until he stood in the door
of the hall.
There Erpwald and his men stayed their hands, like a ring of dogs
that bay a boar. There was a little porch, so that they could not
get at him sideways, and needs must that they fell on him one at a
time. It seemed that not one cared to be the first to go near the
terrible Briton as he stood, in the plain arms and with the heavy
sword my father had given him, waiting for them. Well do I know
what he was like at that time, and I do not blame them. There is no
man better able to wield weapons than he, and they had learnt it.
Then the light of the straw stack went out suddenly, as a stack
fire will, and the darkness seemed great. Yet from the well-lit
hall a path of light came past Owen and fell on his foes, so that
he could well see any man who was bold enough to come, and they
held back the more.
There were but six men of ours in the house behind Owen.
Then came Erpwald, leaning, sorely wounded, on one of his men, and
Owen spoke to him.
"You have wrought enough harm, Erpwald, for this once. Let the rest
of the household go in peace."
"Harm?" groaned the heathen. "Whose fault is it? How could I think
that the fool would have resisted?"
"As there are fifty men in the yard at this moment, it seems that
you were sure of it," answered Owen in a still voice. "If you knew
it not before, now at least you know that a Christian thinks his
faith worth dying for."
Now, whether it was his wound, or whether he saw that he had gone
too far, Erpwald bethought himself, and seemed minded to make
terms.
"I wish to slay no more," he said. "Yield yourselves quietly, and
no harm shall come to you."
"Let them not go, Thane," said one of his men, "else will they be
off to Ina, and there will be trouble. You mind what you promised
us."
Now, Owen heard this, and the words told him that he was right in
thinking that there was more than heathenry in the affair. It
seemed to him that the first thing was to save me, and that if he
could do that in any way nought else mattered much. It was plain
that no man was to be left to bring Ina on the priest for his ill
deeds.
"If that is all the trouble now," he said, therefore, "as we are in
your power you can make us promise what you like. Give us terms at
least; if not, come and end us and the matter at once."
One of the men flew at him on that, and bided where he fell, across
the doorway of the porch; none stirred to follow him.
"Swear that you will not go to Ina for a month's time with any
tales, and you and all shall go free," Erpwald said.
The man who had spoken before put in at once:
"What of the blood feud, Erpwald?--There is Aldred's son yet."
At that the priest lost temper with his follower, and turned on him
savagely:
"Is it for men to war with children? What care I for a blood feud?
Can I not fend for myself? Hold your peace."
Then he said to Owen:
"They say that you are the child's foster-father now. If I give him
to you, will you swear that you or he shall cross my path no more?
You need not trouble to go to Ina, for he will not hearken to a
Briton in any case."
Owen reddened under the last, but for my sake he did not answer,
save to the first part of the saying.
"I will swear to take the child hence and let this matter be for us
as if it had not been," he said, seeing that it was the best he
could win for me.
What other thoughts were in his mind will be seen hereafter, but I
will say now that it was not all so hopeless as it seemed to
Erpwald.
"What of the other men," asked one or two of Erpwald's following.
"They shall bide here, where we can keep an eye on them," the
priest answered. "They will not hurt us, nor we them, save only if
they try to make trouble."
Then some of our house-caries said in a low tone to Owen: "Better
to die with the master. Let us out and fall on them."
But he said: "This is for the boy's sake. Let me be, my brothers; I
have the thane's word to carry out."
Then they knew that he was right, but they bade him make Erpwald
swear to keep faith with them all.
So he spoke again with the priest, asking for honest pledges in
return for his own oath. Whereon from across the courtyard, where a
few wounded men lay--a voice weak with pain cried, with a strange
laugh:
"Get him the holy ring, that he may be well bound. It hangs yonder
where I put it, in the gateside timbers."
Erpwald glowered into the darkness, but he could see nothing of the
man who had spoken. But one of his men had seen the spear cast, and
knew what was meant, though the fight had set it out of his mind.
So he ran, and found the shaft easily in the darkness, and took the
ring from it, bringing it back to Erpwald.
"It is luck," he said. "Spear and ring alike have marked the place
for Woden."
"Hold your peace, fool," snarled Erpwald, with a sharp look at
Owen.
And at that Stuf laughed again, unheeded.
Then Owen swore as he had promised, on the cross hilt of his sword,
and Erpwald swore faith on the ring, and so the swords were
sheathed at last; and when they had disarmed all our men but Owen,
Erpwald's men took torches from the hall and went to tend the
wounded, who lay scattered everywhere inside the gate, and most
thickly where my father fell.
Owen went to that place, with a little hope yet that his friend
might live, but it was not so. Therefore he knelt beside him for a
little while, none hindering him, and so bade him farewell. Then he
went to Stuf, who was sorely hurt, but not in such wise that he
might not recover.
"What will you do with the child?" the man asked.
"Have no fear for him. I shall take him westward, where my own
people are. He shall be my son, and I think that all will be well
with him hereafter."
"I wit that you are not what you have seemed, Master," Stuf said.
"It will be well if you say so."
Then Owen bade him farewell also, and went to find me and get me
hence before the ale and mead of the house was broached by the
spoilers. And, as I have said, I was already dressed, and I ran to
his arms and asked what all the trouble was, and where my father
had gone, and the like. I think that last question was the hardest
that Owen ever had put to him, and he did not try to answer it
then. He told me that he and I must go to Chichester at once, at my
father's bidding; and I, being used to obey without question, was
pleased with the thought of the unaccustomed night journey. And
then Owen bethought him, and left me for a moment, going to the
chest where my father had his store of money. It was mine now, and
he took it for me.
It seemed strange to him that there was no ransacking of the house,
as one might have expected. Had the foe fired it he would not have
been surprised at all, but all was quiet in the hall, and the
voices of the men came mostly from the storehouses, whence he could
hear them rolling the casks into the courtyard; so he told me to
bide quietly here in the chamber for a few minutes, and went out on
the high place swiftly, closing the door after him, that I might
see nothing in the hall.
There he found Erpwald himself close at hand, sitting in my
father's own chair while the wound that Owen himself had given him
was being dressed. At the side of the great room sat the rest of
our men, downcast and wondering, and half a dozen of the foe stood
on guard at the door. It was plain that nought in the house was to
be meddled with.
Erpwald turned as he heard the sliding door open.
"Get you gone as soon as you may," he said sullenly.
"There is one thing that I must ask you, Erpwald," Owen said. "It
is what one may ask of one brave man concerning another. Let
Aldred's people bury him in all honour, as they will."
"There you ask too much, Welshman. But I will bury him myself in
all honour in the way that I think best. He shall have the burial
of a son of Woden for all his foolishness."
At least, there would be no dishonour to his friend in that, and
Owen thought it best to say no more, but he had one more boon, as
it were, to ask.
"Let me take a horse from the stable for the child," he said. "We
may have far to go."
He thought that he would have been met with rage at this, but it
was worth asking. However, Erpwald answered somewhat wearily, and
not looking at him:
"Take them all, if you will. I am no common reiver, and they are
not mine. The farther you go the better. But let me tell you, that
it will be safer for you not to make for Winchester and the king. I
shall have you watched."
"A plain warning not to be disregarded," answered Owen. "We shall
not need it."
Erpwald said no more, and Owen came back to me, closing the door
after him again. There was another door, seldom used, from this
chamber to the back of the house where the servants had their
quarters, and through that he took me, wrapped in such warm furs as
he could find. Then he went to the stables, and in the dark, for he
would not attract the notice of Erpwald's men, who were round the
ale in the courtyard, he saddled my forest pony, and another good
horse which he was wont to ride with my father at times. He did not
take the thane's own horse, as it would be known, and he would risk
no questions as to how he came by it.
Then we rode away by the back gate, and when the darkness closed on
us as we passed along the well-known road towards Chichester the
voices of the foe who revelled in our courtyard came loudly to us.
And I did but think it part of the rejoicing of that day as I
listened.
Through the warm summer rain we came before daylight had fully
broken to Bosham, not passing through Chichester, for the gates
would be closed. And just before the sun rose, Dicul the priest
came from his house to the little church and saw us sitting in the
porch, waiting him, while the horses cropped the grass on the
little green outside the churchyard, hobbled in forest fashion.
He bade us back to his house, and there I fell asleep straightway,
with the tiredness that comes suddenly to a child. And Owen and he
talked, and I know that he told him all that had happened and what
his own plans for me were, under the seal of secrecy. And then he
begged the good priest to tell me of my loss.
So it came to pass that presently Dicul took me on his knee and
told me wonderful stories of the martyrs of old time, and of his
own land in times that are not so far off; and when it seemed to me
that indeed there is nought more wonderful and blessed than to give
life for the faith, he told me how my father had fallen at the
hands of heathen men, and was indeed a martyr himself. I do not
know that he could have done it more wisely or sweetly, for half
the sting was lost in the wonder of it all.
But he did not tell me who it was had slain my father, and that I
did not know for many a long day.
After that we ate with him, and he gave us some little store for a
journey, and so Owen and I rode on again, westward, homeless
indeed, but in no evil case.
Now, as one may suppose, Owen's first thought was to get me beyond
the reach of Erpwald, whose mood might change again, from that in
which he let us go with what we would, to that in which he came on
us. So all that day we went on steadily, sleeping the night in a
little wayside inn, and pushing on again in the early morning,
until Owen deemed it safe for us to draw rein somewhat, and for my
sake to travel slowly.
At this time he had no clear plan in his head for the ending of our
journey, nor was there need to make one at once. We had store of
money to last us for many a long day, what with my father's and
that which Owen had of his own, and we were well mounted, and what
few things we needed to seem but travellers indeed Owen bought in
some little town we passed through on the third day. After that we
went easily, seeing things that had nought in them but wonder and
delight for me.
Then at last we came in sight of the ancient town of Sarum on its
hill, and there we drew up on the wayside grass to let a little
train of churchmen pass us, and though I did not know it, that
little halt ended our wandering. In the midst of the train rode a
quiet looking priest, who sang softly to himself as his mule ambled
easily along, and he turned to give us his blessing as Owen
unhelmed when he passed abreast of us. Then his hand stayed as he
raised it, and I saw his face lighten suddenly, and he pulled up
the mule in haste, crying to Owen by name, and in the Welsh tongue.
And I saw the face of my foster-father flush red, and he leapt from
his horse and went to the side of the priest, setting his finger on
his lip for a moment as he did so.
Then the priest signed that his people should go on, and at once
they left him with us, and Owen bade me do reverence to Aldhelm,
the abbot of Malmesbury, before whom we stood. And after that they
talked long in Welsh, and that I could not follow, though indeed I
knew a fair smattering of it by this time, seeing that Owen would
have me learn from him, and we had used it a good deal in these few
days as we rode.
It seemed to me that Aldhelm was overjoyed to see Owen, and I know
now that those two were old friends of the closest at one time,
when they met in Owen's own land.
So from that meeting it came to pass that we found a home with the
good abbot at Malmesbury for a time, and there I learned much, as
one may suppose, while Owen trained me in arms, and the monks
taught me book learning, which I liked not at all, and only
suffered for love of Owen, who wished me to know all I might.
Then one day, after two years in quiet here, came Ina the king with
all his court to see the place and the new buildings that were
rising under the hand of Aldhelm and Owen, who had skill in such
matters, and then again was a change for us. It seems that
Ethelburga the queen took a fancy to me, and asked that I might be
with her as a page in the court, and that was so good a place for
the son of any thane in the land that Owen could not refuse, though
at first it seemed that we must be parted for a time.
But it was needful that the king should hear my story, that he
might have some surety as to who I was, and if I were worthy by
birth to be of his household, and Owen hardly knew how to tell him
without breaking his oath to Erpwald. Yet it was true that the
heathen thane had scoffed at him, rather than forbidden him to seek
Ina, though indeed it was plain that he meant to bind us from
making trouble for him in any way. But at last Owen said that if
the king would forbear to take revenge for a wrong done to me, he
might speak, and so after promise given he told all.
Very black grew the handsome face of the king as he heard.
"Am I often deceived thus?" he said. "I will even send some to ask
of all the ins and outs of such another case hereafter. This
Erpwald sent to me to say that Aldred and all his house had been
slain by outlaws, and that he himself had driven them off and I
believed him. After that I made over the Eastdean lands to him, and
I take it that they were what he wanted. Well, he has not lived
long to enjoy them, for he died not long ago, and now his brother
holds the lands after him, and I know that he at least is a worthy
man.
"Let it be. The child is my ward now, as an orphan, and I should
have had to set his estate in the hands of some one to hold till he
can take them. There will be no loss to him in the end."
Then he smiled and looked Owen in the face.
"I know you well, Owen, though it is plain that you would not have
it so. Mind you the day when I met Gerent at the Parrett bridge? I
do not often forget a face, and I saw you then, and asked who you
were. Now there is good and, as I hope, lasting peace between our
lands, thanks to the wisdom of our good Aldhelm here, and I will
ask you somewhat, for I know that you also wrought for that peace
while you might. Come to me, and be of the nobles who guard me and
mine, and so wait in honour until the time comes when you may
return to your place. Then you will be with the boy also."
So it came to pass that we took leave of that good friend the
abbot, and went from Malmesbury in the train of Ina of Wessex.
Thereafter for six years I served Ethelburga the queen, being
trained in all wise as her own child, and after that I was one of
the athelings of the court in one post or another, but always with
the king when there was war on the long frontier of the Wessex
land.