THE WAY TO ALBAN
Feargus took his way home with a heavy heart. “Of a surety they will yet
compass my death,” said he. “The king wots well of this thing, and it is
unworthy of the Sigmund, who fought against Penda for Christ. Penda the
heathen would have scorned such like traitorous work. Woe is me for the
house of Sigmund, for ruin is before it, whether I be slain or not, and
were I to kill the thane, as I have his brother, then would his kill come
against us if they do not now, and without warriors I could do little.”
So he reached Torfrida’s hall and lay under the lintel but slept not. And
when Osbert, passing in the morning, saw the Pict still alive, terror
seized him, and Feargus eyed him sternly and spoke.
“If thou wilt turn thy face eastward towards the fens to the hall of
Edmund thy servant, thou wilt find the thane with two of thine own kin
awaiting thee.”
Then Osbert rode on northward up the brae that made the centre of the
town, and as soon as he was out of sight of Feargus he looked and saw
smoke issuing from the hall of Edmund. With sore misgivings he turned his
beast eastward. When he reached Edmund’s land he found a few blackened
timbers standing, and those two lying on the green sward stark dead and
the wounded beside them. That day Feargus went and told Torfrida of the
trap that had been set for him, and her fear was great lest they should
slay him, and he asked her again to fly, but yet she would not.
“Then, Torfrida, thou wilt come with me and take Edwy’s counsel,” and
she was not unwilling. So they sent a messenger that day to Edwy, and
the next they hied them together in the early morn and found him in the
forest.
And when he knew of the burning of Edmund’s hall, “Surely,” he said, “my
father hath a knowledge of this thing. He must be in his dotage, and in
his old age is doing that which in his youth he would have scorned. It
seemeth to me that ye must fly together, and the sooner the safer, for
the thane will not long leave his kin unavenged.”
“Now, Torfrida, hearken ye to Edwy’s rede.”
Then she looked dark, and said she, “If I fly my father will be slain and
thou also, Edwy.”
“And if thou stayest here then surely will Feargus be slain, and Osbert
will wed thee.”
“Nay, that will he never.”
“Once wed, Sigmund and Edwy will not be long before they follow Feargus,
and then Osbert’s hand will be uppermost in the land of the Lindiswaras;
for Lindesey he will join on to the land of his fathers and the house of
Sigmund will be no more.”
Then Torfrida wept.
“Nay, do not weep, sister; if thou wilt fly with Feargus thou mayst have
a good journey to the land of the Albanich, and Feargus will return again
with his father’s men, and maybe our mother’s kin forbye, and they will
come and smite the traitor.”
“Nay, I cannot leave my father, for he hath but one daughter.”
“Though he hath wronged me and driven me forth,” said Edwy, “yet do I
love him; but he hath broken oath with Feargus, and hath come to break
that law which is held most sacred amongst soldiers.”
Much more did he say but to no purpose, and they departed for home, and
Torfrida was sullen and would not speak more to Feargus that day, but
wept all the way. Before they had parted Edwy took Feargus aside, and
said he: “Farewell, and keep and mark well my counsel—thou must fly with
my sister, and as she will not listen to our rede thou must take her
without her will.” And so on the ride homewards Feargus thought of the
counsel Edwy had given.
Three nights afterwards, having got the Pictish tire-woman who waited
upon Torfrida to keep her mistress up late, he arose at midnight, and
taking four fleet horses and many other things, put an old cloak about
his byrny and went and knocked softly at the gate. Then the tire-woman,
who had been in the train of Torfrida’s mother, opened the door and let
him in, and he found Torfrida sitting in the hall in the firelight, and
when she saw him she was angered.
“Now what bringeth thee here, thou tiresome fellow? Enough have I not
seen of thee this day, that thou shouldst come in at midnight forsooth?
Get thee hence or thou wilt have my name in the mouths of all the town’s
wives.”
“Torfrida, there is no rest for me here, and there is no gain to any by
thy staying. Though the ways to Alban are long and full of dangers of
beasts and robbers and tempests and cold and hunger and weariness, yet
not more merciless or fierce are they than Osbert and thy father; for the
danger of them is open and declared, but the king and his thane work ever
in secret. My beasts are without; let us fly to-night.”
“That will I never, and full often have I told thee so,” said she. “Get
thee gone, I tell thee.”
“Speak not so unkindly, Torfrida.”
“Then get thee gone.”
“Thou canst not love me, Torfrida.”
“Get thee hence.”
“Nay, tell me thou lovest me.”
“I have told thee.”
“Nay, tell me again or I will think that thou hast changed, so harsh is
thy speech.”
“I love thee—when thou dost not worry me—there.”
Then he went to her and kissed her brow, and taking a kerchief stepped
to the back of her and suddenly bent forward; as he did so the old
tire-woman came forth and caught her by the hands and held her, while
Feargus took the end of the kerchief and tied them that she could not
speak, then tied her hands together. Then the tears fell from Torfrida’s
eyes and she sank into a seat and struggled to free herself.
“Nay, struggle not, lest thou hurt thyself, sweet Torfrida; for I swear
to thee, an thou canst not trust me, that no ill shall befall thee, but
to-night we will take the way to Alban. Nay, I cannot see thee struggle
so; thou wilt break my heart. Here, tire-woman, an she struggles so, thou
must tie her feet together else will she do herself a mischief.”
And then he tried to kiss her, but she turned her head from him, till at
length he caught her and kissed her brow and wept.
“Be not angry,” said he, “and greet not, for great is my love for thee,
and I swear again that harm shall not come near thee as long as my body
hath life to be thy shield. And I swear ever to worship thee both with my
body and my soul.”
Then he kissed her again, for that he could not help himself, so had she
bewitched him, and putting a great cloak about her he bid the tire-woman
good-bye and taking Torfrida in his arms went out and mounted his horse,
holding her before him on the saddle, and they rode away. In his hand he
held his great bow with an arrow fitted thereto, and as they descended
the hill and reached the last gate of the city a spy of Osbert’s
started up and made to blow his horn to arouse the watch. Then the bow
twanged, the arrow sped and the man fell, and Torfrida shuddered. All
the night they rode away northward and in the early morning entered the
woodlands. Then, escape being hopeless, Feargus untied the handkerchief
from her mouth and freed her hands and lifted her on to her own horse,
but she would not look at him but kept her head down and turned from
him and wept. Then his heart smote him—what if he had offended her past
forgiveness!
And she wept all that day, and neither ate nor drank. And all that week
they rode on, though Torfrida would not ride aside of him, but kept aloof
and sighed and wept anon. At length Feargus broke silence, and begged
her to ride in front, for he wished that she might be ever in his eye
though he gave reason to her that he might see if harm befell her. So she
rode in front, and his soul was full with gazing on her, so great was
her loveliness. And thereafter she found him so merry therewith that
she was angered the more at seeing him so content to ride without her.
So she threw many hard sayings back to humble him; then the big man was
almost like to weep, for the sight of her drew him one way and her high
words drew him another, till the heart within him was nigh drawn asunder
between the sweetness of her look and the sharpness of the words she
spoke.
Then at length she said, “No longer will I ride in front of thee to be
gazed upon in this wise,” and she turned towards the rear.
Then said Feargus, “Nay, now, if I may not even see thee, I will die here
where I stand.”
“Thou mayst die when thou listeth, but the season is ill chosen for my
comfort; it seems thou hast brought me here to desert me and leave me
to the wolves—I would have fared better at the hands of Osbert or of ——
but ride not over me I pray thee!” For Feargus had drawn near in his
eagerness to hear the name she had on her lips; then he fell back and
thought much of her words, and had great fear, so that at length he rode
forward and cried, “Torfrida!” And she answered coldly, “And who asked
thee to ride aside of me?”
“Sweet Torfrida, ’twas but to ask thee the name of him whose name was now
almost on thy lips.”
Then she tossed her head half-saucily, half-tearfully, and made no
answer, but struck her beast so that he leapt a good two lengths ahead.
So they rode on and one night took up their quarters at a woodman’s
cottage, and after having eaten Feargus went out in the moonlight to
look around and found the woodman, and soon learnt from him that they
had yet gone but a little way, and were still within easy reach of the
horsemen of Sigmund and Osbert. As he was returning he happened to look
to the left of him and there among the trees caught sight of a party of
men resting upon the ground. Then a feeling of hopelessness came upon
him, his hands shook, his knees trembled, and he sat down perforce on a
piece of fallen timber; when he had recovered himself he arose and crept
near to where the party was camping, and saw that surely enough they were
the men of Osbert. Then he hied him back to the woodman’s cottage and
stripped off his trappings, helm and sword and byrny, and took them in
his hands and bade the wife rouse Torfrida. And when she had arisen she
came out and eyed him coldly without speaking. Then said he to her in
Gaelic—
“Know, Torfrida, that I have been out into the forest, and there lighted
upon a party of warriors of thy father and Osbert, who are doubtless
seeking us.”
Then Torfrida’s face turned pale as death, for seldom had she seen him
look so sad.
“And now, Torfrida, here is the noble sword thou gavest me and here my
good bow which I cut from the forest trees in my days of darkness when I
had broken my oath through trysting with thee and so brought ruin upon
king Penda. Here too is my byrny that belonged to thy noble mother’s kin
and like to which there is none other.”
Then Torfrida’s heart swelled and she said softly, “What meanest thou?
Put on thy byrny lest the foe come and have thee at advantage.”
“Nay, never more will I wear byrny or wield brand: never had I pleasure
in killing; unless some noble quarry were in sight the hunt had little to
draw me. Take the sword and give it to him whom thou lovest, and send the
woodman to the warriors of thy father and they will take thee to Sigmund,
and thou canst leave me or render me up that they may do as they list
with me, and thou wilt return to Sigmund and wed him whose name was so
lately on thy lips, for whom thou hast been weeping; for I little thought
to part true lovers.”
Then Torfrida gave a sharp cry like a wounded bird and threw her arms
around his neck, and with tears and kisses nigh strangled him. And she
knelt down to lift his byrny, but he would not suffer her so to do but
raised her by the hand. She fastened the byrny about him and begged him
to get the horses that they might depart. So his heart was filled with
joy and gladness as they rode away, and ever after, among all their
troubles, and though oft-times he blamed himself for bringing her into so
many perils, yet did she never upbraid him but always helped, so far as
she might, and was ever sweet and gentle.