THE BRITISH VILLAGE.
The British priest’s home was at a populous village on the banks of the
Avon, now known by the name of Netton, and as this was some miles nearer
than Sorbiodunum, he determined to take thither the party whom his
opportune arrival had rescued from danger. Once arrived there, it would be
easy to send a messenger to the town, and await further instructions. A
litter was hastily constructed for Carna, who, though her spirits and
courage were still unbroken, was somewhat exhausted by excitement and
fatigue. The Saxon’s wounds were dressed and bound up by the priest, who
united some knowledge of medicine and surgery to his other
accomplishments, and was indeed scarcely less well qualified for the cure
of bodies than of souls. The priest-doctor looked somewhat grave when he
saw how deep the sword-cuts were, and how much blood had been lost, but
Cedric made light of his injuries, scorned the idea of being carried, and
indeed seemed to find no difficulty in keeping close to Carna’s litter on
the homeward journey.
Netton—we are unable to give the British name of the village—was reached
some time before dawn. At sunrise the priest, who had refreshed himself
with two or three hours’ sleep, was ready to perform his office at his
little church. It was the first day of the week, and the building was
crowded. It was an oblong building, with a semicircular eastern end, that
resembled that kind of chancel which is known by the name of an apse. It
had been designed by an Italian builder, who had copied the shape that
seems to have been used in the earliest Christian buildings, that of the
_schola_ or meeting-house of the trade guilds or associations. The body of
the building was of timber. The eastern end, or sanctuary, had a little
more pretension to ornament; it was of stone, and the walls were hung with
somewhat handsome tapestry, wrought with symbolic designs.
Few of the party which had accompanied the priest the night before were
prevented by their fatigue from being present. The Britons were always a
devout people, and in Netton their priest had gained such an influence
over them, that they were exceptionally regular in their religious duties.
Carna had been anxious to attend the service, but the priest’s wife—he had
followed the usual practice of the British Church in marrying before
ordination—had absolutely forbidden so unreasonable an exertion. Cedric,
who would otherwise have been present in whatever part of the building was
open to an unbaptized person, was still buried in a profound slumber. The
service was in Latin, a language of which most if not all the worshippers
knew enough to be able to follow the prayers. Such portions of the
Scriptures as were read were accompanied by the priest with occasional
expositions in the British language; and the sermon, except the text,
which was in Latin, and taken from the recently published Vulgate of St.
Jerome, was wholly in that tongue. The preacher’s text was from the
Psalms, “Quomodo dicitis animæ meæ, Transmigra in montem sicut
passer?”(40) and was mostly concerned with the troubles of the time. He
had in an uncommon degree the national gift of eloquence, and stirred the
hearts of his hearers to their inmost depths. He warned them that
troublous times were approaching, such as neither they nor their fathers
had seen were approaching, and that they would have to resist unto blood
for the faith into which they had been baptized.
“Antichrist,” he cried, adapting to the day, as Christian preachers have
done in every age, the language of the apostles—“Antichrist is at hand!
You see him in these heathen hosts who are threatening you on every side;
these Saxon pirates from the east, who are ravaging our shores; these
Pictish ravagers from the north, who every year are penetrating further
and further into the land. Yes,” he added, with a telling reference to the
event of the night before, “and even in apostates of British blood, who
have preserved in your midst the hideous superstitions from which our
ancestors turned to worship the blessed Christ; and as it was in the days
of the blessed Paul, so is it now: ‘He that letteth will let till he be
taken out of the way,’ The Roman power has kept these forces in check, but
it will keep them no more. The time is short. They are gathering every day
in greater strength, and you must gird yourselves to meet them.”
Therefore, he went on, they must be strong and quit them like men. They
must gird on them, and make complete in every point, their spiritual
armour—the helmet of salvation, the sword of the Divine Word, the
all-covering shield of faith; nor must they forget the temporal weapons
with which the outward enemies who assail the body must be met. “He that
hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one,” cried the preacher,
in his final apostrophe to his people, “and he will find that as his day
so shall his strength be, and that the Lord can deliver by few as by many,
Gideon’s three hundred, as by the eight hundred thousand men that drew
sword in Israel.”
Wrought by the eloquence of the orator to an almost incontrollable
excitement, the whole congregation sprang to their feet, as if they were
asking to be led at once to the battle. Then, with a sudden change from
the stirring tone of the trumpet to the sweet music of the flute, the
preacher touched another note. In a pleading voice, almost but never quite
broken with tears, he besought them to cleanse their hearts; he reminded
them that the armies of the Lamb of God must be clothed in the white robe
of righteousness; that purity, tenderness to the weak, charity to the
fallen, were as needed for Christ’s soldiers as steadfastness and courage,
till many a cheek was wet with tears of contrition and repentance.
In the course of the forenoon a fleet-footed messenger was despatched to
Sorbiodunum. By the time he reached that town the Count and his party had
arrived, excepting one who had been left behind, still too exhausted by
his forced march to move. Some, too, had been sent back in the hope that
they might not be too late to rescue the stragglers who had perforce been
left behind during the journey through the snow. As there was now no
immediate necessity of haste, Ælius allowed his followers to rest and
refresh themselves for the remainder of the day at Sorbiodunum. The
following morning he went on to Netton, where he found, to his great
delight, that Carna had apparently suffered no harm from her perilous
adventures. His gratitude to the Saxon was beyond the power of words to
express. Though it somewhat hurt his Roman pride that a barbarian should
ever have the strength to hold out when all others fail, he did not suffer
his vexation to take anything from the hearty warmth of his thanks. Cedric
received them with the courtesy of an equal, a bearing which both Britons
and Italians could not help resenting in their hearts, while they
reluctantly admired his surpassing strength.
Three days were spent in Netton with much comfort to the party, the priest
and his people showing them as liberal an hospitality as their means
admitted, and refusing the recompense which the Count almost forced upon
them.
“Take something for your poor,” said Ælius, when his arguments were
exhausted.
“My people,” answered the priest, “must not lose one of the most precious
privileges of their Christian life, the sweet compulsion of having to
minister to the necessities of those who want their help.”
“Then you cannot refuse some ornament for your church,” the Count went on.
The good man hesitated for a moment. His church was dear to his heart, and
he would gladly have seen it made as fair as art and wealth could make it.
“My lord,” he replied, after his brief hesitation, “in happier times, and
in another place, I would not refuse your generous offer. But now the
poorer we are the better. I should like to see our altar-vessels of gold,
but it would not be well to tempt the barbarians to a deadly sin, and to
expose Christian lives to worse peril than that they now stand in, by such
treasures, of which the report could scarcely fail to be spread abroad.
Our chalices, and flagons, and patens are now of lead, thinly covered for
decency’s sake with silver, and they are of no value to any but those who
use them. No, my lord, leave our church with at least such safety as
poverty can give. But there are places in the world, I would fain believe,
though indeed in these days I scarce know where they are, where Christian
men worship God in security, and where the treasures of the church are
safe from robbery. Let your gift be given there, when you find the
occasion. And if you will let me know the place I shall be happy with
imagining it, without the anxious care of its custody.”
With this answer the Count was compelled to be content, till at least next
morning, by which time Carna’s ready wit had suggested that the priest
could hardly refuse a gift of books.
“My lord,” said the good man, when the Count renewed his offer in its
fresh shape on the following day, “your determined generosity has overcome
me. Books I cannot refuse either for my own sake or my people’s. I
sometimes feel that they are starved, or at the best ill-fed with
spiritual food. I can speak to them of their every-day duties, but I
cannot build them up in their faith for lack of knowledge in myself, and
where is the knowledge to come from? Of books I have none but my Bible and
my Service-book, and two small books of homilies. If I had some of the
commentaries and homilies of the two great doctors of our Church,
Hieronymus(41) and Augustine, I should be well content. I have heard of
the great preacher of Antioch and Constantinople, John the Golden
Mouth,(42) but, alas, I cannot read Greek.”
“You shall have them as soon as they can be got,” said the Count.
In the course of the day the search party sent back from Sorbiodunum
returned. They had found one of the stragglers still alive, and had
brought him on to the village where the first halt had been made. There he
was being carefully tended, but there was no chance of his being restored
to health for many weeks to come. Of the other two they had a terrible
account to give. Only a few mangled remains could be discovered, the poor
creatures having been manifestly devoured by wolves. All that could be
hoped was that they had expired before they were attacked.
The Count had now nothing to detain him, and as he was for many reasons
anxious to be at home, where a multiplicity of duties were awaiting him,
he determined to start on the following day. His route was first to
Sorbiodunum. There he would be on the main road leading to Venta
Belgarum.(43) From Venta, by following another main road he and his party
would make their way easily to the Camp of the Great Harbour.