Under AEthelwulf, Alfred's father, Winchester had become the chief city
of England; for while the other kingdoms went down before the Northern
pirates, Wessex still stood its ground. It was farther off from the main
points of attack, and had the incalculable advantage of a succession of
capable kings: Egbert, AEthelwulf, and--at the time of our
story--Alfred.
As the Danish invasion pressed more and more, Wessex grew to be the
champion of all the other kingdoms of England. For the ruin of the north
made it the sole remaining home of the civilized life of the land.
Happily for Wessex and for England, the greatest of English kings
succeeded to the throne at the most critical moment.
The six years that Alfred had sat upon the throne had been troubled and
restless. During the first year, nine pitched battles were fought with
the Danes. Then Alfred was forced to pay to the Northmen money for
peace, for the invaders occupied all of Northumbria, Mercia, and East
Anglia, and the West Saxons, deeming the struggle hopeless, and fearful
of being brought under their rule, responded no longer to the call to
battle.
For a short time Wessex was left undisturbed. During this interval the
indefatigable Alfred builded ships and met the pirates upon the sea,
defeating them on their own element. In 876 the peace was broken with
that facility which characterized the breaking of Danish oaths, and it
was not until the beginning of the year 877, the time of our story, that
peace was again restored.
In that forest, before spoken of, just beyond a circular chalk down
later called St. Catherine's hill--where the valley was at the narrowest
and the downs sloped gently to the little river of Ichen, stood
Winchester. In the time of the Roman, a main thoroughfare, still the
High Street of the city, bisected it from East Gate to West Gate. At
right angles with that street ran a main intersecting road from South
Gate to North Gate. The West Saxon kings did but follow the lead of the
Roman in retaining this division of the town, and, up the rising ground
towards the west on either side of the ancient Roman road from the
eastward gate, the houses of the citizens were clustered into a street;
with here and there a stone-built dwelling, and the rest of "wattle and
dab" construction. In the southeastern part of the town stood the
minster of St. Swithen strongly inclosed, and protected on the north by
the river and marsh lands. Near this convent stood the royal vill, from
which place emanated all those plans against the encroachments of the
Danes, the school of justice and learning, and the bulwark of England's
defense. Near the palace were the dwellings of the bishop and his
clergy; the residence of the wicgerefa, which was near the site of the
courts of justice, and in the centre of the town was the market with its
cross.
The day after the one on which the events narrated in the last chapter
had taken place, a busy scene was presented in the market. Merchandise
of all sorts was exposed for sale. Stalwart Saxons, called reeves, with
the badge of the king's authority upon them, had charge of the
steelyards, yard measures, and bushels, and were kept busy weighing and
measuring that each might receive his just due, and the sale be legal
according to the doom of the land. It was the endeavor on the part of
the authorities to confine all bargaining as much as possible to towns
and walled places, so that the people might be assured of fair dealing,
and a warranty of what the Saxon laws called unlying witnesses.
Yet not all the citizens were occupied in trade, nor was all the market
given up to traffic. On one side, quite away from the stalls, two
circular spaces were set apart; one for bear, the other for bull
baiting. Closer to the stalls, yet not so near as to detract from the
business of the mart, some gleemen were exercising their art. One
dexterous juggler threw three knives and three balls alternately in the
air, catching them one by one as they fell.
Another, a short distance from the juggler, was gravely leading a great
bear to dance on its hind legs, while his coadjutor kept time on the
flageolet. Around each of these amusements was gathered the crowd that
in every clime or age such things attract.
The merriment was at its height when from the upper end of the market
appeared two figures that quietly stationed themselves near one of the
stalls. It was Egwina and her grandfather. During a momentary lull the
old gleeman struck his harp, and together he and his grandchild lifted
up their voices in song.
The excellence of the music, for Wulfhere was a skillful harper, the
sweetness of the song, and above all the wonderful beauty of the maiden,
drew all eyes in that direction. There was a murmur of approval, and the
crowd surged toward them, and gathered round the two, leaving the
coarser attractions of baiting and juggling for the more refined ones of
melody and beauty.
"Marry!" ejaculated the juggler in disgust as he found himself forsaken.
"'Twere unmannerly thus to make one forego his craft."
"Be not disheartened, friend," said he with the dancing bear as he
chained the animal, and quietly stretched himself out on some straw.
"Fickle is the mind of man. Make use of thy leisure while thou mayst.
'Twill be but a short time ere they will come again."
"Quotha! but the gifts will be showered upon the maiden. And, fair
though she be, AElfric would gather them to his own hoard." And he gazed
moodily at the crowd which surrounded the harper and the maiden.
Song followed song in quick succession, for the Saxons loved to hear of
the brave deeds of the heroes of old, until at last Wulfhere declared
himself unable to sing longer, and, laden with gifts, the two slowly
wended their way from the city. Vainly did the juggler await the return
of an audience. The balls and knives seemed to have lost their charm for
the people, and, muttering anathemas upon the ministrel and his
daughter, he, too, left Winchester, but in disgust.
"Well have we done, Egwina," said Wulfhere, pausing when they were some
little distance from the town, to conceal the gold and other gifts about
his person. "Truly, Winchester is worthily called the first city of the
Saxons. Kingly hath it proven itself to be. Were it not that I fear the
Dane, beshrew me if I would ask aught better than to dwell therein."
"But why could we not, grandfather? Then might it be that we could
behold again the youth and the maiden whom we met in the forest. Didst
thou see aught of them?"
"No, child; and let not thy heart dwell upon them. Not long are nobles
mindful of their words. Whilst thou may be in favor to-day, the morrow
doth full oft bring unkindness."
"But the maiden, Ethelfleda, her brother called her, seemed not like one
to forget," and Egwina twirled the sapphire ring upon her finger. "She
spake as though there were truth and well-meaning in her words."
"And so there were for the time," answered Wulfhere; "but well-a-day!
she is young, and the young learn easily the lesson of forgetfulness."
"Why could we not live in Winchester?" asked the girl after a moment's
silence. "Methinks that we could find some thegn to take us under his
mund. Why, grandfather, is not that the city where the king abideth?"
She stopped short, and half turned as though to return to the town.
Wulfhere smiled.
"The king hath already sought the palace at Chippenham," he said.
"Wottest thou not that by the doom of the witan he cannot dwell all the
year in one burgh only? And I wish not to seek the protection of any
lord but him in these troublesome times. Alfred hath shown himself able
to cope with the invader, and there is surety nowhere else for life and
limb. 'Tis for thy weal, child, that I fear, and to none but him will I
commend thee. Besides, to whom but the king doth the protection of the
wanderer belong?"
Egwina turned with a half sigh, for deep down in her heart lurked the
wish to see again the noble maiden and the youth who had spoken so
kindly to them the day before, and in leaving Winchester she felt that
she left also the probability of seeing them once more. But unquestioned
obedience from child to parent was the rule in those days, and so
without further remark she trudged on, varying the monotony of the
journey by frequent blasts of the horn. Presently the mellow notes of
another horn floated to their ears. Wulfhere glanced back over his
shoulder.
"Behold, another cometh," he said. "Stop, Egwina! If he choose to bear
us company, the way will not seem so long."
They waited for him, and soon the juggler came up with them.
"Whither away, my merry man?" cried Wulfhere heartily, as the gleeman
approached. "Brothers we be of the same craft. Therefore, if it seems
good to thee, let us bear each other company."
The juggler hesitated a moment, and then answered:
"Willing am I for a short while at least; if it so be that the girl will
wind the horn while thou and I talk by the way."
"With right good-will will she do so," answered the harper. "'Tis as
easily wound for three as for two, and always doth she wind it to save
me the toil. Wulfhere is not what he once was!"
"Wulfhere is thy name?" questioned the other, fixing his glittering eyes
upon the maiden with such a look that she shrank from it, and crept
close to the side of her grandsire. "AElfric am I called in East Anglia,
which is my home; but the Danes have driven us from our houses, or
pressed into slavery our people, and I fled into Wessex for safety."
"Brothers we be in craft, and sibbe also in the fact that we flee from
the Dane," remarked Wulfhere. "Fearful is the pirate who hath so
ruthlessly destroyed the homes and laid waste the land of our people."
"Whither art thou going?" queried AElfric.
"North into Berkshire and from thence into Wiltshire," answered the old
man.
"Then together can we journey but a short distance, for on the morrow
our paths must be sundered, as I go into Kent. But while our roads are
one tell me of the deeds which the Northmen have done of which thou
thyself wottest, and I in turn will tell thee that which hath happened
to me."
Then, with emotion, did Wulfhere tell of his grief in the death of his
grandson, Siegbert.
"And I," said AElfric, after he had expressed his sympathy, "abode in
Thetford of East Anglia at the house of Eldred the thegn, and was the
chief of his gleemen. None was so honored as I, and the heart of my lord
clave unto me with love. Alack! the Northman fell upon us, and I wot not
whether my lord be living or dead. I fled from the foe. When I was far
distant, I looked back, and behold the manor was in flames."
"Didst thou not fight for thy lord?" queried Wulfhere in amazement.
"Nay; why should I risk life in vain? Naught would it have availed him.
I myself would have been slain, so I fled."
"It was not the old custom," remarked the elder Saxon, "thus to abandon
one's lord. 'Twere shame to live were he slain."
"Times are not as they once were," returned AElfric hastily, avoiding
the glance of the harper. "Custom hath changed, and, I trow, for the
better. Beautiful is thy ring, maiden! Where gottest thou it?"
"'Twas a gift," returned Egwina, as she allowed the man to examine the
jewel, shrinking from his touch as she did so, for she liked not his
appearance.
"A gift? I'll warrant that thou and thy grandfather have many such?" And
there was envy and avarice in the juggler's look.
"There be many--" began Egwina, when Wulfhere interrupted her:
"Wind thy horn, child, a little distance from us that our talk be not
disturbed by the sound."
Obediently the girl ran ahead a little, and Wulfhere resumed the
conversation with AElfric concerning the atrocities committed by the
Danes. The shades of evening were falling when at last the ministrel
called to the girl:
"Child, is not that a monastery that looms in the distance?"
"Yes, granther," and Egwina ran to his side.
"Then there will we abide. Long have we wayfared, and wearied am I by
the journey. Though the priests may not hearken to song, or story, or
glee-beam, yet will they shelter us for the night."
Quickening their steps they entered the courtyard of the convent, which
was a low building of timber, fortified by a wall.
The dwellings of the Anglo-Saxons with the exception of a few great
nobles, were simple in the extreme. Yet simple as were their abodes, the
monasteries were handsome, and great wealth and possessions were held by
the church. Despite all this, learning was at the very lowest ebb, so
much so that when Alfred was atheling, and desired to learn Latin, he
could find no one in all his father's kingdom capable of teaching him.
There were no inns in England at this time, and all travelers, whether
on business or pleasure, were entertained by the convents.
Wulfhere, AElfric, and Egwina were welcomed by the monks and refreshed
by the bath, for the Saxons were a cleanly people, and fond of bathing;
then were they called into a long, low hall, the refectory or
dining-room, and invited to partake of supper. Cakes of barley, fish,
swine flesh, milk, eggs, and cheese, with plenty of mead to wash it
down, constituted the repast; for even the priests of this hardy race
were hearty eaters and fond of good cheer.
The meat was passed round on spits, and each one cut a portion for
himself with his knife, and then ate it, using the fingers to convey the
food to the mouth, as there were no forks.
After the meal, all gathered round the fire which was built in the
centre of the room, the smoke escaping through a hole or cover in the
roof.
"It is forbidden us to listen to the songs of the people," said the
abbot addressing Wulfhere, "but mayhap thou canst sing to us the songs
of the Church."
"Nay, good father," answered Wulfhere, "I am not skilled in sacred
song."
"Cannot thy daughter sing them?" asked the abbot. "Truly it were ill if
so fair a flower should know naught of the songs of the Faith."
"I know not," replied Wulfhere in perplexity.
"There is one that I know," interrupted Egwina, softly. "It was one that
my mother sang."
"Let us hear it, daughter," said the abbot.
Without hesitation, Egwina then sang the "Crist" of Cynewulf.
"It was well sung," commented the abbot, after Egwina had concluded.
"Sweet is it to Him when the voice of youth sounds His praises. Knowest
thou no more, my child?"
"Nay, I know none other," answered Egwina.
"Thou must not think ill of us, father," spoke the harper hastily, "that
we wot not of these things. Our aim is to please the people, and the
mead hall cares but for the song of the warrior or of glory."
"True," answered the abbot, "yet Aldhelm used thy art to advantage. Hast
thou not heard how the good priest stood on the bridge of Malmesbury,
where the ministrels were wont to stand, because the people would not
come to worship, and there did he sing of war and the heroes, until
attracted by the sweetness of his voice, he had gained their attention?
Then did he change the words, and sing to them of the Holy One and the
blessed Virgin. In which manner many were instructed in our sacred
religion and brought to the Church."
"Sayest thou so, good father?" broke in AElfric, the juggler. "Marry!
but well would it please me to hear such songs! Canst thou or thy monks
sing for us any of the songs that he sang?"
"There is one, brother, which is food for reflection. That we will sing
thee, and then after the Te Deum. Then shall ye tell us if aught hath
happened recently from the Dane."
Without further ado, the monks began singing the following dismal dirge,
the brief metre sounding abruptly on the ear with a measured stroke like
the passing bell:
"For thee was a house built ere thou wert born,
For thee was a mold shapen ere thou of thy mother camest.
Its height is not determined, nor its depth measured;
Nor is it closed up, however long it may be, until I thee bring
where thou shalt remain;
Until I shall measure thee, and the sod of the earth.
Thy house is not highly built; it is not unhigh and low.
When thou art in it, the heel ways are low, the side ways
unhigh.
The roof is built thy breast full high;
So thou shalt in earth dwell full cold, dim, and dark.
Doorless is that house, and dark it is within.
There thou art fast detained, and Death holds the key.
Loathly is that earth house, and grim to dwell in.
There thou shalt dwell, and worms shall share thee.
Thus thou art laid, and leavest thy friends.
Thou hast no friend that will come to thee,
Who will ever inquire how that house liketh thee.
Who shall ever open for thee the door, and seek thee;
For soon thou becomest loathly and hateful to look upon."
"The saints guard us!" ejaculated AElfric, crossing himself devoutly. "I
like not thy song, father, and if it were with songs like that, it
marvels me much how thy Aldhelm should draw the people to hear him.
Quotha! my flesh creepeth to think of it! Doth not thine, Friend
Harper?"
Wulfhere's face was inscrutable, and he made no reply for, Saxon-like,
he scorned to show that the picture held any dread for him.
"It is indeed gloomy to think upon, son," said the abbot, "if that were
all of death; but the religion of our Saviour hath robbed the grave of
its terrors. We know that the soul is beyond, and what matters the
body?"
"A truce to such talk," cried AElfric. "Give us the Te Deum, priest. I
like not to think on such things."
"It shall be as thou wishest, though much I mislike to leave the subject
as I perceive that thou art ungodly."
Then all joined in the sublime, unmetrical Te Deum.
"Did thy priest but sing that," burst from the juggler, "I would wonder
not at the people listening to him."
The abbot smiled, well pleased.
"Thy heart is not altogether hardened, son, if it be touched by the
hymn," he said. "Mayhap thou wilt be willing yet to talk with me."
After more singing, the conversation turned upon the Danes, and the
probability of a fresh outbreak discussed. The hour was late when the
abbot, noting that Egwina's eyes were heavy and that it was with
difficulty she kept awake, arose.
"To bed! to bed! See ye not that the maiden is aweary?"
So saying he conducted them to the guest house, a building in the
courtyard but without the convent proper, and soon quiet reigned over
the monastery.