When Egwina recovered consciousness, two priests were bending over her.
The Danes were gone, and only the pitying faces of the presbyters were
in sight. Half dazed, she stared at them stupidly, and then, as her eyes
fell upon the body of Wulfhere, the remembrance of what had happened
returned with full force.
"Granther! Oh, granther!" she sobbed. One of the priests leaned over
her, and lifted her up gently.
"Daughter, be comforted. He is at rest. No longer is he beset by Dane or
foe of any kind. Calm thy grief, and be with us while we give him
Christian burial. Our time is short, and we know not how soon the pagans
will return. That thou wert left alive is a mercy of God."
Egwina controlled herself by a great effort. The priests, taking turns,
dug a grave with Wulfhere's seax. Then they approached the remains. With
loving hands, the maiden herself re-arranged the garments of the dead
man, taking the bag of valuables from his person.
"Take this for the soul sceat," she said, giving it into the hands of
the priests.
"But, daughter, it is too much," and the priests looked at each other,
wondering at the amount. "Keep part for thine own use."
"I want it not," answered she, weeping softly. "Let it bring him as many
prayers as it will, good fathers."
Reverently the body was laid within the excavation, and then Egwina
brought his harp.
"Bury it with him," she said.
"Nay, daughter; it savors too much of heathenism," said one much
scandalized. "Do not the pagans so, and the bard was a Christian?"
"True," said the girl through her tears. "True, good fathers, but
granther loved it so. I could not bear that other than he should use it.
And if it so be, as ye tell us, that we will sing praises in the
heavenly land then will he have need of it."
The priests were touched, yet still they hesitated. It savored so much
of the heathenish custom of the Danes they were loth to consent to the
act; yet did they mislike to deprive the maiden of this small comfort.
"See," said the girl showing them the mutilated strings. "When they
would have taken it from him to use it in praise of Guthrum, he cut the
strings rather than have it so defiled. If the harp be left, we wot not
but that some of the Northmen may find it and use it. Grandfather could
not rest if that were to happen. Always it hath been with him. It was
his friend, his glee-beam. I know that he will be lonely without it."
"Brother," said one to the other, "what sayest thou?"
"Do as the child wisheth," replied the second one. "It will comfort her,
and doth not bewray the church at such a time. Besides 'twere pity that
the Northman should get the harp sith the bard hath given his life so
nobly."
So, to Egwina's relief, the harp was interred with the gleeman. Prayers
were said over the grave, and then the priests turned to the girl.
"Now, daughter, respect hath been shown to the dead, and now is our duty
to the living. Whither goest thou? Where are thy friends?"
"Alack!" returned she, bravely checking her tears, "I wot not. None but
granther did I have."
"But were ye not under some lord's hand?"
"Nay, ye know the custom of the wandering gleemen. From mead hall to
mead hall did we go, and we have always done so. At Chippenham, we came
to put ourselves under the hand of the king for fear of the Danes; but
now--"
"Now," said the elder priest, "thou art like others of people and
priests. No friends, no home; thou hast nowhere to go. God help and
comfort thee and us in our affliction."
"We would best take her to the abbess Hilda at the priory," said the
second one.
"Yea; we will take her there, brother, though thou wottest that it may
not be safe for the maiden. Even Christ's altar is not safe from the
defilement of these pagans. Methinks they are fiercer towards priests
and monks, and ravage the churches and convents with greater fury than
elsewhere, if that be possible where no mercy is shown to any. But eat
and drink, child. Thou art weary."
For Egwina suddenly felt spent and faint. A sense of forlornness that
she was unable to control was taking possession of her.
"I feel no desire for food, holy father," she said weakly.
"Natheless thou must eat, daughter. Keep up thy heart. Be not troubled
or concerned for thyself. Thou art in God's hands. Whatever he sends is
for the best. Eat these."
He took from the pouch which he carried under his chasuble some barley
cakes, and Egwina ate of them obediently. When she had finished they
took up their staffs, and declared themselves ready to take her to the
priory. Thus did they journey.
It was late in the day when the priests joyously announced to the maiden
that there was but little further to go.
"Then shalt thou find peace and rest for thy weariness, child," said
they comfortingly to her.
But as they drew near to the building, their ears were greeted with
cries and screams of terror.
"The Northmen!" ejaculated the priests with pale faces. "Stay thou here,
daughter, while we see if aught can be done."
They went forward, leaving Egwina in the copse. Time passed. The priests
did not return, and finally, unable to endure the suspense longer, the
girl crept forward.
In an open glade of the forest stood the priory. Egwina's
terror-stricken eyes saw naught but the forms of the slaughtered nuns
whose bodies lay everywhere in the courtyard, and even beyond it. In
front of the gates were the corpses of her two late companions--the
priests.
A party of the Northmen were busied in carrying out the treasures of the
priory ere setting fire to the building. The girl gazed on the scene
with horror. Was there no safety, no retreat from these barbarians
anywhere? Her blood congealed in her veins. A numbness of despair crept
over her. Forgetting that she might be heard, a gasping cry escaped her
lips. Some of the Danes paused in their work to listen.
"Heard ye not a sound?" asked one.
"'Twas naught," responded another impassively, as he placed some golden
vessels on the ground. "Didst thou think that a nun had escaped? By
Odin, no! Careful were we that not one should live to say mass."
"Many masses have we sung under Guthrum," laughed another. "But a short
time and no priest, monk, or nun shall be left of all the English.
Joyously doth the death cry of such fall upon my ear. No music is
sweeter than the prayer that priest or nun utter at the point of the
sword."
The conversation roused the girl from the stupor into which she was
falling. With an effort she shook off the lethargy that was numbing her
faculties, and stole away into the wold. When out of hearing of the
Norsemen, she broke into a run, and did not stop until forced by sheer
exhaustion to do so.
Deep into the wood had she penetrated. There was no sound save the
sighing of the wind through the leafless boughs. Where should she go?
What should she do? She knew not. On every side was the Dane. No safe
shelter was to be found in hut or abbey, even if she had known where to
go to find either. In the wold lurked the wild beasts, and the chill of
the winter. Death was on every hand. If not from the Dane, then from
cold or brute of the forest.
In agony of mind she buried her face in her hands and groaned aloud.
The sun set and the twilight threw among the trees long, dark shadows
that caused the girl to cower in fear.
"Blessed Heaven aid me," was her agonized appeal, "for I know not what
to do."
Even as she strove to find comfort in prayer there sounded upon the air
the dismal howl of a wolf. It was answered by another and then another
until the whole forest resounded with their yells.
Egwina bounded to her feet, her heart beating wildly, her eyes dilated
with terror. Now she could hear the soft pat, pat of their feet as they
came closer, and soon the bushes round about seemed filled with a
thousand gleaming eyes. With an energy born of despair, the girl began
to climb the tree under which she had been crouching.
It was an oak with low-spreading branches. Into these she clambered and
ensconced herself on one of the boughs. It was not a moment too soon.
Snarling and howling, emboldened by the shadow of the deepening
twilight, a whole pack bounded into the space under the tree. The girl
clung desperately to the bough, watching in terror the attempts of the
animals to reach her, and shuddering at the glare of their ferocious
eyes.
[Illustration: _SHE BEGAN STRIKING THE CYMBALS TOGETHER._]
One, bolder than the rest, made a great spring and narrowly escaped
touching one of the lower branches.
Egwina started with fear and the start jarred the cymbals that were
attached to the chain worn across her shoulder and breast. The
instruments gave forth a musical sound. Instantly the tumult below
ceased. The wolves fell back and looked up inquiringly. Hope arose in
the girl's heart.
Passing one of her arms around the branch to keep herself from falling,
she grasped the cymbals and began striking them together. The effect was
magical. The animals settled themselves on their haunches to enjoy the
music.
Never had she performed to so attentive an audience and never had she
done so well. On and on she played until her arms ached, and she would
fain have stopped but that at the least cessation of the music the
wolves began their leaping and snarling again.
It grew darker and darker. The shadowy outlines of their bodies became
indistinct and at last melted into the darkness, and only the fiery
gleam of their eyes told the girl that they were still below.
Would she be obliged to pass the night thus? she asked herself. Could
she hold out until morning, or would she become so wearied that she
would finally lose her hold and fall into that savage pack? Resolutely
she put such thoughts from her, for they took the courage out of her
heart and sapped the strength of her body.
How long she played she did not know, but after what seemed to her a
very long time she heard the winding of a horn drawing near. Presently
through the woods came the flickering glow of torches.
With a cry of gladness Egwina called loudly:
"For the love of Heaven, who ever ye be, succor me, I pray you."
"What have we here?" shouted a voice in reply, and a man ran forward.
"Where are ye that called?"
"Here, here!" cried the girl joyfully. "In the tree."
The wolves, as the music ceased, began howling again, and, as a party of
men with dogs dashed among them, attacking them with clubs, the most of
the pack took to their heels, while the remaining few ceased their yells
and in sullen silence let the ceorls club them to death. As the last one
was dispatched, the trembling girl descended from the tree. No sooner
had she reached the ground than she fell into a passion of weeping.
"There! there!" said one with gruff kindness. "Thou art safe now. The
wolves cannot harm thee."
But nature had been too severely tried, and Egwina sobbed on. The
ceorls, seeing that she could not control herself, wisely left her
alone, and presently when her sobs had subsided she looked up.
"'Tis unmannerly, I wot," she said sweetly, "but I could not keep back
the tears. I thank ye all for your kindness. Had ye not come when ye
did, I fear that I should not have held out much longer."
"Fleest thou from the Dane?" asked one.
The girl nodded, her heart swelling at the thought of her grandfather,
and then she told them of the attack on the palace at Chippenham and all
that had followed.
The men listened in silence until she had finished, and then one said,
"Where is the king? What hath become of him?"
"I know not," answered Egwina. "I trow that he liveth, for when granther
and I rested in one of the villages, his messenger of war passed
through. But the Saxons would not hearken to the summons."
"Sayest thou so?" exclaimed he who seemed to be the spokesman. "Sayest
thou so? Then, are we in sore straits in sooth. Alfred is a wise king
and would drive out the Dane if the Saxons would follow him. But what is
the throne without men? Of himself he can do naught. Evil hath surely
come on the land. But thou art cold, little one!"
Egwina was in truth very cold. She trembled in every limb for she was
chilled to the marrow and faint from weakness.
The ceorl wrapped her in his mantle and lifted her in his arms.
"Nay," he said with good-natured raillery as she remonstrated; "a Saxon
maiden who can keep a whole pack of wolves enthralled by her music must
be treated gently."
The others laughingly assented and thus was the girl borne to the
ceorl's home.