Away into the forest they went, the seid woman keeping fast hold of
Egwina's hand, and speaking not. Once the maiden thought she heard the
voice of Edward calling, "Egwina! Egwina!" She half paused but Gyda
hurried her on. At last the wicca stopped before a small, low cottage
quite outside the demesne of the royal vill. In answer to her knock, the
door was thrown open and they entered the hut. The inmates, a wite and
his wife, seemed to know the seid woman, and accepted the presence of
Egwina without question.
Gyda did not pause to converse with them, but half carried the drooping
form of the girl into an adjoining room which was evidently used by her
as a bower chamber.
"There, child, lie down," she said, not unkindly. "Spent art thou with
thy exertions, and grief maketh heavy thy heart. Rest, while I prepare
thee hot drink."
The maiden sank on the bed, and gave way to her woe. Soon the wicca
returned with a horn full of steaming liquid.
"Drink!" she commanded, and the maiden drank obediently. "'Tis a potion
that will lull thee to dreamless repose, and woe will sit lightly on thy
pillow."
The eyes of the maiden waxed heavy as the drug took effect, and soon she
sank into a deep sleep. The seid woman bent over her, noting her
fairness exultantly.
"Now shalt thou be to me as mine own child," she murmured. "Happy shalt
thou be, for I will love thee. Always shalt thou be by my side, and even
though the king himself should claim thee, thou shalt not leave me.
Sleep, my pretty one! None shall take thee now from Gyda."
Morning dawned. Egwina awoke from her heavy slumber, and gazed about
her.
"How came I here?" she murmured as she arose. "Methinks it be strange to
me."
"Art thou up, Egwina?" asked the seid woman, entering the room at this
moment. At sight of her the memory of all that had happened came back to
Egwina with a shock. "That is well," continued Gyda. "Breakfast we eat,
and then wend we on our journey."
"Where go we?" asked the maiden, turning from her that she might not see
her emotion.
"To Gunnehilde's in the forest of Selwood," answered Gyda pretending not
to notice Egwina's grief. "Afterward to Athelney, where Alfred gathered
his forces together. There, mayhap, I will acquire new virtue. The Saxon
King is my Flygia. Thou dost not mind returning thither, dost thou?"
"Nay," answered the girl sadly; "it matters not where we wayfare."
"Be not cast down, child," said the woman gently. "Some dark threads are
woven into the woof of each life. All cannot be golden. Thou art young
and soon will thy trouble fall from thee even as the shadow halting
between the light and the darkness passes away into the night. Sorrow
sits not long with the young. Come, let us eat."
Egwina partook mechanically of the food set before her, and then
prepared to follow Gyda on her journey. They proceeded silently, for the
heart of the maiden was heavy, and Gyda, too, seemed weighed down by
some care. At last the seid woman aroused herself, and turned to the
girl:
"Let us beguile the journey by talk, my child. Wouldst thou that I
should read thy rede for thee?"
"Nay, Gyda; I care no more for rede or rune. Dark are the shadows which
they cast, and I would fain be free from their witchery."
"Yet, natheless, give me thy palm. Believe as thou wilt. Belief cometh
not at the bidding; neither doth it depart. Thou believest not; I
believe. Yield, then, thy palm for my pleasure."
Reluctantly the maiden permitted the woman to scan the lines of her
hand. Gyda's troubled look returned as she examined them.
"Dark, dark spreads the near future," she cried. "Bright is the ending,
but, oh, child! thy trouble hath but begun. Would I had left thee with
Alfred. It is not yet too late. Come, let us retrace our steps. Thus
only canst thou avoid the danger."
Egwina shook her head. "No, Gyda; I wish not to return. If danger or
trouble come, I will ask for strength to meet it. Let us on." She
withdrew her palm from Gyda's and started onward.
"But thy life endeth in glory," said Gyda, comfortingly more to herself
than to Egwina. "It endeth in great glory. What doth it matter after all
if we go not back? What hath been woven, hath been woven!" She lapsed
into silence which was broken by her presently: "Child, wouldst thou not
do something for me?"
"Willingly, Gyda, if I can."
"Thou canst if thou wilt." The woman's tone was low, and her manner
almost supplicating.
"What is it, Gyda?"
"Call me no longer Gyda, but mother. Once I had a child, and she would
have been like unto thee had she lived, but Hela took her from me. Wilt
thou, Egwina?"
"I will try," and the girl turned to her in sudden pity, moved by the
yearning in the woman's voice, and laid her hand gently upon her arm.
"Thou wilt?" exclaimed Gyda, joyously. "I will be so good to thee,
child. Thou shalt not regret it. Now sing to me, my daughter! Sing for
thy mother. Often had Gyda heard the echo of thy sweet voice in her
heart. Sing, my pretty one; 'twill cheer both thee and me."
Bravely subduing her own feelings, Egwina sang the songs the woman asked
for, and thus alternately singing and talking, the journey to the hut of
Gunnehilde was at last accomplished. Gyda bade the maiden remain without
the hut, for she feared that the vala would recognize her.
"Stay thou here until my return, my child. Move not from the log where
thou sittest, for thou mightest stray too far into the forest. I go to
consult the vala."
Egwina sat down as the woman bade her. It was some little time ere Gyda
returned. When she did so she seemed deeply stirred and somewhat upset.
"Move quickly," she cried. "Let us to Athelney. It may be that there
Gyda will regain that power which now comes not at her bidding."
Egwina followed after her. A brisk walk soon brought them to the island,
but lo! a great change had taken place. Instead of the fortifications
and rude huts which Alfred had erected during his time of need, there
rose the stately walls of a monastery. With a cry of despair, the wicca
dropped upon the ground.
"What is it?" cried Egwina, coming to her.
"Child, child, I am undone! Seest thou not yon walls? They have taken
the charm from the place. Curses be upon them! No galdra or seid can
flourish in the shadows of such walls."
She moaned in her despair; then from her bosom drew the jewel of Alfred.
"Evil hast thou brought to me instead of good," she exclaimed. "Yet did
not the volva tell me by the fount when the scin-laeca rose from the
grave that jewel of Saxon I must have to complete my knowledge? One of
the line of Cerdic, and from Cerdic came Alfred. Why, then, do I falter?
Why grow the runes dark before me? Gunnehilde hath said that a loss was
coming, and death. Death? No, I defy it! Hela shall not yet have her
prey; I will try the charm despite mone (monk) and priest."
She arose and started across the bridge from the mainland.
"Come," she called to the maiden, who lingered, half terrified by her
manner. Then she turned, and almost ran on the bridge. She had but
reached the middle of it, when her foot slipped and she fell. As she did
so, the jewel dropped from her hand into the water below. With a moan of
anguish the woman lay prone upon the bridge. Egwina hurried to her.
"Art ill?" she asked. "Let me help thee up."
Gyda rose hopelessly. "Fate must be met," she said, with despairing
calmness. "I have had my moan; now will Gyda accept that which Skulda
hath spun for her." She turned to go back to the mainland.
"But wilt thou not go to the island?" asked the girl.
"Nay; 'tis useless. Home now do we wend our way. If Gunnehilde readeth
the runes aright it will not be for long."
In melancholy silence, with no beguiling of the journey by song or talk,
the two wended their way to the woman's home which was in Berkshire. The
life of Egwina now became very different from what it had been. Life at
Alfred's vill had been full of duties and pleasures. Here the seid
woman's time was filled by consultations of bark and fountain, and by
exercises of her art into which she tried to get the girl to join.
Egwina's soul sickened with loathing at sight or sound of magic, and she
resisted all efforts to get her assistance in the rites.
Vainly she strove to lead the woman from the subject, and, remembering
what the abbot had told of the good priest Aldhelm and his singing,
tried by singing Christian hymns to inculcate a longing to hear of the
Christian's God. But Gyda would have none of them.
"Sing them not," she said. "Much doth thy voice please me, but sing not
if they be all that thou canst sing. Galdra doth not flourish where such
songs are sung."
And Egwina ceased singing entirely. As the woman grew more feeble, she
practiced her rites more and more until the house seemed peopled by
demons who waited only a summons to step forth. Her temper, too, became
very uncertain. She loaded Egwina with caresses, and railed at her
alternately. Although she grew thin and pale under this treatment,
Egwina bore patiently with her, for she knew that death was fast
approaching.
"Give me thine arm," said Gyda one day to Egwina. "Hela will sit with me
soon, and I would fain prepare for her coming."
Leaning heavily upon Egwina's shoulder, she went into her room.
"Leave me," she commanded. "I will call thee when I need thee."
Thus adjured, the maiden left her with some uneasiness, for Gyda seemed
much weaker. Long she remained waiting, and hearing no sound became
uneasy, and softly entered the room. Gyda sat before a large box on the
floor fingering lovingly the coins and gems which it contained. So
intent was she that she did not hear the girl enter. Egwina started to
leave the room as quietly as she had entered it, but in so doing she
made a noise which caused the woman to look up. With an exclamation of
rage she sprang to her feet with unwonted vigor, her eyes flaming with
anger.
"How durst thou spy upon me?" she cried in fury. "How durst thou, girl?
Thinkest thou to get the gold now? But thou shalt not."
"Nay, nay, Gyda," began Egwina, soothingly, advancing toward her. "I did
but come to see why thou wert so still."
"Tell me not that thou didst not spy upon me. Thou didst!" and the
enraged woman struck her violently with her staff.
The blow was so sudden and severe that Egwina fell heavily to the floor.
Instantly the woman's anger fled when she saw what she had done, and she
tottered to the girl, her strength leaving her.
"Forgive me, my pretty one! I meant it not. Gyda meant not to harm
thee." But the maiden had fainted.
As soon as she saw this the woman dragged herself back to her treasure,
and restored it to its hiding place. Then again she approached the girl
and hung over her prostrate form, moaning, and strove feebly to revive
her. Presently Egwina recovered consciousness. Gyda caressed her
tenderly.
"My child! My child! I have been cruel to thee. Canst forgive me? Not
much longer shalt thou need to bear with Gyda, for Hela even now
breatheth cold upon my brow."
"I forgive thee, Gyda," said Egwina weakly. "Thou didst not mean to hurt
me. Thou wotted not what thou wert doing."
"No, no; I wotted not. Say, I forgive thee, mother. Give me thy hand and
say it."
Egwina stretched forth her hand and took the woman's gently.
"I forgive thee, mother," she said softly.
With an effort the maiden raised herself, bent over the woman and kissed
her.
"Now lie beside me. Art weak, Egwina?"
"Yes, mother."
"Mayhap Hela will bear thee to Niflheim also," and a triumphant
expression flitted across Gyda's face. "It would glad my heart to have
thee with me there. Shouldst like to die, Egwina?"
"I mind it not, Gyda. Heaven is bright and beautiful, and granther would
be there. Dear granther! We were so happy together! Would I were with
him!"
"Wouldst rather be with him in thy heaven than with me in Niflheim?"
asked the woman, jealously.
"Mind it not, Gyda. He is mine own granther, and he loves me."
"So do I love thee. It groweth dark, Egwina. Lie closer."
Egwina crept close to Gyda, and the woman drew her within her arms.
"Shall I not help thee to thy couch, Gyda?"
"Thou canst not, child. What doth it matter where we meet Hela?"
Then there fell a silence. Weakened by the trying days that had
preceded, the blow seemed to have robbed the girl of all energy, and
soon she fell into a deep sleep.
Suddenly she awakened. The light streamed faintly into the room. Stiff
from long lying, she tried to move, but only did so with much
difficulty. Raising herself on one arm, she turned toward the figure at
her side. Noting how perfectly still Gyda lay, she bent over her and
looked into her face. She was dead.
With a scream of horror, Egwina sprang up. At this instant a man and
woman, attracted by her cry, entered the room. Egwina took a step toward
the woman, then clasping her hands to her head, she reeled and fell an
unconscious heap on the floor.
"'Tis a pity that the jade waxeth sick at this time," a voice broke
rudely upon Egwina's ear one morning as she awoke with the clear light
of reason in her eyes. "Here we but get done wailing for the mother,
when the daughter must be sick also."
"Was she her daughter?" came a man's voice. "I knew not that Gyda had a
daughter, sibbe though we be."
"Do not the neighbors say so?" asked the first voice. "How should she be
here if not her daughter? But now 'tis burthensome for the minx to be
sick."
"Well, see how she doeth. We cannot treat her ill, though but for her,
all of Gyda's treasure would befortune us. Much hath she hidden
somewhere, and when the girl becometh better, mayhap she will tell us
where it be."
"Not she," grumbled the other. Still grumbling the woman approached the
bed where Egwina lay.
"How art thou this morning?" she asked.
"Have I been ill?" The clear eyes of Egwina looked at the woman in
amazement. "Who art thou and why am I here?"
"Who am I? Why Githa, the wife of Sweyn, own cousin to thy mother. Who
else should I be?" asked the woman, who was of surly countenance.
"But I wot not thy meaning. I have no mother; nor have I had sith a
child. Nor have I ever heard of any of that name sibbe to us."
"Odin hear her!" ejaculated the woman. "Dost thou hear that, Sweyn?"
"What?" asked the man.
"The girl doth deny her kith and kin."
"Well, sith she doth, let her deny," returned the man lazily.
"But seest thou not, blockhead, that 'tis to keep us from the money,"
cried the woman angrily.
The man sprang to his feet and entered the room where they were. Egwina
regarded the pair with wonder.
"Art thou not Gyda's daughter?" demanded the man of her.
"Gyda's? No. Why should ye think me the seid woman's daughter?" asked
Egwina in amazement.
"Hast thou not lived here with her always, and then sayest thou that
thou art not her daughter?" the woman exclaimed fiercely. "How now,
maiden?"
"Nay; but I am not her daughter," reiterated Egwina.
"Then how camest thou here? The neighbors say that thou wert here for
weeks, and that Gyda called thee daughter. Thou didst call her mother!"
"True; but it was to please her that I called her thus. Her own child
died, and she yearned for love as age crept upon her. Hence she took me
to dwell with her."
"And so thou art not Gyda's daughter?" cried the woman.
Egwina shook her head.
"Then thou hast no claim to gold or gem that may be found?" said the
woman quickly.
"None," said Egwina briefly.
"Tell us where she kept them hidden," cried the man.
"I know not," replied the maiden. "I only know that the day she died,"
and a strong shudder shook her frame at the remembrance, "I came upon
her as she did count some gold from a box. Did ye not see it when ye
came into the room?"
"Was it the room where we found ye together?" asked the man.
"Yes."
"And thou has not seen aught but that?" queried he.
"Naught but that," replied the girl, wearily.
"Then what doest thou here?" The woman looked so fierce that the maiden
trembled.
"Wife, she cannot go now. If she be not Gyda's child, we care not if she
stay until she be well. We will have it all," spoke the man.
"Yea; I will go as soon as I am able," cried Egwina. "Prithee let me
stay until then. 'Twill be but a little longer!"
Reluctantly the woman consented.