The brother of Gunnehilde, Anlaf the black, had been one of the
servitors of Guthrum. The king had parceled out among those of his
retainers who had chosen to remain with him the lands and manors of East
Anglia. Many of the wild and courageous spirits, rebelling at the
restraints of a peaceful life, had retired from the coasts of Britain,
seeking other fields of adventure and prowess. To these also the fact
that Guthrum and many of his jarls had embraced Christianity proved
galling, and so many were the manors and broad the fields assigned to
those who remained. The Saxon inhabitants either submitted to their
rule, and became subjects of the Danish king, or else retired into
Wessex or southern Mercia.
To Thetford, the capital and largest city of East Anglia, was Egwina
taken. Large and extensive forests surrounded the town. Just in the edge
of the woods was an open glade in which was the house where dwelt Anlaf
the black. In the near distance could be seen the royal vill of Guthrum
or Athelstan.
The family consisted of but two members. Anlaf himself and his wife.
They received the maiden with hospitality and reverence, for Egwina
found that even here the greatness predicted for her by Gunnehilde had
its effect. The wife of Anlaf would not permit her to assist her in her
household duties, and the maiden soon found that, deprived of all
employment, time began to hang heavily upon her hands.
Chafing at her idleness, she began to wander in the woodland near the
house, observing the caution that had been given her of not straying too
far away for fear of the wolves or bears with which the forest was
filled. One afternoon, she had walked somewhat farther than usual, and,
feeling the need of rest, flung herself down upon the sward under the
spreading branches of an oak tree. She had lain so but a short while
when she heard voices.
Out from among the trees there came the figures of two persons: a young
man, very fair, and to all appearances a Saxon, and a girl, a Dane.
Egwina sat up and surveyed the two with some curiosity which was
reciprocated by the man and the girl, for they stopped and looked at her
with surprise.
"Come, Siegbert," said the Danish girl, "let us advance and see who the
maiden is." She started forward as she spoke, and the young man, called
Siegbert, supported her form carefully.
Egwina rose, and awaited their coming, rejoicing in the fact that she
was at last going to meet with some young folk near her own age.
"Why, it is the skald maiden!" exclaimed the Danish girl, as she drew
near to the Saxon maiden.
"Hilda, daughter of Guthrum!" exclaimed Egwina in turn.
"Yes; it is Hilda. What dost thou here?" cried the king's daughter. "I
thought that thou wert skald maiden to King Alfred? Thou wert with him
when he entered the camp at Westbury."
"True," answered Egwina, briefly. "Gleemaidens as well as gleemen are in
many places. To-day they serve one lord; to-morrow they chant the
praises of another."
"Sit we down," commanded the Danish girl imperiously. "Much doth it tire
me to stand, and I would talk with thee."
The young man spread a mantle upon the sward, and Hilda sank down upon
it. Egwina resumed her seat, looking at the Saxon attendant as she did
so. Well worthy of attention was he.
He carried himself nobly; his form was strong, muscular, and
symmetrically developed. His face was marvelously beautiful, but the
eyes caught and held the gaze. Deep blue were they, and full of
unfathomable sorrow, yet full also of that strength which is
self-conscious of power. His bearing toward the Danish maiden was tender
in the extreme.
He bore her pettishness and imperiousness not as a slave, but
indulgently as one bears the caprices of a loved child. Again and again
Egwina found her glance wandering to his face, and she caught herself
listening to his voice as he spoke to Hilda, with a strange throb of the
heart.
"Lean against me, Hilda," he was saying. "Then thou wilt not be so
tired."
"It is better," admitted Hilda, leaning contentedly against his broad
chest. "Now tell me, maiden. Art thou wandering through Danelagh, or
what dost thou here?"
"Nay; I wander no more," answered Egwina. "Here in East Anglia do I
abide for a time only. I wot not when I shall go hence, but methinks it
will not be long. Hast thou trouble again with thy knee?"
"No; didst thou not know that thy King Alfred did cure me? No longer do
I suffer from my knee, but hot and sharp is the pain here," and she laid
her hand on her breast. "I would that I knew more of that Cuthbert of
whom the king told me. And he was afflicted even as I with the lameness
of the knee. Prithee, maiden, dost thou know aught of him?"
"Only that he was an holy and an austere man; the bishop of
Lindisfarne," replied Egwina. "Many miracles have been wrought by his
tomb, and many did he perform himself."
"Oh, that I might visit his tomb!" exclaimed the Danish girl, fervently.
"I wish not to die yet. I am so young, so young!" She burst into a
passion of weeping.
Siegbert drew her to him, and gently stroked her hair.
"But are there no leeches, no remedies?" cried Egwina, her heart full of
sympathy for the girl.
"Everything hath been tried," said Siegbert, and again Egwina felt that
strange throbbing of the heart as he spake. "Everything; but Hilda
thinketh that nothing will cure her save a visit to the tomb of
Cuthbert."
"Then why doth she not go?" asked Egwina. "Could she not be taken
there?"
"No, maiden." The Saxon's voice was grave. "When the Danes spread over
the country, destroying the monasteries, Cuthbert's remains were taken
up and carried away by the monks when they fled. Now, none know where
they be."
"I feel sure that King Alfred will know," cried Egwina. "He hath rebuilt
the monasteries, and oh! I know that he will know."
"Thinkest thou so?" cried Hilda with eagerness. "I will tell my father
and he will send to the king."
She sat up, and seemed much better and stronger for the hope that was
infused into her.
"Hadst thou not better return now, Hilda?" asked Siegbert. "Thou hast
stayed out long enow for one day."
"Nay, I would talk more with the maiden," returned Hilda. "So soon as I
return will I get my father to send bode to King Alfred to ask of him
where lie the bones of Cuthbert. Maiden, believest thou in runes of the
volva?"
Egwina shook her head.
"The runes tell me of speedy death," said Hilda.
"But, Hilda, thou wert baptized with thy father," chid Egwina. "Thou
canst not now believe in runes, or any of the seid of the volva."
"Do not the Saxons?" inquired Hilda. "I have heard that even they who
hold belief in Christianity consult the Morthwyrtha by fount and elm and
scin-laeca."
Egwina winced, but answered bravely: "Too true, Hilda. Many of our
people do so deal with such pagan ideas, but it is forbidden by priest
and our most holy religion. I have heard it said that some worship still
the old gods, despite word of king or monk."
"But why forsook they the olden gods?" cried the Danish girl. "I like
not the Saxon God. In what is He better than Odin? Whom can ye give us
in place of our beautiful Baldur the glorious? 'Worship the Saxon God,'
is the command that hath gone forth from my father, and the people obey
because he hath said; but still do they cling to Odin, and Thor, and
Baldur. Once as we worship, so did ye. Why did ye change?"
"Hast thou not heard how the good Pope Gregory sent the priests to
Britain?" asked Egwina.
"No; tell me," and Hilda, leaned back comfortably against Siegbert. "If
I am to worship in this new religion I wish to know of it; but little do
I care for aught of it save Cuthbert."
"Wottest thou not that often men of our island have been sold as serfs
into other countries?" asked Egwina.
"Yes; as it hath been with ye in that respect, so hath it been with us."
"Well, at one time in the city of Rome there were some men from our
island to be sold as serfs. While they stood in the market place, Pope
Gregory of blessed memory was passing by. He was a simple priest then,
but afterward became pope. Being attracted by the exceeding fairness of
the men, he stopped.
"'From what country come ye?' he asked. They replied that they were
'Angles.' 'Angles! Ye should be angels! Are ye Christians,' said the
holy man, 'or heathens?' 'Certainly not Christians,' said they, 'for no
one hath opened our ears.' Then the holy man, lifting up his eyes,
replied, 'What man, when there are stones at hand, layeth a foundation
with reeds?' They answered, 'No man of prudence.' 'Ye have well said,'
said he, and straightway did he take them to his own house and instruct
them in the divine oracles, and arrange with them that he should go into
their country to carry the holy religion.
"When the people heard of it they made a great outcry, for he was a holy
man, much noted for good works and well-beloved. So the pope would not
let him go, and it became his hope that some day the gospel should be
taken into our land. When he became pope, he at once sent St. Augustine,
a holy man, with a multitude of priests, and thus did they change our
forefathers into Christians."
"What said they?" inquired the Danish girl. "How could they turn them
from the old gods? Methinks that I should like to know what was said."
"Dear Hilda," and Egwina looked distressed, "I would that there was some
one that thou couldst question aside from me. I know so little; I only
know that I believe. I would that King Alfred were here! He could tell
thee all that thou askest."
"But dost thou not know somewhat of what passed between them?" asked the
girl impatiently. "Methinks that were my people to change so, I would
know wherefore it was done. Bethink thee! Dost thou not remember
something of it?"
"Methinks," said the Saxon maid, musingly, "that I have heard that which
passed between them, but, Hilda, I cannot tell thee what it was. It hath
been custom so long for our people to be Christian that they no longer
question the whyfore."
"I can tell thee, Hilda," spake Siegbert, in his deep musical voice.
"The king and his thegns were debating the old and the new religions in
the witan, when a thegn arose and said: 'Thou dost remember, it may be,
O king, that which sometimes happens in winter, when thou art seated at
table with gesiths and thegns. Thy fire is lighted and thy hall warmed,
and without is rain and snow and storm. Then comes a swallow flying
across the hall. He enters by one door and leaves by another. The brief
moment while he is within is pleasant to him; he feels not rain nor
cheerless winter weather; but the moment is brief--the bird flies away
in the twinkling of an eye, and he passes from winter to winter. Such,
methinks, is the life of man on earth, compared with the uncertain time
beyond. It appears for a while, but what is the time which comes
after--the time which was before? We know not. If, then, this new
doctrine may teach us somewhat of greater certainty, it were well that
we should regard it.'"
"Why, Siegbert," exclaimed Hilda, "I knew not that thou didst know aught
of it."
"Dost thou forget that once I was in a monastery?" asked Siegbert.
"True, I did forget. How comes it that thou hast not told me before?"
questioned Hilda.
"Never have I heard thee speak as thou hast spoken to-day," answered the
young man. "Willingly would I have told thee of it."
"'Tis true," declared the Danish girl, after a short interval of
silence, during which time she seemed to be thinking. "We are like the
swallow. Here for such a brief time and then out into the shadow of
death. Whither? We know not; unless, indeed, it be true that Hela, the
death goddess, awaits us in Niflheim. Oh, would that I were not woman!
Would that I were warrior; that Odin, Alfadur, might send the Valkyrie
to wing me to Valhalla, where all is bright and beautiful. I wish not to
go to Hela!"
"Thou shalt not." Siegbert spoke soothingly and with so much of
positiveness that Hilda forgot her tears and raised her head
inquiringly.
"What meanest thou, Siegbert?"
"Thou shalt not go to that dread abode, for none such exists," said the
young man. "Let me tell thee, Hilda, of the beautiful heaven of the
Christian faith."
With solemn sweetness he told of the heavenly city, where there is no
night, where pain nor death enters not, and of the gentle Christ so
pitiful of weakness and suffering. Egwina listened entranced. The young
man's earnestness impressed her, and she felt her own imperfections as
she had never done before.
"I am tired," said Hilda, at length. "Take me home, Siegbert, and there
thou shalt tell me more of this Christ of thine. He is like Baldur in
his beauty and goodness. If thy heaven is as thou sayest, then methinks
I wish it, for one need not be warrior to enter it."
Lifting her up carefully in his arms, Siegbert turned to go, but Hilda
stopped him.
"Come to me to-morrow, maiden," said she to Egwina. "Wilt thou not?
Siegbert shall come to fetch thee if thou wilt. I would hear thee sing
again. Wondrous skill hadst thou with the harp."
"I have none now," responded Egwina, slowly, "but I will come an' thou
wishest it."
"I do wish it. I have harp of mine own which thou canst use. Then I will
send Siegbert for thee."
She sank back in the strong arms of the Saxon, who strode off as if the
burden he bore were naught for his strength. Egwina stood for a long
time on the knoll where they had left her.
"Why doth my heart beat at sound of his voice or look of his eye?" she
mused. "Something doth draw me to him. I would, oh, I would that he were
sibbe to me. Never before have I so longed for one to be near to me as I
do him. Oh, would that he were of my kith! But God doeth all things
well, and it may be that I am bereft of kin that I may the more readily
give myself to the service of Heaven."
With an involuntary sigh, she turned her steps in the direction of the
abode of Anlaf.