It was seven days since the death chant had arisen in the house of
Guthrum for Hilda.
A melancholy had settled upon the spirits of Egwina. Unable to content
herself, she wandered from wood to house and back again to wood. Usually
bright and cheerful, the girl felt herself weighed down by a heavy
depression born of loneliness, and she dwelt morbidly upon the happy
days in the king's household. A conviction that this was the manner in
which she was to be convinced that she was set apart for the cloister
was fast stealing over her.
One morning, after a sleepless night, she arose from her couch with the
determination to return to Denewulf, and tell him that she was ready to
devote herself to the life of a nun. After all, it was not so dreadful a
thing. Alfred's second daughter, Ethelgiva, was so set apart, and if she
could give up the pomp and majesty of a king's court for such a holy
life, why should she rebel, who was only a simple gleemaiden?
Should Adiva send for the king, she would tell him that it was her wish
and he would respect it. Thus reasoned Egwina. Having reached this
determination, the maiden sought Anlaf to ask him to take her into
Berkshire that day, but the Dane responded that it could not be done
until the morrow. So Egwina started off for her accustomed retreat on
the knoll.
To her surprise, she found Siegbert there. She had not seen him since
the day of Hilda's death, and now hastened to greet him, feeling again
that strange pleasure in being near him.
"Siegbert, glad am I to behold thee once more, for to-morrow I go to
Berkshire, and I feared that I should see thee not again."
"I wished to see thee also," replied the young man, "because I, too, go
away."
"Thou goest? Whither?" cried Egwina in surprise.
"Thou wottest, maiden, dost thou not, that I am or have been a serf in
the house of Guthrum?"
"Yes, I know," answered she.
"Since I was but ten years old," continued the Saxon, "have I been serf
to Guthrum. Twelve long years in bondage to the Dane! Now I have my
freedom at last."
"But how cometh it that now thou hast it after all these years?"
"I will tell thee, maiden. When I was but a lad of ten, and Guthrum
brought me to his house as bondsman, Hilda was but five years old. I had
had a little sister in mine own home, younger still than Hilda. The baby
girl eased the pain and homesickness in my bereaved heart, and Hilda
would have none but me attend her. So as she grew, grew also the bond
between us, until it was not as bondsman, but as brother, that I
ministered to her. Long ago could I have had my freedom, for I saved the
money until there was enow, but Hilda clung to me, and for her sake,
because none cared for her as I did, I stayed. Guthrum knew of it--knew
that I forebore to take my freedom when I could because of Hilda. He
loved her, and that I was gentle with her did gladden his heart.
Yesterday in the presence of witnesses he called me and made me free!"
"And now, Siegbert, what doest thou?" asked Egwina.
"No man will I own as lord save the Saxon king," answered Siegbert.
"Gladly would I live where I could partake of his wisdom and learning.
Oh!" he cried with more passion than Egwina had as yet seen him exhibit,
"Oh, that I could be learned!--learned as those men with whom I have
heard that he surrounds himself! But what could I give in return? He has
no daughter requiring my care, and there is naught else that I can do!"
"Why not go to Alfred, and tell him of thy desire?" said Egwina simply.
"He is wise and good, Siegbert. Thou wottest not how good unless thou
hast partaken of his bounty. It grieveth his heart that learning is not
more sought after by the youth. Many are there who care for naught but
the chase and hunt. Canst thou hunt, Siegbert?"
"None better," answered the young man, briefly. "Expert are the Danes
with bow and arrow. They teach the youths to excel in such weapons;
leaping, running, wrestling, even as with the Saxons, are sports in
which they delight, but naught of wisdom's lore teach they. For one
short year only was the cup of knowledge presented to my lips. Fain
would I have partaken longer of the draught, but that it was rudely
dashed from my lips, and now, ere I again partake of it, do I set forth
to find if any there be who know aught of my grandfather or sister. I
wot not if they be dead or living. I was taken from them so long ago."
"Tell me of it, Siegbert," urged Egwina, seating herself near him. "From
what place wert thou taken?"
"It was from a monastery," said Siegbert, "where I was placed, because
the abbot had taken a fancy to my voice and face. 'He shall be another
Cynewulf,' he said, and so 'suaded my grandfather to give me to them. I,
too, maiden, was the son of a gleeman who was the son of a gleeman, and
song was my heritage even as it is thine. The good abbot taught me to
read and to know of other things, that I might not be like the animal,
who wots of naught but grass and drink. One morning--well do I remember
the day--a bode ran breathlessly to the monastery to tell us that the
Northmen were advancing upon us. The battle of Kesteven had been fought,
and victory sat upon the helmet of the Dane. Terror and consternation
reigned in the monastery, for as the destroyer had done to other
convents, so would he do to ours. No mercy would be shown to priest or
monk. The abbot alone was calm. Calling all together, he sent into the
fens the younger brothers, who could support life, together with the
sacred relics of the monastery--the most holy body of St. Guthlac, the
jewels, documents, and precious gifts presented to the abbey. The aged
and infirm monks with the young children, in fact all those whom he
considered unable to endure the hardships of the fens, did he retain
with him, hoping that the savage breasts of the Danes might be filled
with pity for so much helplessness. But alack! even as, robed in the
vestments, we stood at mass, the Danes burst in upon us. Never, maiden,
shall I forget that sight! Often now, in the dark watches of the night,
doth it come before my vision--the good abbot, stricken down at the very
altar; the priests and monks, with their heads cloven into by the
terrible battle-ax of the Danes. By the sub-prior did I stand. The
pagans swept to us, and one, with a swift blow of his ax, laid the holy
father dead at my feet. Wotting not what I did, I taunted him scornfully
because he slew me not, but stood regarding me with weapon uplifted. I
bade him put me to death by the side of the holy father, for I loved
him; but the Dane seized me, stripped me of my robe, and then threw upon
me a Danish tunic. Then bearing me with him, he strode from the edifice,
crying that I was too fair to be slain. So," and Siegbert's lip curled
in scorn, "where holiness and goodness availed not, mere beauty of
feature saved my life. The others who were not slain outright were
seized and tortured to tell where the treasures of the monastery were
held. Incensed at being thwarted of their gains, the Danes slew all the
remainder save only myself. I, too, would have been slain but that
Sidroc the younger, who had saved me, bade me keep from the way of Hubba
and the other jarls, and keep only with his own retainers. Then they
passed on to Medeshamstede, to continue the work of destruction. The
army then moved toward Huntingdon.
"The two jarls Sidroc were appointed to guard the rear and the baggage
over the rivers. As they were passing the Neu, after the rest of the
army, two cars laden with wealth and property, with all the cattle
drawing them, were overturned at the left of a bridge into a whirlpool.
While all the attendants of the younger Sidroc were employed in
recovering what was possible of the loss, I stole away unperceived and
ran into the nearest wood. All night I walked. I was footsore and weary,
but I was upheld by the hope of seeing again the monastery and getting
away from the Dane. The wolves molested me not. They, too, seemed filled
with fear of the dread pagan, and remained hidden in their lairs. At
dawn I reached the monastery. It was still burning. The younger brothers
who had fled to the fens had returned and were fighting the flames. They
took me and did comfort me. But woe and well-a-day! we were again
compelled to fly by news of the approach of the Northmen. I wot not how
it happened, but I strayed from or was left behind the rest in the fens.
For two days I wandered in the marshes, unwitting where to go. Then did
a Dane find me and bring me to Guthrum, who, won by my fair looks, took
me into his household. So that again did comeliness bring me succor."
Egwina had drawn closer and closer to the young man during the recital.
Her eyes were shining, her lips parted, and she hung upon his words with
an intentness almost painful. As Siegbert paused, she laid her hand upon
his and asked: "Siegbert, was that monastery of which thou speakest
Croyland?"
"Yes," he answered.
"What was the name of thy father?"
"Athelwulf, the son of Wulfhere."
"And thou didst speak of a little sister! Wittest thou her name?" Egwina
was greatly agitated. Siegbert, too, was regarding her with intense
eagerness.
"My little sister's name was Egwina," cried he, full of suppressed
excitement. "Look, maiden!" He tore from his chest his tunic, and
pointed to his breast, where in old Saxon letters was punctured the name
"Egwina." "My grandfather did that just before I went to the convent. As
he did so he said: 'Boy, thy father and mother both are dead. Save thee
and me, no kith hath the little one. Keep that name in thy heart, and
live for none other until mayhap thou dost resign her into another's
keeping.' And I sware to him an oath that it should be as he said."
"Brother!" cried Egwina, half beside herself with joy. "I am that
Egwina! I am thy sister."
"My sister?" The young man stared at her for a moment, and then
exclaimed: "I feel it! I know it!" and he embraced her rapturously.
"We thought thee dead!" cried Egwina, through her tears. "We knew not
that thou wert spared by the Danes. Granther grieved for thee always. My
brother! my brother!"
"And thou art Egwina, my own little sister!" Siegbert touched her
gently, a glad light shining in his grave, beautiful eyes. "Said not
Hilda that we looked alike! I thought that thou and our grandsire
likewise were slain, because I knew the Northmen had overrun the
country. I thought never to see thee again, sister." He lingered
lovingly over the last word, as though it were sweet to him. "Now is my
search ended before it hath begun. But tell me of my grandfather and of
thyself. How it hath fared with thee these many years."
Egwina told him of their wanderings, and of Wulfhere's death. Siegbert's
eyes flashed proudly at the manner of it.
"I grieve not for him," he said. "Glorious was his end! So may I
die--with front to foe in defense of my country! Say on, sister."
Egwina told all. The life in the forest at the cottage of Denewulf;
Athelney, the palace and Edward's love; of Gyda and the ordeal, and
finally how she came to be there at Anlaf's.
Siegbert turned to her, an anxious expression on his face.
"Not now, Egwina, wilt thou seek the cloister, wilt thou? Thy brother
cannot give thee up, now that he hath found thee."
"Dear brother, never will I leave thee unless thou sendest me from
thee," said Egwina, kissing him. "We will go to the king, and thou shalt
enter his service, and learn of his wisdom. I have eaten of the king's
bread, and for my sake, will he aid thee. And not only for my sake, but
because thou art a Saxon."
"Nay, my sister. We will go not to the king. Sometime in the future
mayhap, when Edward hath taken another to himself, but not now. We will
go to London, an' it please thee, sister. There thou and I shall dwell
together, and hard will it go with us, if thy brother doth not gain
thegn's rank for thy sweet sake."
"If it pleaseth thee, then doth it please me," answered Egwina. "So that
we be near each other."