brazier by contrast; Cynerith a painted shrew. No more was the Lady
Ethelfrith silent; merry words flowed from her lips; time and again her
laughter rippled out, soft and joyous. King Offa began, as was his
custom, to talk of his wars, and of the stupendous dyke, boundary
between his dominions and the lands of the wild Welsh, which the March
folk, at his bidding, had dug in the sweat of their brows; but he soon
hushed his voice, and listened proudly while his youngest-born told of
her new-found pleasure in hunting, dancing, and friendly company. Even
the Atheling, a stalwart, somewhat sullen youth, was seen once or twice
to smile.
They brought her cither, and she sang them all her store of songs, with
an art and confidence of which none had ever thought her capable. King
Ethelbert applauded her and cast fond looks upon her, and at the end of
every ditty he prayed her for more.
By and by, when the light faded and the torches were kindled, Offa the
King began to yawn, and to doze in his chair. The Queen then conversed
apart with Ethelbert. She bore herself meekly towards him, was innocent
and child-like in manner and speech. Presently Offa awoke. His wife was
beside him, bearing a brimming tumbler.
"What--what--sweetheart?" said he.
"It is mine own brew that thou lovest so well," Cynerith replied. She
waited while he drank, and noted how the potion increased his
drowsiness.
"Husband," she whispered, "I have sure proof that it is even as I
guessed. He will go hence upon the morrow, leaving us pledges which he
hath no mind to fulfil. Then will he stir up the men of his own
kingdom, without doubt, hoping to take thee defenceless in thine old
age. The hour is ripe, Offa my King! Shall he live to work our
undoing?"
"I shall be nithing in the eyes of all men," murmured Offa.
"Lo, no man shall know how the end did come about," said the Queen. "I,
thy wife, will be thy handmaid in this as in all things, aye, and bear
the blame, if blame be to follow. Trust in me. O son of Woden, it
profiteth not a man to spare his enemies. Hereafter shall thy sway
reach from the hills of Wales even unto the eastern sea."
And Offa nodded his head.
She took another cup in her hand, and beckoned to Ethelbert, who rose
to meet her midmost in the hall.
"We will talk together of the wedding day," said she. "The King leaves
all such business unto me." Then they drank to one another, very
gravely, where they stood.
Eadburh, sitting by her sister, nudged her, with sneering lips.
"Let us now to bed, children," cried Cynerith.
"I trow we are all full weary, even as our lord the King."
As she passed out, she said in the ear of a trusted servant: "Gymbert,
be ready against I need thee!"
Edric the seneschal stayed behind, searching the floor and the tables
for property mislaid, smothering the torches himself with meticulous
care. He heard a light step brush across the strewn rushes. Ethelfrith
stood before him, darkly cloaked and hooded.
"My little hare was ailing this evening," said she. "I might not find
thee, Edric, though I sought. But even now he is better than I could
earlier have hoped."
"I will go see him early to-morrow," said Edric, "if ye do think he
will live through this night." He was a man of few words.
"He will live through the night.... Edric, I have no wish to sleep. I
have thoughts and fears which break through my rest.... And then ...
Eadburh said ... at least I do fancy that she meant to say...."
"Her tongue wags ever too fast," Edric rejoined. "Well, lady, what said
she?"
"It was of my lord King Ethelbert she spake.... I am sorely troubled.
Meseemeth that the Queen and King Ethelbert love each other not, or
mayhap.... And there is strife between my mother and Sexwolf.... I hate
Eadburh!" cried Ethelfrith. "God forgive me!" she added, horrified.
Surprise and interest went far to conquer Edric's wonted reserve. The
little princess irked him usually; but now--yes, and formerly
throughout that evening--she showed signs of a spirit that he had never
suspected to exist in her.
"Listen, lady," said he. "King Ethelbert should go his ways, taking you
with him. He loveth you dearly, as all may see. Here hath he been three
weeks, and is no nearer the settlement of that which brought him
hither. Ye are scarce even a moment together. This is a drear
betrothal."
"Alack! how can I help?" said she. "Can a maid beg a man to wed her?"
"And fret not yourself too greatly over what Queen Eadburh may say or
do. Her mind is evil, and all that she looketh upon doth take on for
her the same ill hue."
"O Edric, good Edric, dear Edric, say to me that all must be well! My
heart sinks within me. Tell me--tell me truly whether my father's court
be fair and clean, as I have heretofore dreamed it to be!"
Edric turned away his face, and began to poke, with the staff which he
always carried, in the rushes beneath a little table standing under one
of the windows. A faint clink resounded. He stooped and picked up a
small, finely-wrought key with a handle curiously bent.
"That is my mother's wry-necked key!" exclaimed Ethelfrith. "Great
store sets she by it. Thou knowest she weareth it ever upon the chain
at her waist."
"She leant much upon the board this evening, playing at chess with
Ethelbert," said the old man, "Belike it was rubbed loose, or the chain
broke."
"It openeth the garden door of the chamber, built down into the earth,
beneath the Queen's bedroom," the Lady continued. "I have never been
within, nor hath any that I have heard of. But Gymbert may go
sometimes: he hath another key like unto this. Once, one of the maids
did whisper.... But I will not believe it!"
"Neither have I ever seen into that chamber," said Edric the seneschal;
and both together they uttered the same words:
"This night spake she into the ear of Gymbert, even as she left the
hall!"
"O child, be strong!" said Edric. He stopped and coughed. "There would
be no harm," he ventured, "in learning to be strong."
They were both silent for a little while. Then "Take thou the Queen's
key, Ethelfrith Offa's daughter," said he. "She shall deem it utterly
lost. It may serve thee at need."
She slipped it into her bosom, and went softly from the room.
"God's blood! thou sorry young fool!" cried Offa's wife. "Is this all I
must hear from thee--I, who have done thee so much honour? By the
Fiend! thou art right hardy! Thinkest indeed that the man who scorneth
me shall have my daughter? I am no loser, and Offa and I, we shall
share thy kingdom!"
She stamped her foot three times, and scarcely had she done so when a
part of the floor of her bedchamber began quickly to descend, and
Ethelbert King of the East Angles, who stood upon that part, sank with
it out of sight.
There followed one or two cries, fierce, but muffled almost to
extinction, and a thud.
The Queen put her face to the opening, and called, "Gymbert, is all
done?"
There was no reply. She bent low to listen. Then a piercing sound
assailed her ears--the voice of a woman, shrieking again and again,
with gruesome, mechanical regularity.
Another moment, and Cynerith had reached the garden. The outer door of
this wing, her private door, was open. Upon the threshold stood her
youngest daughter, in night-rail and hooded cloak.
Gymbert the Queen's thrall rushed at the Lady Ethelfrith, and tried to
take hold of her. She fought and beat him off, and tottered, shrieking
still, though more faintly, sobbing and moaning, down the few steep
steps and towards the middle of the room, where lay a shapeless mass
from which a pool of crimson was spreading slowly. A flickering lantern
swung from a hook upon the wall.
Others arrived upon the scene. First came old Edric; then Eadburh, with
her mass of tawny hair about her face; then Offa, muttering hoarsely;
and all the inhabitants of the palace thronged to learn what had
befallen.
Ethelfrith was seated upon the ground, holding Ethelbert's dissevered
head in her arms, and she rocked herself to and fro, and chanted in a
far-away tone.
"Under the leaves, under the leaves,
There saw I maidens seven!"
She broke off short, and changed her tune.
"Then He built Him a bridge of the beams of the sun,
And over the water ran He;
And the three wealthy wights they followed him after,
And drowned they were all three!"
"Come, canst thou riddle me my ridlass?
"Yellow and green,
Sharp and keen,
Grows in the mene.
The King cannot ride it, no more can the Queen."
"No more can the Queen.... I must mind me to tell my mother that in two
years and a little more her son will be lying dead and cold. How sister
Eadburh will storm at what must follow--the fall of our proud house!...
Heart's dearest, the sun is high in heaven. Why do ye not awake, my
lord? Do ye not hear the lark singing? Ethelbert, there is blood all
about thy hair--it is like a crown, Ethelbert!"
Babbling thus and laughing, she was torn away: nor did she ever recover
her reason, though she lived thereafter thirty years.
Earl Sweyn the Nithing
_Being the Chronicle of Winifred Ebba's daughter_
In the first year of King Hardicanute, on the sixth-and-twentieth day
of May, feast of blessed Augustine, Algive, only child of Aldred,
sometime thane of Berrington, became by oath-plight nun of the Order of
blessed Benedict, before the altar of the Abbey-church of Leominster,
lately builded and begun by Leofric the good Earl. By this means grew
the hoard of the same holy house the richer by the half of her goods.
The other half, and her land at Berrington eke, Athelstane her uncle
kept for himself.
On the self-same day, and in the self-same abbey-church, did I,
Winifred Ebba's daughter, whose father had been freed churl of the
father's father of this Algive, make also mine awful vows to serve God
after St. Benedict's law. Algive Aldred's daughter had then fifteen
years, and I six more than she: all the days of our lives had we played
together, and I watched over her. And for that I had ever longed, since
I could mind me, for the religious life, I was glad in that hour: and
my kindred chode not too greatly, for that I willed to tread the path
whereon wended our old thane's daughter. But for Lady Algive was her
oath-plight the spring of many and bitter woes.
Now Algive was a right comely maiden. Like the blush of the wild rose
on milk was the skin of her cheek: red as the wild rose-berries her
soft lips; her hair yellow as the heart of the honeysuckle, and long
and curling before they shore it; and her eyes were blue and grey
together, as the onyx-stone in my Lord Bishop's great ring. She was
hale, blithe, and unmoody, mild and forgiving; she worshipped God as do
most women; she had ever a most sweet ruth for all that ailed or
sorrowed; boughsome was she unto the rule of St. Benedict, in so far as
the Abbess willed: yet I do mind me of thinking always that Heaven had
not called her to be a nun. Howsoever, these thoughts kept I to myself.
Twenty sisters were we, a few good enough, many less good than the best
that lead the life of the world. We dwelt together in peace as far as
might be; but there were no saints among us, such as King Edward loved.
Nor was there such learning at Leominster as many of our English
sisterhoods did boast of; but of such things I cannot speak cunningly,
nor was I ever drawn to lettered lore. For me, the things of the
household: let me cook and mend, heal and bind, and all happiness is
mine. Our sister Algive had small learning enough. But because she was
sunny ever, and none hated her, and because, moreover, her kin were
mighty folk, when the Abbess Mildred came to die, we made her Abbess
over us. Algive was then in her one-and-twentieth year. I do think that
from first to last her rule was overmild. Many of us left prayer for
idle talking--an ill thing where there are many women! Me she took from
the kitchen, wherein I had wrought since my coming to the convent, to
be sub-prioress, and sent me often as her trusted bode about the farm
and garden.
Those were the days when holy King Edward sat upon the throne in
Thorney Island, by London town, and doughty Earl Godwin swayed the
land. Many hated this Godwin; not a few feared, but ever followed him;
but I who knew him can tell you so much of him: Were he greedy of
wealth and grasping after means to might, yet had he a stout English
heart, and none loved better than he the English land, or kenned better
the wants of English folk. Churl's son or childe's son, I wit not, but
King Edward took his daughter, fair Edith, as Lady of the English; and
the children of Godwin were of the blood of kings, for he wedded Gytha
the Danish Lady, kinswoman of King Canute. But though foremost in Witan
and in leaguer, two of his own sons might Earl Godwin never rule. Of
the six sons of Godwin, with three have I, Winifred, had my dealings,
and of those three this is my reckoning: Sweyn the eldest was a man,
for all his wilfulness and his sinful wrath. Harold the next-born was a
noble prince. Woe worth the day wherein the arrow slew him! As for
Tostig, fair of face as Michael Archangel, he was a devil.
Now the Abbey of Leominster stood in the old land of Offa, some
fourteen miles from the Hereford, where the king's armies are wont to
pass over Wye into the fastnesses of the Welsh. Some three years before
my lady Algive became our Abbess, Sweyn the first-born son of Godwin
was made Earl, and given as Earldom much of the old kingdom of the
March--to wit, Herefordshire and Gloucestershire, and more beside. Ere
long there spread from mouth to mouth tales of the wildness of our
young Earl, even such wildness as Godwin his father bore with never in
any other lord in England. More viking he seemed than Englishman, which
made some to wonder, and to put abroad a groundless slander. And with
brooding brows and foreboding nods, folk would tell of how he spurned
the wise words of the old, or of how he would at times drink deep, and
then fall to singing, fighting, or love-making maybe. Yet was he a
righteous lawgiver, and open-handed ever: loving a daring deed, a
hearty lay, a tale of the great ones of bygone years. Few there were
that wished him not well, and few that prayed not God to bring him
through the storms of youth to a steady manhood. Alack! alack for Lord
Sweyn! tallest, proudest, most gifted of all the Godwinsons!
It was on the twenty-sixth day of May--the self-same day of our
profession--in the year of Our Lord One Thousand, Forty and Seven, when
the hawthorn was in full bloom, and the bleak blossoms of the
blackthorn hung withered and tattered on their swart stems, and all our
broad meadows shone golden with the buttercup, that we of the convent
of Leominster heard a clatter of many horses' hooves upon the
cobble-stones before our door. And there before the door was Sweyn our
Earl, with twenty Danish house-carles that followed him, and at his
side some of the wealthiest and worthiest thanes of our smiling shire
of Hereford. He was much above the mean height, long-limbed and lithe,
with a swift and noiseless tread; not ruddy, as are the most of the
English, but dark of hair and milk-white of skin as his mother the
Dane, and browned about the face and neck by wind and sun; with a nose
like the beak of a hawk, and eyes like the hawk's for brightness, and a
sudden, rare smile such as God gives to few. And a most beguiling
tongue had Earl Sweyn--the tongue of a sagaman.
I saw his coming, peeping from an upper window, and went in haste with
the tidings to the Lady Abbess.
He strode into her little parlour, and louted low before her. Then many
a strange thing happened. I was standing by at this their first
meeting, and what there befell can I forget never. For ye must bear in
mind that for six years I had toiled without end within the convent
kitchen, and beheld no man, young or old, goodly or wizen, but Godmund
the priest. It was a fair sight that greeted the Earl, that of Algive
Aldred's daughter, now full-grown to womanhood--two and twenty years
had she--fair even in her weeds of black, with her eyes lowered, yet
she peering, as I knew, all the while from beneath her lashes. And so,
when he then beheld her, Sweyn Godwinson grew pale beneath his bronze,
and stood stock-still before her, his look all wonder. Algive raised
her grey-blue eyes to his for one short moment. Of a sudden she dropped
her gaze once again to the hem of her kirtle, and felt fumblingly for
the crucifix at her waist. Then Sweyn flushed deep red, and his fingers
clenched on the handle of his boar-spear; and taking another step
forward, he bowed him down once more, and gave her greeting in words.
Thereafter these twain talked together in courtly wise, as befitted
them.
* * * * *
From that day forth came Earl Sweyn often to our Abbey. Twice or thrice
had he with him his near kinsman, Beorn, late made Earl of the Middle
English, sister's son to King Canute. This was a handsome man enough,
but methought his eyes were treacherous. After a while Earl Sweyn
brought Beorn no more, but himself came, and was much with the Abbess
alone.
My lady had indeed grounds for beseeching help of him: her churls were
unruly, and who could rede the Abbess so well as the Earl? Howsoever,
within the sisterhood was there great tattle of talk, and light hinting
anent their two names. I but waited, and prayed, feeling sharp woe, and
sorrowed in my heart--Mary forgive me!--as much for him as for her.
Then one day late in June, the Lady Abbess rode forth, with only a band
of weapon-bearing churls, to Hereford, where Sweyn the Earl then dwelt.
A week's stay made she there, then rode back again to her Abbey. No
more was she the woman that she had been--even Algive the fair,
sparkling as a beam of the sun. Wan as the dead was she now, with
tight-drawn lips. All day long would she walk up and down the cloister,
up and down the garden paths, oft-times wringing her hands together.
The evil mutterings grew, and tongues waxed ever louder and bolder; and
some sisters forbore not openly to cast gibes at their Abbess almost
before her back was turned.
I beguiled them as well as I could to leave chatter and spend
themselves in healthful work, for it was hay-harvest-tide. On a day
early in August, the eleventh day, we bore in our last load of hay. I
mind me well of that eleventh of August--sultriest day of all that
sultry month: the lift bright as glass, and cloudless altogether until
the hour of sun-setting. All day long we laboured in the heat, staying
only for our holy offices, the which were soon said under the roof-tree
of heaven; and every sister, yea, even the Abbess Algive herself,
worked as lustily as the stoutest churl. All was done at early even;
the great wains rolled home to the barns, and we passed in thankful
procession to our church, and there sang vespers, as well as we might
for our parched throats. The evening meal was spread in the hall of the
convent: each nun stood beside her stool at the board--thinking, one
and all, I trow, of white wheaten bread, and cool cider, and eke of
dreamless slumber: at the board's head, the Abbess had but now beckoned
to Godmund the Priest that he should ask blessing on our food, when
there arose a loud clamour without, such as made even the drowsiest to
start, and we heard the voice of the portress, angry and shrill. Then
one threw open the door of the hall, and there upon the threshold stood
Earl Sweyn Godwinson, and behind him his house-carles, twenty dauntless
men of the Danes.
Earl Sweyn stepped within the hall, up to where the Abbess was.
"My lady," he cried, before us all, "here am I. Come thou with me!"
Abbess Algive would not meet his gaze. She strove a little to speak,
and a whisper came.
"Lord Earl----"
Sweyn kept his glowing eyes upon her until at last she raised her eyes
to his. Then:
"Sweyn, Sweyn," quoth she, and went to him, putting both her hands into
his hands. She would have withdrawn them indeed, but he caught her
about the body, and laughing a little, bore her shoulder-high from her
convent hall.
We sped to our gates, but he was already ahorse, with her before him,
holding to him tightly, and his men were springing to their saddles.
Out at the gates they streamed, and we after them, into the midst of
Leominster town, where they halted a little while. What a sight was
there upon Leominster green! Small wonder that the folk thronged to
stare! There were the sisters of blessed Benedict, running hither and
thither as they were wode, all shrieking, some laughing, most wailing
and calling upon all the saints: there lame old Father Godmund,
snuffling and chiding all unheeded; in the midst of all, Sweyn the
Earl, with his Danish house-carles about him, marking naught, it
seemed, but a loose nail in his horse's shoe. Suddenly, one Sister
Sexburh, who had been ever greedy after gold and jewels and such light
things of the world, cried with a loud voice:
"What, good sisters! bide ye here when the road lies open before you?
What of the flock when the shepherdess is fled? Must we ever waste
within walls?" And picking up her kirtle with one hand, she set off
swiftly down the high-way, with Offa the drunken thane in her wake.
But of all that there befell--to my shame I own it--I heard no more,
for now Earl Sweyn set his horse's head towards Hereford, and with him
was Algive with her arms about him; and I had no more thought of the
Abbey of Leominster, of my holy oath of profession, of the needy I was
wont to feed and clothe and the sick I was wont to heal; but I ran
until I came up with Sweyn's horse, catching at his stirrup and calling
out:
"Leave me not, leave me not! Take me also, Lord Earl!"
Sweyn made sign to one of his men that rode beside him, who, stooping,
lifted me into his saddle before him, and so was I borne along,
following Earl Sweyn and my Lady Algive.
* * * * *
From that day forth was Earl Sweyn forced to flee from shire to shire.
For wheresoever he would go, the noise of his sacrilege sped before
him. All priests of God cried out upon him throughout the length and
breadth of the land; and of the folk, the most did shun the Earl, and
curse the whole brood of Godwin.
Then Sweyn took pen in hand, and wrote unto Edward our King, his sister
Edith the lady's lord, begging this thing of him: That whereas Algive
Aldred's daughter had taken the holy oath-plight in full early youth,
for dread of her kindred, whom she might not withstand, this Algive
might now be freed of her oath, and be wedded to him, Sweyn Godwinson,
as his lawful wife. Now blessed Edward was a great saint, ywiss. Did
any man ill or slightingly by this Edward's self, his laws or his
kingship, then had the King towards him the kind heart of a woman: but
woe betide that one that had wrought wrong to Holy Church! He alone
would find starkness in King Edward. For him had our Lord King heart of
stone! When he had read the writing of Lord Sweyn, he cut and tore the
same in shreds, and stamping his foot upon the ground, swore by blessed
Dunstan's bones that Sweyn Godwinson should rue the day wherein he was
born.
King Edward was abiding at Winchester, and Earl Godwin and his other
sons were with him. Unto his father sent Sweyn then for help, but
Godwin did most straitly let that he should not come to him: nor would
any of his brethen hold speech with Sweyn, but Harold only.
Then was Algive the Abbess stricken with fear, and wanhope, and bitter
remorse, and she fled from before Earl Sweyn, and hid herself in the
house of a kinsman of mine own, in the borough of Pevensey, in
Kentland, where, try as he would, he might never come at her. Here, in
the summer of the next year, her son Haco was born.
And about this tide was Sweyn Godwinson outlawed by Witenagemote, and
became as a wolf, and his head as a wolf's head, and thus any man might
slay him, and yet go guiltless of blood.
And Sweyn fled to the sea-shore, and took ship with his house-carles,
and fared unto his Danish kin, and with them roved the seas a viking,
for full a year and more.
Now my Lady Algive and I abode in the house of Oswy my kinsman, a
worthy chapman of the town of Pevensey, and the folk around kenned
nought of us nor of whence we came, believing her to be a widow and I
her maid. For King Edward and Earl Godwin had made fast unto my lady
some small means of livelihood. Thus a whole year passed from the
spring of Sweyn Godwinson's forth-going, and summer was come again. And
one fine day, when my lady and I did walk forth into Pevensey market to
buy us fresh cake-bread, who should come through the market, wending
afoot, but Sweyn's cousin, Earl Beorn of the shifty eyes. He caught
sight of Algive's face beneath her wimple, as she stood by the
cake-seller's booth, and halted beside her, and spake softly, near to
her ear. And when my lady returned to our dwelling, Earl Beorn went
along with her, and there talked with her alone some while.
Often thereafter came he unto my lady Algive at my kinsman's house at
Pevensey--once in the week at the seldomest. What this boded I could
not guess, but ever I misliked this Beorn more and more.