us good tidings of our king."
"I do, indeed, bring thee good tidings, Athelhune," cried Wulf, or, as
he is called in some histories Mollo. "King Centwine of Wessex is dead,
and on his death-bed he named our Caedwalla his successor and directed
the eorldomen of Wessex to go to find him, and bring him back as their
king. This they did, and I left Caedwalla surrounded by the power of
Wessex, recognised as their lawful lord, and successor to the line of
Cerdic."
"This is indeed good news," said Athelhune, and then turning to the
assembled crowd he called out:
"Men of Wihtea, our lawful overlord has got back his kingdom; let us all
thank the gods for this good news, and raise three cheers for
Caedwalla."
Instantly all caps were off, all the crowd of revellers were on their
feet, and three deafening cheers burst from the lungs of the mob.
The news was really important, for now the tables were likely to be
turned upon Arwald, and instead of his venturing to attack them, they
would be able to attack him. As the news became known in Wihtea all men
would return to their allegiance to Wessex, and it would fare very ill
with Arwald. However, as the allegiance of the Wihtwaras had hitherto
been more nominal than real, there was not any certainty that they would
welcome any actual interference on the part of Caedwalla; for, like all
islanders, they were very jealous of any external control. But it was a
great object for the rival chiefs of the island to use the moral
influence of the name of a powerful authority on the mainland; and, as
it was everywhere known that AElfhere had supported the authority of
Wessex, while Arwald had represented Edilwalch and Mercia, it was easily
understood that since Edilwalch was dead, and his slayer had succeeded
to the throne of Cerdic, AElfhere was likely to be more powerful than
Arwald.
The arrival too of Caedwalla's own brother, Wulf, accompanied by three
such stalwart-looking warriors, brought a very material support, as well
as a moral one, to the cause of AElfhere, and the feasting, which was
nearly over, was renewed with more joyous ardour.
Wulfstan did the honours bravely, but presently got tired of all the
noise and feasting, and very nearly fell asleep two or three times. At
last, Athelhune suggested to Ceolwulf that the poor boy should be sent
in to his father, to tell him the news.
When Wulfstan entered his father's room he found that he already knew
the good tidings, and was deeply thankful for the turn of fortune, but
at the same time, knowing Arwald as well as he did, he was not at all
confident that all would go well, for he knew that Caedwalla would not
be able to bring him assistance at once, and Arwald was too powerful to
give up his pre-eminence in the island without a fight. Being also a
skilful as well as brave leader, AElfhere well knew he would realise the
necessity of striking before the ceorls and thralls had recovered from
their late crushing defeat, and especially before any reinforcements
could reach the island from Caedwalla. Filled with such thoughts,
therefore, AElfhere did not respond to Wulfstan's joy quite so readily.
This was a disappointment to the boy, who was brimful of happiness at
the bright prospects that were opening up for them.
"Why, father, thou seemest not nearly so merry as I should have thought
thou wouldst have been," said the boy, in a disappointed tone.
"We are not yet out of the wood," answered AElfhere. "If we can resist
the attack which Arwald is sure to make on us, either to-morrow, or the
next day, or can hold our own until Caedwalla sends us reinforcements,
all will be well."
"But, father, see how well we fought last night, and then there were
only four of us, now there are ever so many. Thou hast not seen the
Atheling Wulf who has just come; he is nearly as splendid as Caedwalla
himself, and that is as much as saying he is like a god. Thou never
sawest anyone so handsome or brave; and thou oughtest to hear old Biggun
tell how he took Cissanceaster. Thou dost not really think we are not
able to beat any of that villain Arwald's lot, dost thou?"
"Well, Wulfy, we've done very well, and Athelhune and the Atheling will
no doubt guard against a surprise, but there will be hard knocks, and
the Wihtwaras fight well."
"But we are Wihtwaras too, father."
"True, my son, but we are not as many as those whom Arwald will
bring--but it is no good discouraging the lad," muttered AElfhere to
himself, "Like enough, being wounded and in sore pain, I look on the
dark side, and the boy is right. Well, Wulfy, I have no doubt we shall
do well enough, but I should like to see this same prince before night
comes on; and Ceolwulf must see that proper guards are set, and all
things made ready in case Arwald should come."
"Shall I bid Biggun come, father?"
"Aye, do, my boy, if he can be spared from the feast."
The boy left the room, and speedily gave his father's message to
Ceolwulf, who immediately told Athelhune that the eorldoman would like
to see the Atheling Wulf.
But Wulf the Atheling was very unlike his brother Caedwalla; he had been
spoilt as a child, and was wilful, inconsiderate, and self-indulgent:
the only quality he and his brother had in common was great personal
courage. As, therefore, he was enjoying himself at the banquet, he
declined to accede to AElfhere's request, saying that he would come the
next morning, when there was nothing better to do.
Ceolwulf was much displeased at this answer, but there was no help for
it; so, asking Athelhune to do the honours in his absence, he
accompanied his young master to the wounded eorldoman.
"Ceolwulf," said AElfhere, "the news is indeed good, but let us not lose
the wine now the cup is at our lips. You know Arwald, and that he is
not likely to let the power he has got in this island slip through his
fingers without fighting for it; and we have had too bitter experience
already of what comes from keeping a careless watch. I trust,
therefore, that thou wilt take every care for the night, and learn the
earliest news thou canst of what is going on round Wihtgarsbyryg."
"Aye, that will I," answered old Biggun. "We had enough broken heads
the last time to make those who were able to keep their brains in their
skulls then, do all they can to keep them there now. I've sent Leofa
and the boy Stuff to get as much news as they can, and to tell anything
that comes into his head about us. The boy Stuff is a good boy at
putting a man on a wrong trail; he has a way of looking stupid-like, and
not seeming to understand, and then answering with a question that gets
more out than he tells."
"When they come back, mind thou tellest me. How hast thou placed the
outposts?"
"Oh, well enough! if they are not too drunk, that is," said Ceolwulf,
scratching his head doubtfully. "Leastways, I shall have to go round
myself, I doubt not; but they are all placed where they ought to be, and
if they allow themselves to be knocked on the head they ought at least
to give a squeak first; but there, they've drunk a sight of ale, they
have, and perhaps if they get killed they'll only think they are
dreaming, and forget to make any noise about it."
"Well, Ceolwulf, I shall trust to thee. I don't myself think there is
much danger of attack before morning, and they will be all right by that
time. What dost thou think of this Atheling Wulf?"
"Humph! He can fight well enough when he likes, but fighting isn't
everything; he can't obey, and he has got no doggedness in him.
However, the more we have the better, and Athelhune is here to keep him
in order a bit, that's one comfort. Hark to that hubbub! If I don't go
there'll be a fight before long."
And so it seemed, for angry voices could plainly be heard, and AElfhere
bid Ceolwulf go at once to restore order. When Ceolwulf returned to the
festivities, he found that one of the Boseham men, excited by the ale,
was loudly boasting of the superiority of the South Saxons to the
Wihtwaras, and an excited Wihtwara was as clamorously proclaiming their
superiority to the South Saxons; while Wulf, to amuse himself, was
promoting the rivalry by timely words. Fortunately Ceolwulf returned
just in time to prevent blows, and, with Athelhune's help, order was
once more restored.
As it was now getting very dark, a move began to be made by most of the
ceorls to their homes, and in a short time the old homestead was
comparatively deserted.
Wulf, Athelhune, and their companions, were sheltered in the house and
barns for the night, and Ceolwulf and some of the most faithful of the
servants took it in turns to keep watch during the hours of darkness.
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*"WHICH IS THE BETTER LIFE?"*
After the departure of Ceolwulf and Athelhune from Boseham, only three
days before the restoration of AElfhere to his homestead had been so
happily accomplished, considerable anxiety was caused to the worthy
monks and AEdric as to what had become of Wulfstan. Father Dicoll had
got the children and several of the older men to search everywhere, but
naturally to no purpose, and as night set in the hopelessness of the
search became evident.
"Oh! Father Dicoll, what can have become of him?" asked AEdric,
piteously.
"My son, God will take care of him, and I should not be astonished if he
had gone somehow with the others; if he has not, I feel sure, seeing
that the lad is a quick lad and naturally endowed with the instincts of
self-preservation, he will come in later on. He may, perchance, have
gone out to kill some wild animal, a hare or a coney, maybe; but,
wherever he is, he is in God's hands, so let us not be over-anxious, but
pray for his safe return."
This was not very hopeful comfort, but certainly there were no means of
giving any other, and AEdric had to spend a weary night, waking up
frequently and putting out his hand in the darkness to feel if his
brother had come back, and was sleeping on the pile of skins beside him;
but in every case he was disappointed, and after an anxious reflection
as to what could have become of him, AEdric fell off to sleep again.
The anxiety of the monks and AEdric was not allayed the next morning,
when they found that it had been snowing during the night, and there
were one or two ugly-looking footmarks outside the door of their hut,
which looked very much as though a wolf or two had been prowling round
during the night.
"Well, my son, it is no good making thyself unhappy about him," said
brother Corman. "I think it is more than likely he managed to hide
himself away on board the boat, and has sailed away to Wihtea as he
wished."
"But he might have told me he was going. Why, and now I think of it,
and so he did. What a stupid I was not to mind what he said! But I did
not give heed to his words then, because I did not think he could
possibly get on board without Ceolwulf seeing him, but, of course, he
must have done it. Oh, how glad I am! But what a lucky fellow he is!"
added AEdric, wistfully. "He will see our old home, and perhaps father;
who knows?"
"Then, no doubt, he will send over and fetch thee, if all goes well; so
now thou canst be happy again. But we shall have to take leave of thee
soon, AEdric. Thou art to go to Wilfrid, the bishop, in Selsea."
"But I don't want to go. Why should I? I am much happier here with
thee, Father Dicoll."
"Yes, but thou art not safe here, especially now that thy old ceorl has
fought so well at Cissanceaster. All the country is talking about him,
and they will soon know that he is gone on an expedition to Wihtea to
turn out the ally of the South Saxons."
"Oh! I don't want to leave thee; thou hast been so kind to me. Canst
thou not come too if I have to go?"
"I am afraid Wilfrid will not care to have us; and to tell thee the
truth, I don't think he will say we are the sort of men who ought to
bring thee up."
"Why not? You both believe in the same God. You are both Christians,
are you not?"
"Yes; but I shall never make thee understand how little it takes to make
men cease to be of one mind in a house. We think we are right, and
Wilfrid thinks he is right, but we are willing to think the differences
are of little importance, only we don't like to give up our old custom,
while he thinks we are stubborn schismatics and obdurate
stumbling-blocks, stiff-necked in our ignorance and blinded by our own
conceits. Truly our blessed Lord was right when He said, 'I came not to
bring peace upon the earth, but a sword.'"
This was all impossible for AEdric to understand. That Christians who
took their lives in their hands to convert the heathen, whose whole
doctrine turned upon love, charity, peace, should yet be so bitter
against each other, was incomprehensible to him, and still more so that
they should let this appear in the face of strangers and the common
enemy.
"Well, brother Corman, Wulfstan and I often quarrel, but we always make
it up and fight like anything against anyone who is our enemy, and we
don't let them know we quarrel."
The conversation was interrupted by breakfast, after which arrangements
were talked about for taking AEdric to Wilfrid.
The monks had shown a certain animosity and bitterness in speaking of
Wilfrid which had communicated itself to AEdric, and he was very
unwilling to go to him. He was eager to know more about him, but the
monks, to do them justice, were not willing to speak against the bishop,
or to prejudice the mind of the boy in any way; while feeling as they
did that the branch of the Christian church which they represented was
older than the later form introduced by St. Augustine the Monk, they
could not but be irritated at the superiority which Wilfrid assumed, and
his assertion that they were in error. Worst of all, the new
missionaries from Rome had sided with the victorious and pagan Saxon,
and had added insult to injury by branding the suffering British with
the odious name of unorthodox. And after all, what were these great
differences? A fashion of shaving the head dissimilar to that
prevailing at Rome, and a different system for calculating the Paschal
moon. For practical purposes this last was the more serious difficulty,
for it occasioned the inconvenient anomaly of one set of Christians
fasting while the other set were feasting, according as they observed
the Roman or the Eastern custom of calculating Easter; but the fashion
of the tonsure was quite as warmly disputed, and the Irish monks were
taunted with being the imitators of Simon Magus![1]
[1] _Vide_ Milman. Latin Christianity, vol. ii., pp. 247-269.
The preparations of the monks did not take very long, but it suddenly
occurred to brother Corman that AEdric could not walk, and they had no
conveyance by which he could be carried. It certainly would have seemed
a matter of no great difficulty to have thought of this before, but
their minds were so occupied with speculation, and the little daily
round of their religious services, teaching the few children that came
to be taught, and providing for their small daily wants, that they had
not given any thought as to how AEdric was to get to Selsea, a distance
of some five or six miles.
"_Beate Columba!_" said Father Dicoll, "but my head gets duller every
day. Why did I not think of this before? We shall have to send someone
to tell Wilfrid, and who will go?"
"True," said Corman, looking at Dicoll with a perplexed air. "We have
nought that will tempt any of these South Saxons to go. I shall have to
go myself."
"The matter is one that is somewhat urgent, I fear, for the boy ought to
be with Wilfrid before night, in case the eorldoman Berchthune should
send for him. But let us see if we cannot get any of these children to
take a message for us."
So saying, Father Dicoll called out to a group of children that were
making mud pies on the shore a little way off.
The children paid no attention at first, for they were making too much
noise among themselves to be able to hear Father Dicoll. At last, a
curly pated, blue-eyed, young Saxon heard him, and thumped a few of the
other children to make them keep quiet, which, strangely enough, had the
desired effect, which caused brother Corman, who was of a moralising
turn, to observe how strangely the same process produced different
results.
"For if I beat these younglings they don't keep quiet, but raise a
greater clamour; whereas when that yellow-haired pagan beats his
brethren they keep as quiet as mice. Perhaps they know that the process
will go on until they stop, with him; whereas they have found out that
after the blow has fallen there is no more danger from me. Truly, to
get what one wants in this world, one ought to have no heart, and keep
on thumping."
"Here, Ceolric, my child," called Father Dicoll, "I want to know if thou
wilt do something for me."
The youngster ran up to the monk readily when he understood he wanted
him, for the monks were favourites with the children and their mothers,
and were not disliked by the men; indeed, by most they were decidedly
liked.
"Dost thou think thou couldest find thy way to Cymenesora if brother
Corman were to put thee over the creek?"
"I don't know, Father Dicoll; it is a good long way and father said I
wasn't to go away far from home."
"Is thy father in?"
"Not as I know, but mother is. There she stands yonder, thou hadst best
ask her."
"But wouldest thou go if she would let thee?"
Upon this the boy fell to scratching his head. It was quite clear he
did not want to go, but, at the same time, did not want to disappoint
the monks.
"Look here, Ceolric, if I were to promise thee a fishing line and hook,
wouldest thou go then?"
"I've got one."
"Then what would make thee like to go?"
"I don't know as anything would that thou hast got to give me."
The poverty of the poor monks was very well known, and certainly, if
they had made any converts from the rough and boorish South Saxons, such
conversion must have been entirely brought about by conviction,
unalloyed with any thoughts of earthly gain.
Seeing the hopelessness of finding a messenger among the Boseham
children, and, consequently, among the rest of the population--for if
they could not prevail on the children, among whom their influence was
greatest and their little rewards most prized, they certainly would have
no success with the adults--it became evident brother Corman would have
to go himself.
AEdric could not help seeing what a great deal of trouble he was giving
these excellent monks, and, being a good-hearted boy, he felt very
grateful to them, and more than ever sorry to leave them. The contrast
of their simple, unworldly ways, their gentleness, and readiness to do
good to others, with the rough, quarrelsome boastfulness of the men
among whom he had lived, was not lost upon him.
The conversations, too, that he had with Father Dicoll had taught him
many things he had never dreamt of before. When he was suffering great
pain from his leg, it had been a relief to him to listen to Corman
telling him of the terrible sufferings of Him who had no need to suffer,
but had voluntarily undergone the most dreadful agony of body and mind
for the sake of His enemies. It had been quite a new thing to hear that
pain was a blessing, that it purified and sanctified; and now, when
Corman had started on Malachi's little raft to row down the creek, and
cross about a mile further down to the other shore, and thence walk to
Selsea, he longed to ask Father Dicoll a few questions, and fortunately
Father Dicoll seemed in a talkative mood, for he presently turned to
AEdric, and said:
"My son, this is perhaps the last time we may meet. Thou wilt go to a
much more learned man than we are, if report speaks true, and one who
has great reputation for piety. But remember, my son, that before
honour is humility, and that the first thing in life is to be meek and
lowly in heart, and then, loving unto all men; if we heartily desire to
think others are better than ourselves, thou mayest depend upon it we
shall live happier and die better. But what dost thou think should be
the aim of our lives?"
After thinking a little AEdric answered, "I should have said a little
while ago to be great and honoured in war, to kill a great number of my
enemies, and to leave a great name behind me, was the noblest aim in
life for a hero and a warrior."
"Dost thou think so now?"
"No, I don't think I do; and yet it is a great thing to be very brave,
and do great deeds, and leave a name behind thee, is it not, Father
Dicoll?"
"Certainly it is, my son; but what braver deed could anyone have done
than He did who gave His life for us? What greater name can anyone
leave behind than the name of Him who gave His life a ransom for many?
Is not saving life as noble as killing? Is not making more noble than
destroying? But what dost thou now think the aim of life?"
"I think," answered AEdric, slowly and meditatively, "the aim of a life
ought to be to do something great, but I don't quite know what that
ought to be."
"No, my son, no doubt thou dost not, for it all depends upon what we
call 'great.' Hitherto thou hast thought--and no blame to thee, for
thou knewest no better--that to live the life of a warrior, and make thy
name more famous than others, was the highest object. It has never
occurred to thee to think of others, but if thou wilt think, thou wilt
see that in proportion as thy warlike fame should increase, others must
suffer, and according to thy ideas of glory the more who suffer the
greater will be thy renown. In other words, thy reputation would be the
reputation of the most ferocious wild beast which preys on human food."
"But, Father, everybody I ever met praises the great warrior, the hero.
Where canst thou meet a poet or skald who does not sing the fame of some
noble chieftain?"
"True, my son, but because many are in error, does that make the mistake
any the less? Now let us begin at the beginning: what is the thing in
daily use thou thinkest has called for the most cleverness in making?"
AEdric thought a little; there were not many things in daily use at that
time that were the result of much ingenuity, but at last he said, "I
think a plough, or a boat, is a very useful thing, and must have taken a
clever man to think of!"
"Well, yes; but I think a plough is much the more ingenious of the two,
for a bit of wood will make a boat, and it is very easy to improve on
that when once the idea is started, which any child can do by throwing a
stick into a pond; but a plough requires much more thought. However,
let us take a plough. Thinkest thou it is easier to make a plough--one
that is complete and useful in all its parts--or to destroy one that is
made?"
"Why, it is much easier to destroy it."
"Just so; and would the man who destroyed it be thought a more
celebrated man than the one who made it?"
"No, certainly not; he would be thought an idle fool."
"Then the destroyer of what is useful is very much the same as an idle
fool, is that so?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Now we all agree, heathen and Christian alike, that man was made by
some Divine power: your legends say that the All-Father made men, which
is exactly what Christians say. Is not a man more useful than a plough,
and infinitely more cleverly made? Of course he is. Well, what must
the man be who, to amuse himself, or gain glory, which is the same thing
to him spends all his life in smashing the most wonderful of all created
things? Is he not a destroyer? and we have said that a destroyer is the
same as an idle fool. Now, dost thou think that to be an idle fool is a
worthy aim? But I need not ask such a question."
"But, Father Dicoll, it is a glorious thing, whatever thou sayest, to
die fighting, or, better still, to live fighting for what is one's own,
to protect those who are being robbed by those who have no right to take
from the weaker."