low, barn-like structure; round the entrance everything was unusually
tidy, and some attempt had been made to form a path of shingle and sand,
edged with white flints, from the neighbouring beach. In front of this
door their guide stopped, AEdric was lifted off the horse-litter by
Corman and the other man, and they entered a large room or hall. AEdric
had never seen a room like it. The floor was very clean, and a fresh
pile of reeds lay near the door, to replace the soiled ones that served
as a mat. There was a long table down the middle of the room, and
across one end was another table, in the centre of which was a large
massive oaken chair; on each side of the table were wooden squares, or
trenchers, which served for plates; by the side of these were horn
drinking-cups. At the end of the room, opposite the large chair, was a
wooden reading-desk, and on this was a splendid manuscript, heavily
bound and chained to the desk. AEdric could see that there were some
lovely pictures in it, and he longed to examine the volume. He had
never seen a book in his life before, and the nearest idea he had ever
had of a drawing had been some carvings on a horn which his father very
highly prized, and some pictured hangings which were treasured among the
family's most valued belongings, and which tradition said had been taken
in the sack of the haunted ruins at Braedynge. Father Dicoll and the
poor monks had no books; they had no parchment, and no paper. AEdric
had heard of writing, but it had always been spoken of with awe, for it
was considered to savour somewhat of magic. It was therefore with a
solemn feeling, as well as one of curiosity, that he looked at the large
mysterious volume. At the side of the room opposite the door, and
nearly in the middle on that side, was a bright fire. The logs were
piled up on iron bars, and a large square of hard trodden clay served as
hearth. The smoke from the fire found its way up and out of the hall by
an aperture in the roof immediately above it, but, as it did not always
take this way out, there was a strong smell of burnt wood and smoke in
the room.
AEdric and Corman were led up to the bench before the fire, and told
that the clerks who were with Wilfrid were at service and they were to
wait there until it was over. AEdric felt awestruck at the silence, the
neatness, the comfort of everything, but especially at the stillness of
the place, the hall of his own home having always been full of noisy
domestics, familiar and lazy; the remains of the last, and indeed of
several previous feasts, were left on the floor, and the whole place
habitually reeked of feasting, rude plenty, and dirt. But here was
something very different. Order and cleanliness were visible
everywhere.
Presently there was a noise of feet outside on the shingle path, and a
tall figure entered the room. It was Wilfrid, followed by his two
faithful companions, Bernwine and Hildila. Corman at once arose and
stood in submissive silence before the great churchman, while AEdric
tried to get up, but was arrested by the kind voice of Wilfrid bidding
him be seated.
The boy was at once won by the gentle voice and kind smile of the
bishop, but was at the same time much in awe of him. Somehow he seemed
so very much farther away from him than Father Dicoll had seemed; it was
not that he did not greet him in quite as friendly a way, or with even a
kinder smile, but the boy had a feeling that he was a much smaller
object, and could not possibly be of any interest to Wilfrid. At the
same time there came across him all that Dicoll had said about him, and,
with the instinct of a boy who is quick to recognise what is put on or
assumed in manner, he felt as if Wilfrid's kindness were a matter of
policy, and not a matter of the heart. It is not to be supposed that
AEdric could have given these reasons for his awe of him, but in very
great awe of Wilfrid he certainly was, and what was even more curious,
brother Corman seemed equally in awe of the bishop. As not infrequently
happens when very ingenuous, candid natures come in contact with deeper,
more intricate, more commanding minds, it seemed to strike both that it
was Wilfrid's part to be both kind and sweet in manner, while with
Corman himself it was his nature to be so.
"My son, thou must be very tired after thy journey," said Wilfrid. "Thy
couch is prepared, and supper shall be taken to thee there. I will
entrust thee to the care of Father Bernwine, who will make a careful
nurse, and see that thou art well cared for. In the morning, if all be
well, I will talk with thee. Meanwhile, Good-night, and may the peace of
God go with thee."
This was all said with such sweet dignity that AEdric, who would much
rather have sat up and did not feel at all sleepy, did not venture to
dispute the arrangement, although at home he would undoubtedly have
boisterously done so. He was supported out of the room, therefore, by
Bernwine, after taking an affectionate leave of Corman, who remained
awaiting the bishop's instructions.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*"BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS."*
The next day AEdric awoke early. It took him some time to realise where
he was. The dim light of morning came in through a narrow aperture in
the walls, and he could only just make out surrounding objects. All was
very quiet. He could see that he was in a little room, neatly furnished
with a wooden settle or stool, and the wooden bed on which he lay.
There was a little wooden cross on the wall by the side of his bed, and
some writing underneath it, at which AEdric stared, not quite liking it.
He thought it must be writing, for it was rather like some marks on the
horn at home, and which he had been told were spells. He wished it was
rather lighter, or that some one would come, for he could not tell what
the runes might do, they might contain some enchantment, it was better
not to look at them. Presently he heard the same solemn sound he had
heard last night, it sounded very beautiful as it plaintively pealed
through the building, now rising in sustained unison, then sinking in
deeper notes, appearing to swell and sink and swell again, appealing in
mystical utterance to an invisible but all-powerful Being. When the
music ceased, AEdric could hear a continuous sound of human tongues,
then one deep musical voice, followed by a solemn melodious blending of
all the tones.
Soon after, he heard the noise of steps at his room, over the entrance
of which a curtain hung, and in another moment Corman entered, much to
the boy's relief.
"Oh! how glad I am to see thee, Corman, I feared thou hadst gone away."
"I should not have gone without seeing thee first, AEdric; how hast thou
slept?"
"Very well. I feel much better, I believe I shall be able to walk
without any help, to-morrow, if I am allowed to practise a little
to-day--but what was that sound? what have they been doing? I never
heard anything like it."
"That was the morning service, or matins, and I have just come from it.
But thou hadst better get up now, and I will help thee into the
Refectory, where we are all going to have breakfast."
When Corman and AEdric entered the large room or hall, into which they
had first come the evening before, they found the room nearly full.
Wilfrid was at the head of the table, on each side of him were Bernwine
and Hildila, while all down the long table were a few monks, some lay
domestics, and several boys, who all looked curiously at AEdric. One of
the monks led Corman and AEdric to their vacant places, and then grace
was said by another monk at the lower end of the table, after which all
sat down, and the same monk who had said grace, began to read out of the
beautiful book that had so attracted AEdric's attention the night
before.
The breakfast consisted of a portion of fish to each person, and a
portion of oatmeal porridge made with water. There was water to drink,
but at Wilfrid's table there was a jug of milk, of which, however, the
Bishop only took very sparingly, but he sent it down to AEdric, and
another monk who seemed delicate, bidding them take it for their bodily
comfort.
The fish had been caught by Wilfrid himself, who had taught the ignorant
South Saxons how to supply themselves with this wholesome food, and,
like many men remarkable for their intellectual gifts, he was especially
pleased with the success of his skill in the gentle craft.
No word was spoken during the meal, all listened attentively to the
reading of the monk. He was reading from "The Dialogues" of Pope
Gregory the Great, but AEdric naturally did not understand a word, as it
was all in Latin; when Corman afterwards told him the marvellous tales
that the monk had read, he wished much that he could have understood it,
and longed more than ever to look at the pictures, and made up his mind
he would like to learn to read. When all had finished, the reader
closed the book and said grace, after which he sat down and had his own
breakfast, while the rest dispersed. It appeared that each man had his
allotted task; some went to the outhouses whither the platters and other
appliances of the breakfast table were taken, and were there washed up;
one of the lay brothers winding up a bucket of water from the well hard
by, and heating it in a copper. Others went to a tool-house, and taking
their hoes and mattocks went out to the garden on the south side of the
little settlement. The choir boys were taken off to the church and were
there taught general knowledge, as well as music, by Bernwine. Hildila
took two or three monks with him and they carefully practised writing
under his instruction.
Wilfrid beckoned to Corman to bring AEdric up to him.
The boy felt very shy when he saw the clear piercing grey eyes of the
celebrated Bishop searching him through and through. For in Wilfrid's
face there was that presence of a will, which is always so marked in men
who have been great in the world, and this will makes its presence felt
without a word being spoken, as the needle, when magnetised, is
powerless to resist the attraction of the mysterious pole.
"My son, brother Corman has told me all about thee. He tells me how
patient thou hast been under suffering, and how thou hast been brought
to wish to lead a better life. Thank God for thy pain, for by it thou
hast been enabled to learn the way of salvation, and mayst be intended
for a blessed purpose, even the awakening of thy people from the dark
night of Paganism to the glorious light of the Gospel."
AEdric looked timidly at Wilfrid: he did not know what to say, he could
not talk to him as he had done to Father Dicoll and brother Corman. He
felt he could only learn by hearing, not by questioning, which, to a
boy, is so much the preferable way, but which, unless carefully
directed, leads many times to a desultory and fruitless end.
Wilfrid went on, seeing that the boy was listening: "Thou wilt be able
to learn many things here. When thou art thoroughly taught in all that
is necessary, thou shalt be baptised; and when thou hast quite
recovered, thou canst return to thine own land and teach thine own
people. For what more beautiful or holy object canst thou have in life
than the hope of meeting those who have been brought to eternal life by
thy means? Think what a blessed thing it would be if the Almighty
should employ thee as His messenger. And be not daunted, my son, by the
scoffs and jeers of the world; rather count them as so much glorious
proof that thou art doing God's will. What saith our Lord: 'Blessed are
ye when men shall revile you and persecute you. Rejoice and be
exceeding glad for great is your reward in heaven.' Think not, my son,
either that the reward is far off: all good men have reckoned that the
sufferings of this present life are as nothing compared with the joys or
sufferings of eternity. Think, for it is perfectly true, the short
period of thy life here will make or mar thine everlasting life. Thou
canst not grasp the word 'ever-lasting,' neither can I. But now thou
lookest forward to change; each day, each hour has some hope in it.
Then, there will be no change, not in the sense in which we understand
change; and if we have hopes, for no man knoweth what is beyond, unless,
perchance he has seen it in dim visions of the night, like that soldier
thou didst hear of whom the holy Gregory knew--but I forgot, thou dost
not yet understand Latin--they are hopes that will not affect our weal
or woe, for it is by this life we shall be judged. And all men now
believe that the times are at hand when God shall come to judge His
people. What said the holy Gregory, now nearly a hundred years ago:
'But a short time, and the earth and the heavens will burn, and among
the blazing elements, amid angels and archangels, and thrones and
dominions, and principalities and powers, the terrible Judge will
appear!' The times are very evil; around us are wars, and rumours of
war; famine and pestilence have been stalking throughout the land;
kingdom rises against kingdom; and who shall say that the time of our
visitation draweth not nigh. Who then, my son, would count the
sufferings of this present time as compared with the joys that shall be
hereafter? Work then, my son, pray, mortify thy flesh, wrestle against
the desires of the body, not forgetting that while we do only our duty,
we cannot merit anything of ourselves, but can only be saved through the
all-abounding grace of our Saviour. Of these things thou wilt learn
more from the instruction of Bernwine, and may the blessing of the
Almighty rest upon thee. If thou art in any difficulties, or doubts, or
earthly sorrows, come to me, though of these I trust thou wilt soon be
free, for the first step in the Divine life is to think naught of
earthly affection and lusts, for what said the holy Fulgentius[1]:
'Youth can easily bear any burden when once it has learnt to despise
human affections.' I trust, in a short time, to hear well of thee from
thy instructor, and that the lessons thou art learning are likely to
bear fruit. But remember docility is the chief quality. Thou must pray
for the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which most becomes a
follower of our Lord, for, truly, Solomon says: 'My son, despise not the
chastening of the Lord, neither be weary of his correction.'"
[1] I have not ventured to convey literally the harsh expressions of St.
Fulgentius, nor in this chapter or elsewhere have I attempted to render
the severity of the early monastic ideas. In a rude age, and with the
perpetual recurrence of awful crimes, severe measures and pitiless
conclusions were necessary--but in a work intended for the young, it is
better not to represent the full force of religious thought in the 7th
century.
After this little discourse, Wilfrid arose, and saying that he would
send Bernwine to them in a little time, left the refectory.
"He seems much better than I had expected," said AEdric to Corman, "but
I don't think I could ever talk to him as I did to Father Dicoll. He
seems as though he knew too much."
"I daresay thou wilt find Bernwine easier to talk to, although Father
Dicoll could not have talked to you in a kinder way, or told you
anything better. It is not with children Wilfrid would show anything
that Father Dicoll or I should disapprove. He is far too wise and good
a man to let children see that there are controversies among Christians,
and I sometimes think we have done wrong in letting thee know that we
differ on some points from the Bishop. If we have erred, may the Lord
forgive us; but, truly, the heart of man is desperately deceitful and
wicked, and the Evil one is always on the watch to catch one tripping.
But here comes Bernwine. Now, I hope thou wilt remember all Father
Dicoll and I have tried to teach thee."
As Corman spoke, Bernwine entered the refectory. The ecclesiastic who
now appeared, had not contrasted favourably in appearance as he sat next
Wilfrid. He was strongly built, stout, and florid in complexion; but
his bright, black eyes twinkled with a kindly expression when he spoke,
and the corners of his mouth had an occasional twitch, which added to
the humorous way he had in talking.
"Well, my son, and so thou hast come to the island of the seals, hast
thou? truly an amphibious kind of place at the best of times; but when
it blows a gale, it is really hard to see where the dry land is. The sea
flies over us in such sheets that I verily believe there won't be much
island for the seals, or anyone else soon. And how dost thou feel after
thy day on the plank bed, in the midst of the mud?"
AEdric was amused at the priest's garrulity, and said that he felt very
nearly well.
"That's right, that's right. Thou wilt soon be able to walk to matins,
complines, and vespers; and we'll give thee a job in the garden that
will just suit thee."
"But mayn't I learn to read, and hear stories out of that splendid
book?"
"All in good time, my son, and each in its place; doubtless, thou hast
learnt many stories all the time thou hast been nursed by our kind
brother Corman here."
"We have done all we could to awaken in him a lively faith in our holy
religion," said Corman.
"I doubt it not, my brother, and the good seed will bear happy fruit
some day. And so thou comest from Wihtea? Well, now, I have looked at
that island many a time, for we can see it quite plainly from the shore,
and wondered who lived there. I come from a very different part; my
home was in Bernicia, on the borders of Deira. Thou rememberest
Gregory's pun--_De ira Dei_? No; of course thou dost not--how shouldest
thou. Thou never learnedst Latin. Ah! but we will teach thee; dost
thou know anything at all?"
"Yes, I know many things. I can row, I can hit a mark with my bow and
arrow at sixty paces, and I can ride."
"Ah, all excellent accomplishments, I don't doubt; I could do most of
them myself at thy age; but that was not what I meant. Canst thou say
any prayers? Dost thou know thy letters? Hast thou ever had the Bible
read to thee?"
"I can say 'Our Father,' in Latin as well as English. I do not know any
letters. Father Dicoll had no books, and so he could not teach me to
read; but he tried to teach me my letters, when I lay outside the hut,
by scratching them on the sand; but as there were stones in the way, I
couldn't always make them out. But he used to say long pieces of tales
from the Bible. He told me often about David, and that big giant: about
a great ship that took in all the animals, and about a magician whom the
lions would not eat."
"I see thou hast profited by thy stay at Boseham. We must see that thou
dost not lose what thou hast learnt, and, perhaps, we may even add
something to it. Now, the first thing is to explain to thee how thou
wilt pass thy time here. Thou canst not yet do as the others do, for
thou canst not move about freely; but I will tell a boy to take care of
thee, and always help thee to move when there is need, and to be a
companion to thee; his name is Sigfryd, and he is the son of the South
Saxon Eorldoman Tosti. He will like to help thee, for he has been
taught that 'whosoever will be great, let him be as a servant,' and
again, that we should 'bear each other's burdens, and so fulfil the law
of Christ.' For the present, then, thou wilt get up at seven and come
to matins, then thou wilt spend an hour learning to read: then thou wilt
have breakfast. After that, Father Hildila will teach thee the holy
life, and Bible history. Then at noon, thou wilt try and take a little
exercise, with Sigfryd's aid; which over, thou wilt come to me, with the
other boys, and learn the meaning of the prayers and daily services, and
practice responses and chaunting, according to the method of the sainted
Gregory. After that, the bell will sound for service; thou wilt then go
back to thy cell and meditate on all thou hast learnt, remembering to
ask me such questions as have occurred to thee---- But Beate Martine!
what is all this racket and noise about?" broke off Father Bernwine, as
a confused din of shouts, and cries, and struggling, resounded outside,
mingled with the tolling of the bell which summoned all the community to
assemble in the hardly-finished stone church.
Bernwine and Corman instantly ran to the door, and were nearly knocked
down by a crowd of men; some armed, some without arms, rushing into the
room.
"Holy Benedict!" exclaimed Father Bernwine; "but who are ye, and what do
ye want here? breaking in upon our pious meditation, with no more
compunction than a wild hog into a garden of cucumbers. What means it
all?"
One of the intruders, more collected than the rest, answered:
"Be not wroth, holy Father; to implore pity, shelter and protection, we
have come. We have no wish to do thee injury, and will go where thou
mayest appoint, if only thou wilt save our lives."
"Surely, man; but who threatens thy life? What means this noise and
tumult outside? Let me get out to find Wilfrid; he may be slain in all
this confusion, for aught I know."
All the while the bell kept tolling, and the burly form of Bernwine
forced a way through the crowding mass. Outside there was even worse
tumult. Men on horseback were galloping about--a few, who seemed not
quite to have lost all self-control, were forming themselves into some
sort of order, and under the guidance of a few mounted eorls, were
marching off to take up a position on the road leading to Cissanceaster.
Bernwine could see that a great many were grievously wounded, and many
had fallen to the ground either from exhaustion, or from the dreadful
nature of their wounds. Hastily forcing his way to the door of the
church, which was thronged with fugitives, the priest elbowed his way
through the crowd, and entering the sacred building, he found Wilfrid
robed in his full episcopal vestments, the rest of the community drawn
up in processional order, and Hildila carrying the cross of the
Arch-episcopal see of York, before Wilfrid.
"What means all this tumult, _quare fremuerunt gentes_, holy Bishop,"
said the panting Bernwine.
"It is the rout of the Eorldoman Berchthune and Andhune by Caedwalla,
whom they rashly strove to oppose. We must perform the noblest duty of
a Christian shepherd, and guard the flock from the edge of the sword.
That is why I ordered the bell to call us all together, that we may all
go forth to turn away the wrath of the victor."
All being now ready, the choir led by the melodious voice of the
chaunter, AEdbert, raised the Psalm, "_Eripe me de inimicis meis, Deus
meus, et ab insurgentibus in me, libera me_," and slowly defiled through
the thronging mass of fugitives.
As the procession, so entirely novel to the uncultured South Saxons,
made its way across the open space between the church and the rest of
the buildings of the little community, the panic-stricken crowd seemed
to recover something like self-control, and many of the men followed or
accompanied the procession. Wilfrid had given orders that they were to
proceed slowly along the road towards Cissanceaster, in the hope that he
would fall in with Caedwalla, and prevent any further fighting; for he
had learnt that one of the South Saxon eorldoman still kept up a
hopeless struggle, while it was reported that Berchthune was slain.
With great difficulty, and at a very slow pace, the white-robed choir,
the grey frocked monks, and the gorgeously vested Wilfrid, stemmed the
still hurrying bodies of fugitives that drifted away from the rout
ahead. Nearer and nearer came the shouts of the combatants, the flash
of an axe, or the gleam of a spear, showed where blows were being given,
and the clang of metal striking metal rang like an army of rivetters
engaged in their noisy toil. Many of the rallied South Saxons were
ready to rush forward to renew the fight, but the voice of Wilfrid
restrained them, and in obedience to a sense of awe, which his presence
always excited in their superstitious and ignorant minds, the men
restrained their ardour, and waited to see what would happen.
Wilfrid, with the eye of a leader, at once saw that in the heat and
confusion of the fight, his little company might easily be swept away;
he therefore directed the leading priest to turn to one side and lead
the procession to an embankment or little knoll on the way side, large
enough to contain all the community. There stationing himself in the
most conspicuous position, with his cross held aloft by his
cross-bearer, surrounded by his clergy, and flanked by his choir of fair
Saxon boys, he calmly awaited the approach of Caedwalla.
The stream of fugitives flowed past him uninterruptedly. At last a
struggling band of horsemen, leading among them the fainting form of an
old, grey-bearded warrior, his helmet hacked, the hawk's wings gone, one
arm hanging down limp and useless, the other aimlessly holding the reins
of his horse, came past in wild confusion, hard pressed by a victorious
troop of warriors, flushed with victory, and striking mercilessly at the
panic-stricken fugitives; brilliantly conspicuous among them was
Caedwalla, his eyes flashing, his hair streaming behind him, on his head
a steel cap, surmounted with a golden dragon, his steel-ringed hauberk
gleaming in the sun. Both hands grasped his two-edged battle-axe, and
the reins hung loose on his horse's neck; while the terrible axe
flashed, and sank and flashed again, as he hewed his way up to the
scarcely resisting band of South Saxons, who still strove to save their
wounded eorldoman, the devoted personal following of the chief, who
scorned to live if their lord were slain.
As the young king, looking the very impersonation of the god of battles,
intoxicated with the strife, came abreast of Wilfrid, the Bishop called
aloud in a clear, commanding voice:
"Caedwalla, my lord, put up thy sword now, and give thanks to God, who
hath given thee the victory. As for the vanquished, I will answer for
it, they shall not trouble thee. Hearken now to the voice of the Lord,
who speaketh through me, His unworthy servant, and shed no more innocent
blood. Remember, 'Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, I will repay'; and
again, 'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.'"
At the first sound of the clarion voice of the Bishop, Caedwalla had
reined in his horse, and when he saw the striking group of calm men
surrounding the ascetic and commanding figure of the celebrated Bishop,
he at once gave orders to stop all further fighting, and turned his
horse towards the speaker.