TEMPTATION.
But a few days had passed before Elfric learned the secret of Redwald’s
influence over the young prince.
The household of Edred was conducted with the strictest propriety.ix
All rose with the lark, and the first duty was to attend at the early
mass in the royal chapel. Breakfast followed, and then the king on
ordinary days gave the whole forenoon to business of state, and he
thought it his duty to see that each member of the royal household had
some definite employment, knowing that idleness was the mother of many
evils. So the young princes had their tasks assigned them by their
tutor, as we have already seen, and the spare hours which were saved
from their studies were given to such practice in the use of the
national weapons as seemed necessary to those who might hereafter lead
armies, or to gymnastic exercises which strengthened nerve and muscle
for a time of need.
In the afternoon they might ride or walk abroad, but a strict interdict
was placed upon certain haunts where temptation might perchance be
found, and they had to return by evensong, which the king generally
attended in person when at home. Then, in winter, indoor recreations
till compline, for it was a strict rule of the king that his nephews
should not leave the palace after sundown.
He further caused their tutor, who directed their education under the
supervision of Dunstan—Father Benedict—whom we have already introduced,
to see that they properly discharged all the duties of public and
private devotion.
But he did not see, in the excess of his zeal, that he was really
destroying the prospects which were nearest his heart, and that there
can be no more fatal mistake than to compel the performance of
religious duties which exceed the measure of the youthful capacity or
endurance.
With Edgar, who was naturally pious, the system produced no evil
result; but with Edwy the effect was most sad. He had become, as we
have seen, deceitful; and a character, naturally fair, was undermined
to an extent which neither the king nor Dunstan suspected.
The reader may naturally ask how could Dunstan, so astute as he was,
make this mistake, or at least suffer Edred to make it?
The fact was that Dunstan understood the affairs of state better than
those of the heart, and although well fitted for a guide to men of
sincere piety, and capable of opposing to the wicked an iron will and
inflexible resolution, he did not understand the young, and seemed to
have forgotten his own youth. Sincerely truthful and straightforward,
he hardly knew whether to feel more disgust or surprise at Edwy’s
evident unfaithfulness. He little knew that unfaithfulness was only one
of his failings, and not the worst.
A few nights after Elfric’s arrival, when the palace gates had been
shut for the night, the compline service said, the household guard
posted, and the boys had retired to their sleeping apartments, he heard
a low knock at his door. He opened it, and Edwy entered.
“Are you disposed for a pleasant evening, Elfric?”
“Such pleasure as there is in sleep.”
“No, I do not mean that. We cannot sleep, like bears in winter, during
all the hours which should be given to mirth. I am going out this
evening, and I want you to go with me.”
“Going out?”
“Yes. Don’t stand staring there, as if I was talking Latin or something
harder; but get your shoes on again—
“No; you had better come down without shoes; it will make less noise.”
“But how can we get out? I have not the least idea where you are
going?”
“All in good time. We shall get out easily enough. Are you coming?”
Half fearful, yet not liking to resist the prince, and his curiosity
pressing him to solve the secret, Elfric followed Edwy down the stairs
to the lower hall, where Redwald was on guard. He seemed to await the
lads, for he bowed at once to the prince and proceeded to the outer
door, where, at an imperious signal from him, the warder threw the
little inner portal open, and the three passed out.
“Is the boat ready?” said Edwy.
“It is; and trusty rowers await you.”
Redwald led the way to the river’s brink, and there pointed out a skiff
lying at a short distance from the shore. At a signal, the men who
manned it pulled in and received the two youths on board, then pulled
at once out into the stream.
“How do you like an evening on the river?” said Edwy.
“It is very beautiful, and the stars are very bright tonight; but where
are we going?”
“You will soon find out.”
Finding his royal companion so uncommunicative, Elfric remained silent,
trusting that a few minutes would unravel the mystery.
But an hour had passed, during which the boat steadily progressed up
stream, before the watermen pulled in for the shore, and a dark
building loomed before them in dim shadow.
“Here is the place,” said Edwy. “Be ready, my men, to take us back
about midnight, or a little later;” and he threw some pieces of money
amongst them.
Passing through a large garden, they arrived at a porch before a stout
door garnished with knobs of iron, which might bid defiance to thief or
burglar.
“Whose house is this?” asked Elfric.
“Wait; you shall soon see.”
The loud knocking Edwy made at the door soon brought some domestics,
who, opening a small wicket, discovered the identity of their principal
visitor, and immediately threw open the door.
“Thanks,” said Edwy; “we were almost frozen.”
Passing through a kind of atrium—for the old Roman fashion was still
sometimes followed in this particular—the domestics ushered the
visitors into a room brilliantly lighted by torches stuck in cressets
projecting from the walls, and by huge wax candles upon a table spread
for a feast. The light revealed a small but apparently select party,
who seemed to await the prince: a lady, who appeared to be the mistress
of the mansion; a young girl apparently about the age of Edwy, who,
calling her his fair cousin, saluted her fondly; and two or three
youths, whose gaudy dress and affected manners were strongly in
contrast with the stern simplicity of the times.
After saluting each person with the greatest freedom, Edwy introduced
his companion.
“Here is a young novice I have brought to learn the noble art of
merrymaking, of wine and wassail. We have both been literally starved
at the palace—I should say monastery—of Monk Edred today. It is Friday,
and we have been splendidly dining upon salt fish served up on golden
salvers. My goodness! the flavour of that precious cod is yet in my
mouth. Food for cats, I do assure you, and served up to kings. What did
you think of it, Elfric?”
Elfric was ashamed to say that it had not been so very bad after all.
Truth to say his conscience was uneasy, for he had been brought up to
respect the fasts of the Church, and he saw a trial awaiting him in the
luscious dishes before him.
“What does it matter?” the reader may exclaim; “it is not that which
goeth into the mouth which defileth a man,” etc.
True, most wise critic, but it is that which goeth out; and if
disobedience be not amongst the evils which defile, then Adam did not
fall in Paradise when he ate the forbidden fruit. Elfric could not
touch flesh on fast days without the instinctive feeling that he was
doing wrong, and no one can sin against the conviction of the heart
without danger.
The party now seated themselves, and without any grace or further
preface the feast began. Servants appeared and served up the most
exquisite dishes, of a delicacy almost unknown in England at that day,
and poured rich wines into silver goblets. It was evident that wealth
abounded in the family they were visiting, and that they had expended
it freely for the gratification of Edwy.
Ethelgiva, the lady of the house, was of noble presence, which almost
seemed to justify the claim of royal blood which was made for her. Tall
and commanding, age had not bent her form, although her locks were
already white. Her beauty, which must have been marvellous in her
younger days, had attracted the attention of a younger son of the
reigning house, and they were married at an early age, secretly,
without the sanction of the king.
The fruit of their union was Elgiva, a name destined to fill a place in
a sad and painful tragedy; but we are anticipating, and must crave the
reader’s pardon.
Bright and cheerful indeed was the fair Elgiva at this moment. Her
beauty was remarkable even in a land so famed for the beauty of its
daughters; and the ill-advised Edwy may be pitied, if not altogether
pardoned, for his infatuation, for infatuation it was in a day when the
near tie of blood between them precluded the possibility of lawful
matrimony, save at the expense of a dispensation never likely to be
conceded, since the temperament of men like Odo, the Archbishop of
Canterbury, and of Dunstan, was opposed to any relaxation of the law in
the case of the great when such relaxation was unattainable by the poor
and lowly.
To return to our subject:
The feast proceeded with great animation. At first Elfric hesitated
when the meat was placed before him, but he withered, in his weakness,
before the mocking smile of Edwy, and the sarcasm which played upon the
lips of the rest of the company, who perceived his hesitation. So he
yielded, and, shaking off all restraint, ate heartily.
Dish followed dish, and the wine cup circulated with great freedom.
Excited as he was, Elfric could but remark the loose tone of the
conversation. Subjects were freely discussed which had never found
admittance either in the palace of King Edred or at Æscendune, and
which, indeed, caused him to look up with surprise, remembering in
whose presence he sat.
But, as is often the case in an age where opinion is severely repressed
in its outward expression, and amongst those compelled against their
will to observe silence on such subjects on ordinary occasions, all
restraint seemed abandoned at the table of Ethelgiva. It was not that
the language was coarse, but whether the conversation turned upon the
restraints of the clergy, or the court, or upon the fashionable
frivolities of the day—for there were frivolities and fashions even in
that primitive age—there was a freedom of expression bordering upon
profanity or licentiousness.
Edred was mocked as an old babbler; Dunstan was sometimes a fool,
sometimes a hypocrite, sometimes even a sorcerer, although this was
said sneeringly; the clergy were divided into fools and knaves; the
claims of the Church—that is of Christianity—derided, and the principle
freely avowed—“Enjoy life while you can, for you know not what may come
after.”
Excited by the wine he had drunk, Elfric became as wild in his talk as
the other young men, and as the intoxicating drink mounted to his
brain, seemed to think that he had just learnt how to enjoy life.
The ladies retired at last, and Edwy followed them. Elfric was on the
point of rising too, but a hint from his companions restrained him. The
wine cup still circulated, the conversation, now unrestrained,
initiated the boy into many an evil secret he had never known earlier;
and so the hours passed on, till Edwy, himself much flushed, came in
and said that it was time to depart, for midnight had long been tolled
from the distant towers of London.
He smiled as he saw by Elfric’s bloodshot eyes and unsteady gait, as he
rose, upsetting his seat, that his companion was something less master
of himself than usual; he felt, it need hardly be said, no remorse, but
rather regarded the whole thing as what might now be termed “a jolly
lark.”
“Shall you require bearers, or can you walk to the boat? I do not
wonder you are ill, you have eaten too much fish today; it is a shame
to make the knees weak through fasting in this style.”
“I—I—am all right now.”
“You will be better in the air.”
So, bidding a farewell of somewhat doubtful character to his
entertainers, Elfric was assisted to the boat. The air did not revive
him, he felt wretchedly feverish and giddy, and could hardly tell how
he reached the river.
Reach it, however, he did, and the strong arms of the watermen impelled
the boat rapidly down the tide, until it reached the stairs near the
palace.
Here Redwald was in waiting, and assisted them to land.
“You are very late, or rather early,” he said.
“Yes,” said Edwy, “but it has been a jolly evening, only poor Elfric
has been ill, having of course weakened himself by fasting.”
Redwald smiled such a scornful smile, and muttered some words to
himself. Yet it did not seem as if he were altogether displeased at the
state in which he saw Elfric. It may be added that Edwy was but little
better.
“You must keep silent,” said Redwald; “I believe the king and Dunstan
are hearing matins in the chapel: it is the festival of some saint or
other, who went to the gridiron in olden days.”
The outer gate of the palace was cautiously opened, and, taking off
their shoes, the youths ascended the stairs which led to their
apartments as lightly as possible.
“Send the leech Sigebert to us in the morning—he must report Elfric
unwell—for he will hardly get up to hear Dunstan mumble mass.”
“Perhaps your royal highness had better rest also.”
“And bring suspicion upon us both? No,” said Edwy, “one will be enough
to report ill at once; Dunstan is an old fox.”
Poor Elfric could hardly get to bed, and, almost for the first time
since infancy, he laid himself down without one prayer. Edwy left him
in the dark, and there he lay, his head throbbing, and a burning thirst
seeming to consume him.
Long before morning he was very sick, and when the bell was sounded for
the early mass it need hardly be said that he was unable to rise.
Sigebert the physician, who, like Redwald, was in the confidence of the
future king, Edwy, came in to see him, and asked what was the matter.
“I am very sick and ill,” gasped Elfric.
“I suppose you have taken something that disagreed with you—too much
fish perhaps.” (with a smile).
“No—no—I do not—”
“I understand,” said the leech; “you will soon be better; meanwhile, I
will account for your absence at chapel. Here, take this medicine; you
will find it relieve you.”
And he gave Elfric a mixture which assuaged his burning thirst, and
bathed his forehead with some powerful essence which refreshed him
greatly, whereupon the leech departed.
Only an hour later, and Edred, hearing from the physician of Elfric’s
sudden illness, came in to see the boy, whose bright cheerful face and
merry disposition had greatly attracted him. This was hardest of all
for Elfric to bear; he had to evade the kind questions of the king, and
to hear expressions of sympathy which he felt he did not deserve.
More than once he felt inclined to tell all, but the fear of the prince
restrained him, and also a sense of what he thought honour, for he
would not betray his companion, and he could not confess his own guilt
without implicating Edwy.
Poor boy! it would have been far better for him had he done so: he had
taken his first step downward.