“THE KING IS DEAD!—LONG LIVE THE KING!”
The unhappy Elfric passed the night in a most unenviable frame of mind.
He felt distinctly how utterly he was in the power of Dunstan, and that
he could only expect to return home in disgrace; yet there was no real
repentance in all this: he had sinned and suffered, but although he
dreaded punishment he no longer hated sin.
He scarcely slept at all, and early in the morning he rose to seek an
interview with Edwy, when he found that he was a prisoner. One of the
hus-carles posted at his door forbade all communication.
Early in the morning the bell sounded for the early service, still he
was not released, and later his breakfast was brought to him, after
which he heard a heavy step approaching, and Dunstan appeared at the
door of the sleeping chamber.
He entered, and gazed at Elfric for a moment without speaking, as if he
would read his very heart by his face; it was hardly comfortable.
“Elfric,” he said at last, “do you remember the warning I gave you six
months ago?”
“No,” said Elfric, determined, in desperation, to deny everything.
“I fear you are hardly telling me the truth; you must remember it,
unhappy boy! Why were you not warned in time? Why did you refuse the
advice which might have saved you from all this?”
“Because it was my fate, I suppose.”
“Men make their own fates, and as they make their beds so must they lie
upon them; however, I have not come here to reproach you, but to bid
you prepare to return home.”
“Home?—so soon?” said Elfric.
“Yes, you must leave tomorrow, when a messenger will be prepared to
accompany you, and to explain the cause of your dismissal from court to
your father, whom I most sincerely pity; and let me hope that you will
find leisure to repent of your grievous sin in the solitude of your
native home.”
“Must my father be told everything?”
“I fear he must: you have left us no choice; and it is the better
thing, both for him and for you; he will understand better what steps
are necessary for your reformation—a reformation, I trust, which will
be accomplished in good time, whereat no one will rejoice more than I.”
A pert answer rose to Elfric’s lips, but he dared not give utterance to
it; the speaker was too great in his wrath to be defied with impunity.
“Farewell,” said Dunstan, “would that I could say the word with
brighter hopes; but should you ever repent of your sin, as I trust you
may, it will gladden me to hear of it. I fear you may have done great
harm to England in the person of her future king, but God forgive you
in that case.”
Elfric felt the injustice of the last accusation; he coloured, and an
indignant denial had almost risen to his lips, but he repressed it for
Edwy’s sake—faithful, even in his vice, to his friend.
“Am I to consider myself a prisoner? you have posted a sentinel, as if
I were a criminal.”
“You must be confined to your apartment, but you may have books and
anything else you desire. The prince is forbidden to see you again.
Your confinement will only be for one day; tomorrow you will be free
enough; let me beg you to use the occasion for calm reflection, and, I
hope, penitence.”
Dunstan left the room, and Elfric heard his retreating steps go heavily
down the stairs, when a sudden and almost unaccountable feeling came
over him—a feeling that he had thrown himself away, and that he was
committed to evil, perhaps never to be able to retrace his course,
never to all eternity; the retreating steps sounded as if his sentence
were passed and the door of mercy shut. He shook off the strange
feeling; yet, could he have seen the future which lay undiscovered
before him, and which must intervene before he should see that face
again, or hear those steps, he might have been unable thus to shake off
the nameless dread.
The day wore away, night drew on; he laid himself down and tried to
sleep, when he heard voices conversing outside, and recognised Edwy’s
tones; immediately after the prince entered.
“What a shame, Elfric,” he said, “to make you a prisoner like this, and
to send you away—for they say you are to go tomorrow —you shall not be
forgotten if ever I become king, and I don’t think it will be long
first. The first thing I shall do will be to send for you; you will
come; won’t you?”
“I will be yours for life or death.”
“I knew it, and this is the faithful friend from whom they would
separate me; well, we will have this last evening together in peace;
old Dunstan has gone out, and Redwald has put a man as your guard who
never sees anything he is not wanted to see.”
“What a convenient thing!”
“But you seem very dull; is anything on your mind which I do not know?
What did Dunstan say to you?”
“He is going to write home to my father all particulars. It will make
home miserable.”
“Perhaps we may find a remedy for that,” said Edwy, and left the room
hastily.
Shortly he returned in company with Redwald.
“Come with us, Elfric,” said the prince “there is no one in the palace
to interfere with us. Old Dunstan received a sudden message, and has
gone out hastily; we will go and see what he has written.”
Somewhat startled at the audacity of the proposal, Elfric followed the
prince, and Redwald accompanied them. After passing through a few
passages, they arrived at the cell, or rather study, usually occupied
by Dunstan when at court, and entered it, not without a slight feeling
of dread, or rather of reluctance.
“Here it is,” said Edwy, and held up a parchment, folded, sealed, and
directed to “Ella, Thane of Æscendune.”
“I should like to know what he has written,” said the prince. “Redwald,
you understand these things; can you open the letter without breaking
the seal?”
“There is no need of that,” replied the captain of the hus-carles, “I
can easily seal it again; see, there is the signet, and here the wax.”
So he broke the letter open and extended it to the prince, whose
liberal education had given him the faculty of reading the monkish
Latin, in which Dunstan wrote, at a glance, and he read aloud:
“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,
“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—
“It grieveth me much, most beloved brother, to be under the necessity
of sending your son Elfric home in some little disgrace; but it is,
alas a necessity that I should do so, in virtue of the authority our
good lord and king, Edred, hath entrusted to me. The lad was bright,
and, I think, innocent of aught like deadly sin, when he came to this
huge Babel, where the devil seems to lead men even as he will, and he
hath fallen here into evil company—nay, into the very company most evil
of all in this wicked world, that of designing and shameless women,
albeit of noble birth. It hath been made apparent to me that there is
great danger to both the prince and your son in any further connection,
therefore I return Elfric to your care, sincerely hoping that, by God’s
help, you will be enabled to take such measures as will lead to his
speedy reformation, for which I devoutly pray. The bearer will give
such further information as you may desire.
“Wishing you health, and an abiding place in the favour of God and His
saints—Your brother in the faith of Christ,
“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”
Edwy read the letter aloud with many a vindictive comment, and then
said to Redwald—“What can be done? Must this letter go?”
“Does your father know the Saint’s handwriting, Elfric?”
“He never heard from him before, I believe.”
“Well, then, I will venture to enclose a different message,” and he sat
down at the table, and wrote—“TO MY BROTHER IN CHRIST,
“ELLA, THANE OF ÆSCENDUNE—
“It rejoiceth me much, most beloved brother, to send you good tidings
of the good behaviour and growth in grace of your son, whom the king
hath concluded to send home for the benefit of his health, since London
hath in some degree destroyed the ruddy hue of his countenance, and he
needeth a change, as his paleness sufficiently declareth.
“The king hath bidden me express his great satisfaction with the lad’s
conduct, and the prince mourneth his enforced departure. Wishing you
health and an abiding place in the favour of God and His saints—Your
brother in the faith of Christ,
“DUNSTAN, O.S.B.”
The boys laughed aloud as they read the forgery.
“But about the messenger—will he not tell the truth?”
“Oh, I will see to him, he is not above a bribe, and knows it is his
interest to serve his future king, although Dunstan thinks him so
trusty.”
All at once the booming of a heavy bell smote their ears.
“It is the bell of St. Paul’s, it tolls for the death of some noble,”
said Redwald; “what can it mean? has any member of the royal family
been ill?”
They listened to the solemn dirge-like sound as it floated through the
air, calling upon all good Christians to pray for the repose of the
departed or departing soul. No prayer rose to their lips, and they soon
returned to the subject in hand.
“When is the letter to be despatched?”
“Early in the morning the messenger will await you; and now, I should
recommend some sleep to prepare for a fatiguing journey.”
Elfric and the prince returned to their chamber, but they did not take
Redwald’s hint, and remained talking till just before daybreak, when
they were aroused by the hasty step of an armed heel, and Redwald stood
before them. His demeanour was very strange; he bent down on one knee,
took the hand of Edwy, who resigned it passively to him, kissed it and
cried aloud—“God save the king!”
“What can you mean, Redwald?” exclaimed both the youths.
“Heard you not the passing bell last night? Edred sleeps with his
fathers; he died at Frome on St. Clement’s day.”
For a moment they were both silent.
“And Edwy, the great grandson of Alfred, is king of England.”
At first the young prince was deeply shocked at the sudden news of the
death of his uncle, to whom, in spite of appearances, he was somewhat
attached. He turned pale, and was again silent for some minutes; at
last, he gulped down a cup of water, and asked—“But how did Dunstan
know?”
“Why, it is a strange tale. Three days ago, at the very hour the king
must have died, he says that he saw a bright light, and beheld a vision
of angels, who said, ‘Edred hath died in the Lord,’ but he treated it
as a dream, and last night a messenger came with the news of the sudden
illness of the king, bidding Dunstan hasten to his side. He left
everything, and started immediately, but in a few miles met another
messenger, bearing the news of the death. He has gone on, but sent the
messenger forward to the Bishop of London, who caused the great bell to
be tolled.
“We must all die some day,” said Edwy, musingly; “but it is very very
sudden.”
“And I trust he has obtained a better kingdom,” added Redwald; “he
must, you know, if the monks tell the truth, so why should we weep for
him?”
“At least,” said Edwy, looking up, “Elfric need not go home now.”
“No, certainly not, but he had better disappear from court for a time.
The lady Ethelgiva might afford him hospitality, or he might stay at
the royal palace at Kingston. I will tell the messenger to keep out of
the way, and Dunstan may suppose that his orders have been obeyed to
the letter.”
“Why should we trouble what he may think or say?”
“Because the Witan has not yet met, and until it has gone through the
form, the mere form, of recognising your title, you are not actually
king. Dunstan has some influence. Suppose he should use it for Edgar?”
“Edgar, the pale-faced little priestling!”
“All the better for that in Dunstan’s eyes. Nay, be advised, my king;
keep all things quiet until the coronation is over, then let Dunstan
know who you are and who he is.”
“Indeed I will. He shall have cause to rue his insolent behaviour the
other night.”
“Bide your time, my liege; and now the great officers of state require
your presence below.”
A few days later a sorrowful procession entered the old city of
Winchester, the capital of Wessex, and once a favourite residence of
Edred, now to be his last earthly resting place. Much had the citizens
loved him; and as the long train defiled into the open space around the
old minster—old, even then—the vast assemblage, grouped beneath the
trees around the sacred precincts, lifted up their voices and joined in
the funeral hymn, while many wept tears of genuine sorrow. It was awe
inspiring, that burst of tuneful wailing, as the monks entered the
sacred pile, and it made men’s hearts thrill with the sense of the
unseen world into which their king had entered, and where, as they
believed, their supplications might yet follow him.
There were the chief mourners—Edwy and Edgar—and they followed the
royal corpse, the latter greatly afflicted, and shedding genuine tears
of sorrow—and the royal household. All the nobility of Wessex, and many
of the nobles from Mercia and other provinces, were gathered together,
and amidst the solemn silence of the vast crowd, Dunstan performed the
last sad and solemn rites with a broken voice; while the archbishop—Odo
the Good, as he was frequently called—assisted in the dread solemnity.
It was over; the coffin was lowered to the royal vaults to repose in
peace, the incenses had ceased to float dreamily beneath the lofty
roof,xi the various lights which had borne part in the ceremony were
extinguished, the choral anthem had ceased, for Edred slept with his
fathers.
And outside, the future king was welcomed with loud cries of “God save
King Edwy, and make him just as Alfred, pious as Edred, and warlike as
Athelstane!”
“Long live the heir of Cerdic’s ancient line!”
Thus their cries anticipated the decision of the Witan, and without all
was noise and clamour; while within the sacred fane the ashes of him
who had so lately ruled England rested in peace by the side of his
royal father Edward, the son of Alfred, three of whose sons—Athelstane,
Edmund, Edred—had now reigned in succession.
It must not be supposed that Edwy was as yet king by the law of the
land. The early English writers all speak of their kings as elected; it
was not until the Witan had recognised them, that they were crowned and
assumed the royal prerogatives.
Edwy had followed Redwald’s advice: he had kept Elfric out of the way,
and meant to do so until his coronation day. And meanwhile he
condescended to disguise his real feelings, and to affect sorrow for
his past failings when in the presence of Dunstan.
Yet he took advantage of the greater liberty he now enjoyed to renew
his visits to the mansion up the Thames, and to spend whole days in the
society of Elgiva. In their simplicity and deep love they thought all
the obstacles to their happy union now removed. Alas! ill-fated pair!