“UNDER WHICH KING?”
It will be remembered that one of the theows who had borne Elfric home
from the field of battle had become alarmed by the suspicious aspect of
things at the hall, and had escaped, by prompt evasion, the confinement
which awaited his companions. Oswy, for it was he, thus showed his
natural astuteness, while he also conferred the greatest possible
obligation upon Elfric, since he bore the news of his ill-timed arrival
at once to the priory.
Here his worst suspicions were confirmed; and the faithful thrall heard
for the first time of the death of his late lord, and that he had given
his young master into the hands of his bitter foes. Alfred was at once
summoned; and a conference was held, in which Father Cuthbert, his
brethren, and the chamberlain and steward of the hall, took part.
“It is now generally believed,” said Father Cuthbert, “that Redwald is
the bitter enemy, for some reason, of the house of Æscendune. Has any
one here suspected that reason?”
No one could give any reply.
“I fear what I am about to say,” he continued, “will startle you all.
Redwald is a member of the family himself.”
“A member of the family!”
“Yes. Is there any one present who remembers the unhappy brother of our
late lamented lord—Oswald, the son of Offa?”
“Yes,” said the old chamberlain, “I remember him well; and I see now
what you mean.”
“Is not the expression of the face identical? Are they not the same
features, as one might say?”
“Yet Redwald is much darker.”
“Because his mother was Danish, and he has inherited some of her
peculiarities, that is all.”
“Still,” said the steward, “every one supposed that the unhappy Oswald
perished at sea with his son. Never shall I forget the grief of the old
thane Offa, when inquiring for the son, he learned that he had gone
with the father to his death. He would have adopted him.”
“And do we not,” added a Benedictine, “say a mass daily at St.
Wilfred’s altar for the souls of Oswald and his son Ragnar?”
“Oswald may be dead; Ragnar yet lives in Redwald. The name alone is
changed.”
“But where are the proofs? We cannot wholly trust an imaginary
resemblance.”
“It is not imaginary; and these are the proofs in question. The night
after the murder” (all looked at each other as if a sudden inspiration
struck them), “as I was going to the chapel from the lady Edith’s
apartments, I passed through a passage little used, but leading past
the chamber allotted to Redwald, and only separated by a thin
wainscoting. I was startled as I passed it by the sound of a pacing to
and fro; an incessant pacing; and I heard the inmate of the room
soliloquising with himself as in a state of frenzied feeling. I caught
only broken words but again and again I heard ‘Avenged;’ and once
‘Father you are avenged;’ and once ‘Little do they know who is their
guest;’ once ‘It is a good beginning,’ and such like ejaculations. I
remained a long time, because, as you will all see, the murderer stood
revealed.”
“Then why did you not tell us before?” exclaimed all, almost in a
breath.
“Because it would have been of no avail. Had there been the least
chance of calling him to account, I should, you may be sure, have
proclaimed his guilt. But early in the morning fresh forces began to
arrive to his aid. My only endeavour was to get the lady Edith and her
remaining children safe from the castle; and it was only by dissembling
my feelings, by talking face to face with the man of blood, by
pretending to trust him, that I could succeed. Had he not thought us
all perfectly satisfied, he would never have left the hall to go
foraging in person; and now all would be well, but for this sad, sad
chance, which has placed the poor lad Elfric in his power.”
“But,” said Alfred, “this makes the case worse than ever. Poor Elfric!
they will kill him. Oh, can this be Ragnar?”
The Benedictines expressed themselves convinced, because the
supposition explained the present circumstances so clearly, and
accounted for that hitherto unaccountable circumstance—the murder. The
steward and chamberlain both fancied they recognised the family
likeness; and so the solution at which Father Cuthbert had arrived was
accepted by all.
The question was now what course to adopt, for the night was fast
wearing away.
“Two things are to be done,” said Father Cuthbert. “The first is to
secure the safety of the lady Edith and her children from any sudden
attack from the castle, to which effect I propose holding all the
vassals in arms; and, in case of any force leaving the hall, I purpose
giving the lady Edith and her daughter instant sanctuary in the priory,
while the vassals gather round its precincts; for, I fear me, this
Ragnar is a heathen, and would but little respect the house of God.”
“Could we not attack the hall and release Elfric? Think of Elfric,”
said Alfred.
“It would be madness; Redwald has more than a hundred and fifty men of
war within it. The place is full; we could not attack with the least
chance of success. No: the second thing I meant to propose was this,
that we should send an instant message to King Edgar, who is near at
hand, and explain the whole circumstances to him. He has many causes of
enmity against Redwald, and would probably come to our aid at once, as
the safety of his realm would require him to do eventually.”
“Let me be the messenger; he will surely listen to the pleadings of a
brother for a brother.”
“I had so designed,” said Father Cuthbert; “and in order that no chance
may be thrown away, I will adventure myself in the lion’s den, and
threaten with the penalties of excommunication this vindictive Redwald
or Ragnar.”
“No, father; you will never come out alive. No, no!” said they all.
The last proposal was universally discouraged. Redwald had already
special cause of enmity against Father Cuthbert, who had robbed him of
part of his destined prey; and it was ultimately settled that Father
Swithin, another of the order, should be charged with the mission, with
the power to make conciliatory offers, or to act on the other course as
he should see fit; in short, to use all his wit for Elfric.
Alfred did not delay a moment unnecessarily, but in the dawning light
set forward to seek Edgar, of whom he had no definite information, but
who was believed to linger in the neighbourhood of the battlefield,
holding council with earls and thanes as to the further steps to be
taken, and receiving the submission of the whole Mercian, East Anglian,
and Northumbrian nobility.
Therefore, mounted upon a good steed, and accompanied by Oswy, he
rapidly traversed the country over which his brother had been so
painfully borne; slowly, however, in places, for here and there large
tracts of swamp obstructed the way, and in other places the thickets
were dense and impervious; even where the country was cultivated the
unpaved roads were rough and hazardous for riders.
It was past the hour of nones, the ninth hour of the day, when the
riders reached the battlefield, which still bore frightful traces of
the recent combat; reddened with blood, which had left its dark traces
on large patches of the ground, and encumbered with the bodies of
horses and men which had not yet found sepulture, although bands of
theows from the neighbouring estates were busily engaged in the
necessary toil, excavating huge pits, and placing the dead—no longer
rivals—reverently and decently in their last long home. Several wolves
could be discerned, hanging about under the skirts of the forest, but
not daring to come out into the plain while the day lasted and the men
were about; whole flocks of ravenous birds flew about the scene, now
settling down on the spots where the strife had been hottest, now
soaring away when disturbed in their sickening feast.
It was the first time Alfred had ever gazed upon a battlefield; and now
he saw it stripped of all the romance and glamour which bards had
thrown over it, and the sight appalled him.
He drew near a large pit into which the thralls were casting the dead.
Many of the bodies presented, as we have already seen, a most ghastly
spectacle; and nearly all had begun to decompose. Mentally he thanked
God that Elfric, at least, was not there; and he turned aside his head
in horror at the sight.
He now inquired of the foreman of the labourers whether he knew where
the Etheling Edgar would be.
“You mean King Edgar, for the Mercians will acknowledge no other king.
The people of Wessex may keep the enemy of the saints, if they like.”
“King Edgar, I mean. Where is he now?”
“He has been holding a council at Tamworth town, in the old palace of
King Offa; and they say all the tributary kings have come there to be
his men, and all the great earls.”
“Can you tell me the nearest road to Tamworth?”
“Why, it lies through the forest there, where you see those wolves
lurking about. They will begin to be dangerous when the sun goes down,
and perhaps some of them would not mind a snap at a horse or even a
man, now.”
“We must take our chance;” said Alfred: “life and death hang on our
speed,” and he and Oswy rode on.
The wolves were no longer seen. In the summer they generally avoided
men, at least during the day, and they were gradually becoming more
uncommon at that date. Alfred entertained little fear as he proceeded,
until the darkening shadows showed that night was near, and they were
still in the heart of the forest, when he began to feel alarmed. The
road before them was a good wide woodland path, and easy to follow even
in the gathering darkness.
Suddenly their horses started violently, as a loud howl was heard
behind, and repeated immediately from different quarters of the forest.
Alfred felt that it was the gathering of the ferocious beasts, which
had been attracted from distant forests by the scent of the
battlefield, and had thus happened to lie in increased numbers around
their path. The howling continued to increase, and their horses sped
onward as if mad with fear—it was all they could do to guide them
safely.
Nearer and nearer drew the fearful sound; and looking back they beheld
the fiery eyes swarming along the road after them. They had begun to
abandon hope, when all at once they heard the sound of advancing
horsemen in front of them, accompanied by the clank of arms. The wolves
heard it too, and with all the cunning cowardice of their race
scampered away from their intended prey, just as Alfred and Oswy
avoided impaling themselves upon the lances of the coming deliverers.
“Whom have we here, riding at this pace through the woods?” cried out a
rough, manly voice.
“The wolves were after the poor fellows,” said another.
“They may speak for themselves,” said the leader, confronting Alfred.
“Art thou a Mercian and a friend of King Edgar? Under which king?
Speak, or die!”
“I seek King Edgar. My name is Alfred, son of Ella of Æscendune.”
“Who sheltered the men of Wessex, and entertained the impious Edwy in
his castle.”
“We had no power to resist had we wished to do so.”
“Which you evidently did not. May a plain soldier ask you now why you
seek King Edgar?”
“Because,” said Alfred, “my father has been murdered, and my brother
made a prisoner by Redwald, the captain of King Edwy’s hus-carles, who
holds our house, and has driven us all out.”
“Your father murdered! Your family expelled! Your brother a prisoner!
These are strange news.”
“Why this delay!” cried another speaker, riding up from behind. “The
king is impatient to get on. Ride faster.”
“The king!” cried Alfred. “Oh, lead me to him.”
“Who is this,” demanded the second officer, “who demands speech of the
royal Edgar?”
“Alfred of Æscendune. He tells us that the infamous Redwald holds the
fortified house there, has murdered the thane Ella, and expelled the
family, save the brother, whom he holds to ransom.”
“No, not to ransom,” cried Alfred. “It is his life that is threatened.
Oh, take me to Edgar!”
“He is close behind, in company with the Ealdorman of Mercia and Siward
of Northumbria.”
“Stay behind with him, Biorn, and let us continue our route. You may
introduce him to the king, if he will see him.”
The first party—the advance guard—now passed on, and was succeeded
almost immediately by the main body, foremost amongst whom rode Prince
or rather King Edgar, then only a youth of fifteen years of age. We
last beheld him a boy of twelve, at the date of Elfric’s arrival at the
court of Edred. By his side rode Siward, Ealdorman of Northumbria.
“Who is this?” cried the latter, as he saw Alfred and his attendant
waiting to receive him.
“Alfred of Æscendune, with a petition for aid against Redwald, who has
seized his father’s castle.”
“Alfred of Æscendune!” cried Edgar. “Halt, my friends, one moment.
Alfred of Æscendune, tell me your story; to me, Edgar, your king.”
Alfred hastened to pour his tale of sorrows into an ear evidently not
unsympathising, and when he had concluded Edgar asked —“And tell me
what is your request. It shall be granted even to the uttermost.”
“Only that you, my lord, would hasten to our aid and deliver my brother
for his poor widowed mother’s sake.”
“We should send a troop against Redwald in any case, but even had our
plans been otherwise, know this, Alfred of Æscendune, that he who by
his devoted service saved the life, or at least the liberty, of
Dunstan, the light of our realm of England, and the favourite of
heaven, has a claim to ask any favour Edgar can grant.
“Siward, my father, bid the advanced guard bend its course towards
Æscendune at once.”
“My lord, the men are too weary to travel all night. We had purposed
halting when we reached the battlefield on our march southward. There
is a cross-country road thence to Æscendune, almost impassable in the
night.”
“Then we will travel early in the morning; and doubt not, Alfred, we
shall arrive in time to chastise this insolent aggressor. Redwald has
been my poor brother’s evil spirit in all things; he shall die, I swear
it,” said the precocious Edgar, a man before his time.
“But, my lord,” said Alfred, “may I ask but one favour, that you will
permit me to proceed and relieve the anxiety of my people with the
tidings of your approach?”
“If you must leave our side, such an errand would seem to justify you.
Poor Elfric! I remember him well. I could not have thought him in any
danger from Redwald.”
“Redwald is his, is our bitterest foe.”
“Indeed,” said Edgar, and proceeded to elicit the whole history of the
case from Alfred.
The sad tale was not complete till they reached the battlefield, and
encamped in the entrenchments the young prince had occupied the night
before the combat.
“We had intended,” said Edgar, “to march at once for London, owing to
news we have received from the south, but we will tarry at Æscendune
until the work is completed there, even if it cost us our crown.
“Nay, Siward, I may have my way this once. I am soldier enough to know
I may not leave an enemy behind me on my march.”
“But a small detachment might accomplish the work.”
“Then I will go with it myself; my heart is in it. But, Alfred, you
look very ill; you cannot proceed tonight. When did you sleep last?”
“Three nights ago.”
“Then it would be madness to proceed; you must sleep, and at early dawn
you shall precede us on my own charger—which has been led all the
way—if your own is too wearied, and with an attendant or two in case of
danger from man or beast. Nay, it must be so.”
Alfred, who could scarcely stand for very fatigue, was forced to yield,
and that night he slept soundly in the camp of Edgar. At the first dawn
they aroused him from sleep, and he found a splendid warhorse awaiting
him—a gift, they told him, from Edgar. Two attendants, well mounted,
awaited him in company with Oswy. He would willingly have dispensed
with their company; but he was told that the king, anxious for his
safety, had insisted upon their attending him, and that they were
answerable for his safe return to Æscendune, the country being
considered dangerous for travellers in its present disturbed state.
So he yielded; and before the king had arisen he left the camp, after a
hasty meal, and rode as rapidly as the roads would permit towards his
desolated home.