WAR'S VICISSITUDES.
"Hope tells a flattering tale,
Delusive, vain, and hollow.
Ah! let not hope prevail,
Lest disappointment follow."
Miss Wrother.
The desperate repulse which the Normans received at the hands of the
Saxon outlaws, made them exceedingly chary of attempting again the
extermination of them. This afforded a welcome respite to the fugitives,
particularly to the women and children. But the vigilance of their
sentinels was never permitted to be relaxed. The retreat to which Ethel
had been conveyed was thus free from alarms, and lacked nothing in
picturesqueness and beauty. Oswald had taken care that it should be
furnished with some comfort and taste, for he had been wont in
summertime to spend often many days, and even weeks, in this secluded
and lovely spot. To Ethel, this home in the mountains was dearly
welcome. During the day she busied herself with the books of history,
travel, and romance which Oswald loved; and at even her countenance
brightened at his cheery words and pleasant greetings. But for some days
a strange feeling of anxiety and foreboding had clouded her happiness;
for more than a week Oswald had not so much as paid a hurried visit to
his favourite rendezvous.
"Your master has not been here for more than a week, Bretwul," said she
one day, when her anxiety for tidings could no longer be resisted. "Do
you know what detains him? I fear me he has fallen into the hands of the
Normans."
"He will not fall into the hands of the Normans so easily, lady. If he
does it will only be his body, though I am afraid he ventures on some
desperate enterprises."
"Whither has he gone, Bretwul? Know you?"
"I know not for certainty, lady, but I have belief he has gone with one
Sigurd, lord of Lakesland, for he has disappeared and taken his wild-cat
crew with him. Good riddance, I trow! and may my eyes never look upon
such starved, ill-clad, unsavoury mortals again!"
"Who is this Sigurd you speak of, Bretwul?"
"He is lord of the Lakes, but has had served out to him the same
treatment as every other Saxon chieftain has had; first wholesale
butchery of his followers, then death, or flight and exile, for
himself."
"What has he been doing here?"
"He has been hunted, harassed, and driven from one hiding-place to
another, until he had but a handful of followers left. Then he sought
respite in flight, and has been for a little while with us here, he and
a dozen of his housecarles. Now he hears the Norman army has gone south,
so he would fain return to the fray, and has craved the assistance of
the Earl and a dozen stout retainers, in return for the services he
rendered us."
"I had a dream last night, Bretwul. I saw Oswald fighting desperately
with Norman foes, and then he was surrounded by them and sorely wounded.
Then I saw him borne by rough hands to a cave in the mountain side, and
I saw him swiftly bleeding to death, and no one there knew how to
staunch his wounds or cool his feverish brow; and I heard him cry
'Ethel!' And as I stretched out my hands to help, I awoke."
"It was but a dream, lady. Do not let your mind run on such thoughts as
these. You are looking pale and ill. My master will be angry when he
returns, if he knows I told you of his purpose."
"Can we not go to-night? I do not care to spend my time in idleness and
ease while he thus braves danger and death for his country. By hard
riding we can reach Lakesland ere the sun is up, and I am sure I can be
of service."
"Beshrew me if I dare budge a stone-throw from this place until he gives
the word! I like not lying to rust, like the Earl's old swords hung
there, in idleness; but I would rather not face him after disobeying
orders."
"But he may be wounded, and no one near to nurse him but these rough
men, whilst I am worse than useless here, with nothing to do but burden
others!"
"Set your fears at rest, lady. These rough men know how to lay a
splintered bone, or close a wound, like any practised leech. But if you
let your mind run on these things you will be miserable. I have no fear
for him. The Normans will find their match, I trow, and give him a wide
berth. I have seen them cut down churls like myself with vigorous
strokes, and strike halting blows at him, through sheer terror at his
appearance."
"But they are many to one, and better armed, and he will be overborne by
the numbers of them. I am sure I could be of service, and I should like
to be near; I don't mind the rough life at all. Saddle us a pair of
horses, and let us start to-night."
"I warrant the Earl would slit my ears if I dared do any such thing! But
these are idle fears. I forget me, though; I have a message from the
Abbot Adhelm. But, by our Lady! he is no longer abbot, but a humble
friar, with no more power in his own abbey than any scullion priest. He
was a worthy Father, and never turned a lean dog of a Saxon away without
crumbs and comfort. But, among the other bad things these Normans have
brought, are a lot of swag-bellied monks, who broach more ale-casks than
they say prayers; and, by the Mass! they drink the ale, too, for there
is never a drop, or a taste of venison, to bestow on a famishing palmer,
or starving yeoman. I wish I could stick a nettle under their tails and
make them trot, the whole brood of them. The Church will never make much
out of my prayers, beshrew me! but I would with right good will rid her
of these shaveling carrion who have come swarming at the heels of the
fighting men."
"But you said you had a message from Adhelm, did you not, Bretwul?"
"Aye, aye, lady!" said Bretwul, highly gratified at the diversion he had
effected. "When my tongue is set a-wagging, it is as long as my dog's
when he is dead beat in chasing a hare; there's no hauling it in. Well,
Adhelm has found some pity in a wolf's den. Whoever would have looked
for a she-wolf having compassion on the sheep?"
"I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about Bretwul."
"Marry, no! there's no sense in an ass's braying; but bringing him to
the end on't is another matter. Well, gramercy! this fire-eating Norman
count has got a daughter who belies her own father."
"Belies her own father? What may that mean?"
"Aye, marry, it's true enough--belies her own father. I take the liberty
to dodge about a bit amongst the churls who have submitted to these
Normans, to see what encouragement there may be to feed at the same
trough as these broken-spirited cattle. Well, an iron collar about my
neck is an ornament I don't covet, and kicks and cuffs always did bruise
my flesh, and, what is even more painful, they bruise my mind; so a
Norman serf I will not be. But they tell me this count has a daughter
who has compassion, and visits them, carrying dainties to such as are
sick. Adhelm also and she are great friends, and he says she occupies
herself much in this sort of work."
This colloquy was cut short by a sharp knock at the door and the hurried
entrance of one of the Earl's retainers.
"Bretwul!" said he; but, his eye alighting on Ethel, he suddenly paused.
"I crave your pardon," said he, hastily doffing his cap. "Matters of
importance, which stand not on ceremony, have brought me."
"What are they, my man?" said Ethel, eager and apprehensive.
"The Earl is slightly unwell," said the stranger, noticing Bretwul's
cautioning gesture; "and I have ridden hard to request that a bed may be
prepared."
"My dream! my dream!" almost shrieked Ethel, starting from her seat. "He
is not dead yet! Say he is not dead?"
"Calm yourself, lady," said Bretwul, giving the stranger another
significant look.
"No, no, lady; a mere scratch. A few weeks of your nursing will set him
on his feet as sound as a rock. But you will make ready, Bretwul? They
are not far behind."