By the altar of the Abbey Church of Waltham, that night, knelt Edith
in prayer for Harold.
She had taken up her abode in a small convent of nuns that adjoined
the more famous monastery of Waltham; but she had promised Hilda not
to enter on the novitiate, until the birthday of Harold had passed.
She herself had no longer faith in the omens and prophecies that had
deceived her youth and darkened her life; and, in the more congenial
air of our Holy Church, the spirit, ever so chastened, grew calm and
resigned. But the tidings of the Norman's coming, and the King's
victorious return to his capital, had reached even that still retreat;
and love, which had blent itself with religion, led her steps to that
lonely altar. And suddenly, as she there knelt, only lighted by the
moon through the high casements, she was startled by the sound of
approaching feet and murmuring voices. She rose in alarm--the door of
the church was thrown open--torches advanced--and amongst the monks,
between Osgood and Ailred, came the King. He had come, that last
night before his march, to invoke the prayers of that pious
brotherhood; and by the altar he had founded, to pray, himself, that
his one sin of faith forfeited and oath abjured, might not palsy his
arm and weigh on his soul in the hour of his country's need.
Edith stifled the cry that rose to her lips, as the torches fell on
the pale and hushed and melancholy face of Harold; and she crept away
under the arch of the vast Saxon columns, and into the shade of
abutting walls. The monks and the King, intent on their holy office,
beheld not that solitary and shrinking form. They approached the
altar; and there the King knelt down lowlily, and none heard the
prayer. But as Osgood held the sacred rood over the bended head of
the royal suppliant, the Image on the crucifix (which had been a gift
from Alred the prelate, and was supposed to have belonged of old to
Augustine, the first founder of the Saxon Church--so that, by the
superstition of the age, it was invested with miraculous virtues)
bowed itself visibly. Visibly, the pale and ghastly image of the
suffering God bowed over the head of the kneeling man; whether the
fastenings of the rood were loosened, or from what cause soever,--in
the eyes of all the brotherhood, the Image bowed. [254]
A thrill of terror froze every heart, save Edith's, too remote to
perceive the portent, and save the King's, whom the omen seemed to
doom, for his face was buried in his clasped hands. Heavy was his
heart, nor needed it other warnings than its own gloom.
Long and silently prayed the King; and when at last he rose, and the
monks, though with altered and tremulous voices, began their closing
hymn, Edith passed noislessly along the wall, and, stealing through
one of the smaller doors which communicated to the nunnery annexed,
gained the solitude of her own chamber. There she stood, benumbed
with the strength of her emotions at the sight of Harold thus abruptly
presented. How had the fond human heart leapt to meet him! Twice,
thus, in the august ceremonials of Religion, secret, shrinking,
unwitnessed, had she, his betrothed, she, the partner of his soul,
stood aloof to behold him. She had seen him in the hour of his pomp,
the crown upon his brow,--seen him in the hour of his peril and agony,
that anointed head bowed to the earth. And in the pomp that she could
not share, she had exulted; but, oh, now--now,--oh now that she could
have knelt beside that humbled form, and prayed with that voiceless
prayer!
The torches flashed in the court below; the church was again deserted;
the monks passed in mute procession back to their cloister; but a
single man paused, turned aside, and stopped at the gate of the
humbler convent: a knocking was heard at the great oaken door, and the
watch-dog barked. Edith started, pressed her hand on her heart and
trembled. Steps approached her door--and the abbess, entering,
summoned her below, to hear the farewell greeting of her cousin the
King.
Harold stood in the simple hall of the cloister: a single taper, tall
and wan, burned on the oak board. The abbess led Edith by the hand,
and at a sign from the King, withdrew. So, once more upon earth, the
betrothed and divided were alone.
"Edith," said the King, in a voice in which no ear but hers could have
detected the struggle, "do not think I have come to disturb thy holy
calm, or sinfully revive the memories of the irrevocable past: where
once on my breast, in the old fashion of our fathers, I wrote thy
name, is written now the name of the mistress that supplants thee.
Into Eternity melts the Past; but I could not depart to a field from
which there is no retreat--in which, against odds that men say are
fearful, I have resolved to set my crown and my life--without once
more beholding thee, pure guardian of my happier days! Thy
forgiveness for all the sorrow that, in the darkness which surrounds
man's hopes and dreams, I have brought on thee (dread return for love
so enduring, so generous and divine!)--thy forgiveness I will not ask.
Thou alone perhaps on earth knowest the soul of Harold; and if he hath
wronged thee, thou seest alike in the wronger and the wronged, but the
children of iron Duty, the servants of imperial Heaven. Not thy
forgivenness I ask--but--but--Edith, holy maid! angel soul!--thy--thy
blessing!" His voice faltered, and he inclined his lofty head as to a
saint.
"Oh that I had the power to bless!" exclaimed Edith, mastering her
rush of tears with a heroic effort; "and methinks I have the power--
not from virtues of my own, but from all that I owe to thee! The
grateful have the power to bless. For what do I not owe to thee--owe
to that very love of which even the grief is sacred? Poor child in
the house of the heathen, thy love descended upon me, and in it, the
smile of God! In that love my spirit awoke, and was baptised: every
thought that has risen from earth, and lost itself in heaven, was
breathed into my heart by thee! Thy creature and thy slave, hadst
thou tempted me to sin, sin had seemed hallowed by thy voice; but thou
saidst 'True love is virtue,' and so I worshipped virtue in loving
thee. Strengthened, purified, by thy bright companionship, from thee
came the strength to resign thee--from thee the refuge under the wings
of God--from thee the firm assurance that our union yet shall be--not
as our poor Hilda dreams, on the perishable earth,--but there! oh,
there! yonder by the celestial altars, in the land in which all
spirits are filled with love. Yes, soul of Harold! there are might
and holiness in the blessing the soul thou hast redeemed and reared
sheds on thee!"
And so beautiful, so unlike the Beautiful of the common earth, looked
the maid as she thus spoke, and laid hands, trembling with no human
passion, on that royal head-that could a soul from paradise be made
visible, such might be the shape it would wear to a mortal's eye!
Thus, for some moments both were silent; and in the silence the gloom
vanished from the heart of Harold, and, through a deep and sublime
serenity, it rose undaunted to front the future.
No embrace--no farewell kiss--profaned the parting of those pure and
noble spirits--parting on the threshold of the grave. It was only the
spirit that clasped the spirit, looking forth from the clay into
measureless eternity. Not till the air of night came once more on his
brow, and the moonlight rested on the roofs and fanes of the land
entrusted to his charge, was the man once more the human hero; not
till she was alone in her desolate chamber, and the terrors of the
coming battle-field chased the angel from her thoughts was the maid
inspired, once more the weeping woman.
A little after sunrise the abbess, who was distantly akin to the house
of Godwin, sought Edith, so agitated by her own fear, that she did not
remark the trouble of her visitor. The supposed miracle of the sacred
Image bowing over the kneeling King, had spread dismay through the
cloisters of both nunnery and abbey; and so intense was the
disquietude of the two brothers, Osgood and Ailred, in the simple and
grateful affection they bore their royal benefactor, that they had
obeyed the impulse of their tender credulous hearts, and left the
monastery with the dawn, intending to follow the King's march [255],
and watch and pray near the awful battle-field. Edith listened, and
made no reply; the terrors of the abbess infected her; the example of
the two monks woke the sole thought which stirred through the
nightmare dream that suspended reason itself; and when, at noon the
abbess again sought the chamber, Edith was gone;--gone, and alone--
none knew wherefore--one guessed whither.
All the pomp of the English army burst upon Harold's view, as, in the
rising sun, he approached the bridge of the capital. Over that bridge
came the stately march,--battle-axe, and spear, and banner, glittering
in the ray. And as he drew aside, and the forces filed before him,
the cry of; "God save King Harold!" rose with loud acclaim and lusty
joy, borne over the waves of the river, startling the echoes in the
ruined keape of the Roman, heard in the halls restored by Canute, and
chiming, like a chorus, with the chaunts of the monks by the tomb of
Sebba in St. Paul's--by the tomb of Edward at St. Peter's.
With a brightened face, and a kindling eye, the King saluted his
lines, and then fell into the ranks towards the rear, where among the
burghers of London and the lithsmen of Middlesex, the immemorial
custom of Saxon monarchs placed the kingly banner. And, looking up,
he beheld, not his old standard with the Tiger heads and the Cross,
but a banner both strange and gorgeous. On a field of gold was the
effigies of a Fighting Warrior; and the arms were bedecked in orient
pearls, and the borders blazed in the rising sun, with ruby, amethyst,
and emerald. While he gazed, wondering, on this dazzling ensign,
Haco, who rode beside the standard-bearer, advanced, and gave him a
letter.
"Last night," said he, "after thou hadst left the palace, many
recruits, chiefly from Hertfordshire and Essex, came in; but the most
gallant and stalwart of all, in arms and in stature, were the lithsmen
of Hilda. With them came this banner, on which she has lavished the
gems that have passed to her hand through long lines of northern
ancestors, from Odin, the founder of all northern thrones. So, at
least, said the bode of our kinswoman."
Harold had already cut the silk round the letter, and was reading its
contents. They ran thus:--
"King of England, I forgive thee the broken heart of my grandchild.
They whom the land feeds, should defend the land. I send to thee, in
tribute the best fruits that grow in the field, and the forest, round
the house which my husband took from the bounty of Canute;--stout
hearts and strong hands! Descending alike, as do Hilda and Harold
(through Githa thy mother,) from the Warrior God of the North, whose
race never shall fail--take, O defender of the Saxon children of Odin,
the banner I have broidered with the gems that the Chief of the Asas
bore from the East. Firm as love be thy foot, strong as death be thy
hand, under the shade which the banner of Hilda,--under the gleam
which the jewels of Odin,--cast on the brows of the King! So Hilda,
the daughter of monarchs, greets Harold the leader of men."
Harold looked up from the letter, and Haco resumed:
"Thou canst guess not the cheering effect which this banner, supposed
to be charmed, and which the name of Odin alone would suffice to make
holy, at least with thy fierce Anglo-Danes, hath already produced
through the army."
"It is well, Haco," said Harold with a smile. "Let priest add his
blessing to Hilda's charm, and Heaven will pardon any magic that makes
more brave the hearts that defend its altars. Now fall we back, for
the army must pass beside the hill with the crommell and gravestone;
there, be sure, Hilda will be at watch for our march, and we will
linger a few moments to thank her somewhat for her banner, yet more
justly, methinks, for her men. Are not yon stout fellows all in mail,
so tall and so orderly, in advance of the London burghers, Hilda's aid
to our Fyrd?"
"They are," answered Haco.
The King backed his steed to accost them with his kingly greeting; and
then, with Haco, falling yet farther to the rear seemed engaged in
inspecting the numerous wains, bearing missiles and forage, that
always accompanied the march of a Saxon army, and served to strengthen
its encampment. But when they came in sight of the hillock by which
the great body of the army had preceded them, the King and the son of
Sweyn dismounted and on foot entered the large circle of the Celtic
ruin.
By the side of the Teuton altar they beheld two forms, both perfectly
motionless: but one was extended on the ground as in sleep or in
death; the other sate beside it, as if watching the corpse, or
guarding the slumber. The face of the last was not visible, propped
upon the arms which rested on the knees, and bidden by the hands. But
in the face of the other, as the two men drew near, they recognised
the Danish Prophetess. Death in its dreadest characters was written
on that ghastly face; woe and terror, beyond all words to describe,
spoke in the haggard brow, the distorted lips, and the wild glazed
stare of the open eyes. At the startled cry of the intruders on that
dreary silence, the living form moved; and though still leaning its
face on its hands, it raised its head; and never countenance of
Northern Vampire, cowering by the rifled grave, was more fiendlike and
appalling.
"Who and what art thou?" said the King; "and how, thus unhonored in
the air of heaven, lies the corpse of the noble Hilda? Is this the
hand of Nature? Haco, Haco, so look the eyes, so set the features, of
those whom the horror of ruthless murder slays even before the steel
strikes. Speak, hag, art thou dumb?"
"Search the body," answered the witch, "there is no wound! Look to
the throat,--no mark of the deadly gripe! I have seen such in my
day.--There are none on this corpse, I trow; yet thou sayest rightly,
horror slew her! Ha, ha! she would know, and she hath known; she
would raise the dead and the demon; she hath raised them; she would
read the riddle,--she hath read it. Pale King and dark youth, would
ye learn what Hilda saw, eh? eh? Ask her in the Shadow-World where
she awaits ye! Ha! ye too would be wise in the future; ye too would
climb to heaven through the mysteries of hell. Worms! worms! crawl
back to the clay--to the earth! One such night as the hag ye despise
enjoys as her sport and her glee, would freeze your veins, and sear
the life in your eyeballs, and leave your corpses to terror and
wonder, like the carcase that lies at your feet!"
"Ho!" cried the King, stamping his foot. "Hence, Haco; rouse the
household; summon hither the handmaids; call henchman and ceorl to
guard this foul raven."
Haco obeyed; but when he returned with the shuddering and amazed
attendants, the witch was gone, and the King was leaning against the
altar with downcast eyes, and a face troubled and dark with thought.
The body of the Vala was borne into the house; and the King, waking
from his reverie, bade them send for the priests and ordered masses
for the parted soul. Then kneeling, with pious hand he closed the
eyes and smoothed the features, and left his mournful kiss on the icy
brow. These offices fulfilled, he took Haco's arm, and leaning on it,
returned to the spot on which they had left their steeds. Not
evincing surprise or awe,--emotions that seemed unknown to his gloomy,
settled, impassible nature--Haco said calmly, as they descended the
knoll:
"What evil did the hag predict to thee?"
"Haco," answered the King, "yonder, by the shores of Sussex, lies all
the future which our eyes now should scan, and our hearts should be
firm to meet. These omens and apparitions are but the ghosts of a
dead Religion; spectres sent from the grave of the fearful
Heathenesse; they may appal but to lure us from our duty. Lo, as we
gaze around--the ruins of all the creeds that have made the hearts of
men quake with unsubstantial awe--lo, the temple of the Briton!--lo,
the fane of the Roman!--lo, the mouldering altar of our ancestral
Thor! Ages past lie wrecked around us in these shattered symbols. A
new age hath risen, and a new creed. Keep we to the broad truths
before us; duty here; knowledge comes alone in the Hereafter."
"That Hereafter!--is it not near?" murmured Haco.
They mounted in silence; and ere they regained the army paused, by a
common impulse, and looked behind. Awful in their desolation rose the
temple and the altar! And in Hilda's mysterious death it seemed that
their last and lingering Genius,--the Genius of the dark and fierce,
the warlike and the wizard North, had expired for ever. Yet, on the
outskirt of the forest, dusk and shapeless, that witch without a name
stood in the shadow, pointing towards them, with outstretched arm, in
vague and denouncing menace;--as if, come what may, all change of
creed,--be the faith ever so simple, the truth ever so bright and
clear,--there is a SUPERSTITION native to that Border-land between the
Visible and the Unseen, which will find its priest and its votaries,
till the full and crowning splendour of Heaven shall melt every shadow
from the world!