I was glad we had not to go through the town, for the sights there were
such as Alswythe could not bear to look on. And if that smoke meant
aught, it meant that our men were beaten back, and would even now be
flying into the place with perhaps the Danes at their heels.
I rode alongside Wulfhere, and motioned to him to look, and as he did so
he groaned. Then he spoke quite cheerfully to his lady, saying that we
had better push on and make a good start; and so we broke into a steady
trot and covered the ground rapidly enough, ever away from danger.
I rode next Alswythe, but I would not dare speak to her as vet. She had
her veil down, and was quite silent, and I felt that it would be best
for me to wait for her wish.
Beside me trotted the collier, Wulfhere was leading, and next to
Alswythe and me came the two maidens. After them came the three men and
two boys, all mounted, and leading with them the other three horses of
the twelve we had brought from Stert. They were laden with things for
the journey given by the prioress, and with what they had saved from
Matelgar's hall, though that was little enough.
Wulfhere would fain have made the collier ride one of these spare
horses; but the strange man had refused, saying that his own legs he
could trust, but not those of a four-footed beast.
It was seven in the bright May morning when Dane and Saxon met on
Combwich Hill. It was midday when I met Wulfhere at the nunnery, and now
it was three hours and more past. But I thought there was yet light
enough left for us to find our way across Sedgemoor, and lodge that
night in safety in the village near the collier's hut; and so, too,
thought Wulfhere when I, thinking that perhaps Alswythe's grief might
find its own solace in tears when I was not by her, rode on beside him
for a while.
"Once set me on Polden hills, master," said Wulfhere, "I can do well
enough, knowing that country from my youth. But this is a good chance
that has sent you your friend the collier."
So he spoke, and then I fell to wondering, if it was all chance, as we
say, that led my feet in that night of wandering to Dudda's hut, that
now I might find help in sorer need than that. For few there are who
could serve as guide over that waste of fen and swamp, and but for him
we must needs have kept the main roads, far longer in their way to
Glastonbury, as skirting Sedgemoor, and now to be choked with flying
people.
Presently Wulfhere asked me if in that village we might find one good
house where to lodge the Lady Alswythe. And I told him that there I had
not been, but at least knew of one substantial franklin, for my
playfellow, Turkil, had been the son of such an one, as I was told. The
collier, who ran, holding my stirrup leather, tireless on his lean limbs
as a deerhound, heard this, and told me that the man's house was good
and strong--not like those in Bridgwater--but a great house for
these parts. So I was satisfied enough.
Then this man Dudda, finding I listened to him in that matter, began to
talk, asking me questions of the fighting, and presently "if I had seen
the saint?"
I asked him what he meant; and as I did so I heard Wulfhere chuckle to
himself. Then he told me a wild story that was going round the town. How
that, when all seemed lost, there came suddenly a wondrous vision,
rising up before the men, of a saint clad in armour and riding a white
horse, having his face covered lest men should be blinded by the light
thereof, who, standing with drawn sword on Cannington Hill, so bade the
men take courage that they turned and beat the Danes back. Whereupon he
vanished, though the white horse yet remained for a little, before it,
too, was gone.
Well, thought I, Grendel the fiend was I but the other day, and now I am
to be a saint. And with that I could not restrain myself, but laughed as
once before I had laughed at this same man, for the very foolishness of
the thing. Yet I might not let Alswythe know that I laughed, and so
could not let it go as I would, and I saw that Wulfhere was laughing
likewise, silently.
Now this is not to be wondered at, though it was but a little thing
maybe. For we had been like a long-bent bow, overstrained with doubt and
anxiety, and, now that we were in safety with the lady, it needed but
like this to slacken the tension, and bid our minds relieve themselves.
So that laugh did us both good, and moreover took away some of the
downcast look from our faces when next we spoke to our charge.
When he could speak again, Wulfhere answered the man, still smiling.
"Aye, man, I saw him. And he was wondrous like Heregar, our master, here."
And at that the collier stared at me, and then said: "There be painted
saints in our church. But they be not like mortal men, being no wise so
well-favoured as the master."
And that set Wulfhere laughing again, for the good monks who paint these
things are seldom good limners, but make up for bad drawing by bright
colour. So that one may only know saint from fiend by the gold, or the
want of it, round his head.
Then fell I to thinking again about myself, and what it takes to make
man a saint or a fiend. And that thought was a long thought.
Now were we come across Parret, and began our journey into the fens. And
presently we must ride in single file along a narrow pathway which I
could barely trace, and indeed in places could not make out at all. And
here the collier led, going warily, then came Wulfhere, and then
Alswythe, with myself next behind her to help if need were. After us the
maidens, and then the rest.
So we were in safety, for half a mile of this ground was safer than a
wall behind us. We went silently for a little while, save for a few
words of caution here and there. But at last Alswythe turned to me, and
lifted her veil, smiling a little to me at last, and asking why we left
the good roads for this wild place, for though we men were used to the
like in hunting, she knew not that such places and paths could be,
brought up as she was in the wooded uplands of our own corner of the
country.
I told her how I was to make all speed to Glastonbury, and that this was
the nearest road: and she was content, being very trustful in both her
protectors. But then she asked if that place should be reached before
dark, having little knowledge of places or distances.
Then I must needs tell how we were bound for that village where the
hermit was, and Turkil of whom I had told her, seeing that it was over
late to reach the town, but that there we hoped to come next day. And
she said she would fain see those two, "and maybe Grendel also," smiling
again a little to please me. And I knew how much that little jest cost
her to make, and loved her the more for her thought for me. Then she was
silent for a while.
Presently one of the men in the rear shouted, and there was a great
splashing and snorting of horses, and we looked round. One of the led
horses had gone off the path and was in a bog, and that had set the rest
rearing with fright.
So we had to halt, and Wulfhere gave his horse to Dudda to hold while he
went back. And that kept us for a while waiting, and then I could stand
beside Alswythe for a little.
"I have seen the last of my outlaw, they tell me," she said, wanting to
learn how things were with me.
Yet I was still that, if only for loss of lands and place. Though as
Osric's chosen messenger I had that last again for a little, because of
his need.
So I told her that that matter must be settled by the Moot, but that
Osric was my friend, and that while I bore his ring at least none might
call me "outlaw". And at that she was glad, and told me that if she saw
Leofwine the hermit she would tell him that his words were coming true.
Then she looked hard at me, and said that she had heard from her aunt
why Osric so trusted me, and that she was proud of Heregar. And I said
that I had but done the things that someone had to do, and which came in
my way, as it seemed to me, wherein I was fortunate.
At that she smiled at me, seeming to think more of the matter than that,
and so talked of other things. Yet she must needs at last come to that
which lay nearest her heart, and so asked me if I had seen her father fall.
And I was glad to say that I had not; adding that it was near Combwich
Hill, as I had heard, and close to where Osric the Sheriff fought.
So I think that all her life long she believed him to have fallen
fighting in the first line, where Osric was, with his face to the enemy;
for all men spoke well of the sheriff's valour that day, and none would
say more than I told her. Yet it may have been that the thane fought
well, unobserved, in that press, and there is perhaps little blame to
many who fly in a panic.
Now, that spoken of and passed over, she became more like her brave
self, and from that time on would speak cheerfully both to Wulfhere and
myself, as, the horses set in order again, we once more went on our
winding way, following our guide.
Glad was I when, just before sunset, we saw the woodland under which his
hut was set, and heard the vesper bell ringing far off from the village
church. Soon we were on hard ground again, and then I could show
Alswythe where I had played Grendel unwittingly, and point the way I had
wandered from Brent.
There we rested the horses, for we had yet two miles to go, and they
were weary with the long and heavy travelling of the fens. And Alswythe
would go into the hut, and there her maidens brought her food and wine,
and we stayed for half an hour.
Wulfhere and I looked out towards Bridgwater town, now seeming under the
very hills, in the last sunlight. Smoke rose from behind it, but that
was doubtless from Cannington; yet there were other clouds of smoke
rising against the sun, and as he looked at these the old warrior said
that he feared the worst, for surely the Danes were spreading over the
country and that need for them to keep together was gone.
"If we see not Bridgwater on fire by tomorrow," he said, "it will be a
wonder."
But we knew that we could bide here for this night safe as if no Danes
were nearer than the Scaw.
After that rest we rode on through the woodland path, down which they
had come to exorcise me, till we saw before us in the gray twilight the
church and houses of the village, pleasant with light from door and
window, and noise of barking dogs, as we crossed the open mark [viii].
Dudda the Collier led us to the largest house which stood on the little
central green round which the buildings clustered, and there the door
stood open, and a tall man with a small boy beside him looked out to see
what was disturbing the dogs. Behind them the firelight shone red on a
pleasant and large room where we could see men at supper.
And the light shone out on me, for the boy sprang out from his father's
side, shouting that it was "Grendel come back again", and running to me
to greet me.
So we found a welcome in that quiet place, and soon the good franklin's
wife came out, bustling and pitiful in her care for Alswythe and sorrow
for her need to fly from her lost home, for it took but few words to
explain what had befallen.
They brought us in, and the thralls left supper to tend our horses,
though Wulfhere would go with them to see that done before he joined us
in the wide oak-built room that made all the lower floor of the house.
Overhead was the place where Alswythe and her maidens should be, and
built against the walls outside were the thralls' quarters, save for a
few who slept in the lower room round the great fire.
Now, how they treated us it needs not to be told, for it was in the way
of a good Somerset franklin, and that is saying much. But that night he
would talk little, seeing that I and Wulfhere were overdone with want of
sleep. Indeed it was but the need of caution that had kept me from
falling asleep on my horse more than once on the road. So very soon they
brought us skins and cloaks, and we stretched ourselves before the fire,
and warmed, and cleansed, and well refreshed with food and drink, fell
to sleep on the instant.
Yet not so soundly could I sleep at first, but that I woke once,
thinking I heard the yells of the Danes close on us: but it was some
farmyard sound from without, and peaceful.
Then I slept again until, towards dawning I think, I awoke, shivering,
and with a great untellable fear on me, and saw a tall, gray figure
standing by my couch. And I looked, and lo it was Matelgar the Thane.
Then I went to rouse Wulfhere, but my hand would not be stretched out,
and the other men slept heavily, so that I lay still and looked in the
dead thane's face and grew calmer.
For his face was set with a look of sorrow such as I had never seen
there, and he gazed steadfastly at me and I at him, and the grief in his
face did but deepen. And at last he spoke, and the voice was his own,
and yet not his own.
"Heregar, sorely have I wronged you," he said, "and my rest is troubled
therefor. Yet, when I heard what you had done for mine last night, my
heart was sore within me, and I repented of all, and would surely have
made amends. And now it is too late, and my body lies dishonoured on
Parret side while I am here. Yet do you forgive, and mayhap I shall rest."
Then I strove to speak, bidding him know that I forgave, but I could
not, and he seemed to grow more sad, watching me yet. And when I saw
that, I made a great effort, and stretching my hand towards him signed
the blessed sign in token that that should bid me forgive him, so
leaving my hand outstretched towards him.
And then his face changed and grew brighter, and he took my hand in his,
as I might see, though I could feel nought but a chill pass on it, as it
were, and spoke again, saying:
"It is well, and shall be, both with you and me. And when you need me I
shall stand by you once again and make amends."
Then he was gone, and my hand fell from where his had been, and
straightway I slept again in a dreamless sleep till Wulfhere roused me
in the full morning light.
And in that light this matter seemed to me but a dream that had come to
me. Yet even as I should have wished to speak to Alswythe's father, had
I done, and I would not have had it otherwise. Then the dream in a way
comforted me, being good to think on, for I would not willingly be at
enmity with any man, or living or dead. But that it was only a dream
seemed more sure, because in it Matelgar had said he knew of my saving
Alswythe. And Wulfhere and I had agreed not to tell him that. Also I had
little need of Matelgar living, in good truth, and surely less need of
him now that he was gone past making amends.
Down into the great chamber to break her fast with us came Alswythe,
bright and fresh, and with her grief put on one side, for our sakes who
served her. And Turkil talked gaily with both Alswythe and me and
Wulfhere, and would fain tell all the story of how he sought the
fire-spitting fiend and was disappointed.
Then I missed the collier, and asked where he was. He had gone to bring
the good hermit the franklin told me, and would be back shortly.
Now, when we had broken our fast it was yet very early, and the
villagers must needs hear all the news of the great fight and terror
beyond the fens, and as they heard, a growl of wrath went round, and the
men grasped spade and staff and fork fiercely, bidding the franklin lead
them at once to join the levy.
But Wulfhere told them that they needs must now wait a second raising,
and that I was even now on my way to Eanulf the Ealdorman to tell him of
the need. Then the franklin asked that he and his might go with me, but
I, seeing that for an outlaw to take a following with him was not to be
thought of, bade them wait for word and sure tidings of the gathering
place.
While we talked thus the little bell in the church turret began to ring,
and we knew that the hermit, Leofwine the priest, had come, and would
say mass for us. Then, perhaps, was such a gathering to pray for relief
for their land, as had not been since those days, far off now, when the
British prayed, in that same place, the like prayers for deliverance
from my own forbears. And as I prayed, looking on the calm face of the
old man who had bidden me take heart and forgive, I knew that last
night's dream was true in this, that I had forgiven.
So when the mass was over, and Wulfhere had begged Alswythe to take
order at once for our going on our journey, I found the old man, and
could greet him with a light heart. And he, looking on me, could read,
as he had read the trouble, how that that had passed, and asked me if
all was well, as my face seemed to say.
I told him how I had fared, and how my outlawry, though still in force,
was now light on me as the sheriff's messenger--though this I thought
was but because, flying with Alswythe, I might as well take the message
as one who could be less easily spared.
Then he said that already he deemed the prophecy that had been given him
was coming true, and spoke many good and loving words to me to
strengthen my thoughts of peace withal.
Presently he looked at our horses, now standing ready at the franklin's
door, and would have me go back with him into his own chamber in the
little timber-walled church. And there he found writing things in a
chest, and wrote on a slip of parchment a letter which he bade me give
to the bishop when I came to him, signing it with his name at the end,
as he told me, though I could not read it, for one who has been bred a
hunter and warrior has no need for the arts of the clerk. Indeed, I had
seen but two men write before, and one was our old priest at Cannington,
and the other was Matelgar, and I ever wondered that this latter should
be able to do so, and why of late he was often sending men with letters.
Yet it seems to me now that surely they had to do with his schemes that
had so come to nought.
Then the old man blessed me, telling me again that I should surely
prosper unless that I failed by my own fault, and that it seemed to him
that there was yet work for me to do that should set me again in my
place, and maybe higher.
So talking with him, Wulfhere called me, and I must needs say farewell
to Turkil and his father, and they bade us return, when the time came,
by this way back to our own place. And Turkil wept, and would fain have
gone with us, but I promised to see him again, and waved hand to him
before the broad meadows of the mark were passed, and the woods hid the
village from us.
Then did Alswythe, in her kindness, fall into a like mistake as that I
had made with the boy; for she turned to me, smiling, and said that she
would surely take him into her service at Stert, and see to his training
hereafter, but then remembered that she had no longer home, and her
smile faded into tears.
My heart ached for her, knowing I could give her no comfort. After that
we rode in silence, and quickly, for the track was good.
Now there is little to tell of that ride till we reached the hilltop
that Wulfhere knew, and where we could look down on the land we were to
cross, and fancy we could see Glastonbury far away. Here Dudda the
Collier's task was ended, and I called him to me, pulling out the purse
the good prioress had given me, that I might give him a gold piece for
his faithful service.
He stood before me, cap in hand, and I gave him a bright new coin, and
he took it, turning it over curiously.
"Take it, Dudda," I said, "you have earned it well."
Then he grinned in his way, and answered: "It is no good to me, master.
I pray you give me silver instead. Like were I to starve if life lay in
the changing of this among our poor folk."
So I turned over the money to find silver, but there was not enough, and
so I took out that bag which I had found in the roadway, and had not
opened since, having almost forgotten it. There was silver and copper
only in that, and I began to give him his reward.
But still the man hesitated, and seemed anxious to ask me something,
and, while I counted out the money, he spoke: "Master, the men call you
Heregar, and that is an outlaw's name."
"Well." said I, fearing no reproach from that just now, and being sure
that by this time the man knew all about me from our thralls with us.
"Heregar, the outlawed thane I was, and am, except that the sheriff has
bid me ride on his business."
"Then, master," said he, "give me no reward but to serve you. No man's
man am I, either free or unfree, but son of escaped thralls who are dead
long ago. Therefore am I outlaw also by all rights, and would fain
follow you. And it seems to me that you will need one to mind your steed."
Now this was a long speech for the collier, who, as I had learnt, could
hold his tongue: and we were short-handed also, with all these horses.
Therefore I told him that it should be as he would, for service offered
freely in this way was like to be faithful, seeing that there had been
trial on both sides. But I gave him four silver pennies, which he would
have refused, but that I bade him think of them as fasten pennies, which
contented him well.
This, too, pleased both Alswythe and Wulfhere, who were glad of the
addition to our party. So we rode on. But many were the far-off columns
of smoke we looked back on beyond Parret, before the hills rose behind
us and hid them.