It was in the late afternoon when we rode into Glastonbury town, past
the palisadings of the outer works, and then among cottages, and here
and there a timber house of the better sort, till we came to the great
abbey. It was not so great then as now, nor is it now as it will be, for
ever have pious hands built so that those who come after may have room
to add if they will. But it was the greatest building that I had ever
seen, and, moreover, of stone throughout, which seemed wonderful to me.
And there, too, Wulfhere showed me the thorn tree which sprang from the
staff of the blessed Joseph of Arimathea, which flowers on Christmas
Day, ever.
Then we came to the nunnery where we should leave Alswythe, and I, for
my part, was sorry that the journey was over, sad though it had been in
many ways, for when I must leave her I knew not how long it should be,
if ever, before I saw her again.
And I think the same thought was in her heart, for, when Wulfhere showed
her the great house, she sighed, looking at me a little, and I could say
nothing. But she began to thank us two for our care of her, as though we
could have borne to take less than we had. And her words were so sweet
and gracious that even the old warrior could not find wherewith to
answer her, and we both bowed our heads in thanks, and rode, one on each
side of her, in silence.
Then she must ask Wulfhere what he would do when she was safely
bestowed. And that was a plain question he could answer well.
"Truly, lady, if you will give me leave, I would see Heregar, our
master, through whatever comes of his messages."
Then was I very glad, and the more that, though I might not think myself
such, the old warrior would call me his master, for that told me that he
had full belief in me.
Yet I could but say: "Friend should you call me, Wulfhere, my good
counsellor, not master."
And I reached out my hand to him, bowing to Alswythe, whose horse's neck
I must cross. And Wulfhere took it, and on our two rough hands Alswythe
laid her white fingers, pressing them, and, looking from one to the
other, said:
"Two such friends I think no woman ever had, or wiser, or braver. Go on
together as you will, and yet forget not me here in Glastonbury."
Then we loosed our hands, looking, maybe, a little askance, for our
Saxon nature will oft be ashamed, if one may call it so, of a good
impulse acted on, and Wulfhere said that we must think of those things
hereafter.
When we came to the gate there was a little crowd following us, for word
had gone round in some way that we were fugitives from Parret side. But
Wulfhere had bade the men answer no questions till we had seen the
bishop, lest false reports should go about the place. So the crowd
melted away soon, and we knocked, asking admission, and showing the
letter from the prioress of Bridgwater.
Now here there was much state, as it seemed, and we must wait for a
little, but then the gates were thrown open, and we rode through them
into the courtyard, which was large and open. Then opened a great door
on the left, and there was the abbess with many sisters, and one asked
me for the letter we bore. So I gave it, and, standing there, the abbess
read it while we waited.
As she read she grew pale, and then flushed again, and at last, after
twice reading, came down the steps, all her state forgotten, and with
tears embraced Alswythe, giving thanks for her safety. And then, leaving
her, she came to me where I sat, unhelmed, and gave me her hand,
thanking me for all I had done, and, as she said, perhaps for the safety
of the Bridgwater sisters also.
Then all of a sudden she went back up the steps, where the sisters were
whispering together, and became cold and stately again, so that I
wondered if I had offended her in not speaking, which I dared not.
When she was back again in her place, she bade Alswythe and her maidens
welcome, and added that all her sister prioress asked her she would do.
Also, that one would come and show us lodging for men and horses, which
should be at the expense of the nunnery.
So Alswythe must needs part from us coldly, even as she had joined us at
Bridgwater, as a noble lady from her attendants, giving us her hand to
kiss only. But I went back to my horse well content, knowing that her
love and thoughts went out to me.
She went through the great door, but it closed not so fast but that I
might see the abbess put her arm around her very tenderly, her state
forgotten again, and I knew that she was in good hands.
Now when the horses were stabled, and our men knew where they should
bide in the strangers' lodgings--set apart for the trains of guests to
the nunnery, which were very spacious--Wulfhere and I must needs find
the way to get audience of the bishop. As far as the doors of the abbey
where he abode was easy enough, but there, waiting for alms and broken
meats, were crowds of beggars, sitting and lying about in the sun, with
their eyes ever on the latch to be first when it was lifted for the
daily dole. And again, round the gate were many men of all sorts,
suitors, as we deemed for some favour at the hands of bishop or abbot--
for the Abbot of Glastonbury was nigh as powerful as Ealhstan himself,
in his own town at least.
When we came among these we were told that we must bide our time, for
audience was not given but at stated hours. And one man, grumbling, said
that that was not Ealhstan's way in his own place at Sherborne, for
there the doors were open ever.
But I knew that my business might not wait, and so, after a little of
this talk, went up to the gate and thundered thereon in such sort that
the wicket opened, and the porter's face looked through it angrily
enough, and he would have bidden us begone, for war and travel had
stained us both, so that doubtless we were in no better case, as to
looks, than the crowd that pressed after us--very quietly, indeed--
to hear the parley.
One difference in our looks there was, however, which made the porter
silent--we wore mail and swords, and at that he seemed to stare in
wonder.
Then I held up the ring and said, "Messages from Osric the Sheriff."
Whereupon the wicket closed suddenly, and there was a sound of
unbarring, and the door opened and we were let in, the rest, who must
wait, grumbling loudly at the preference shown to us, while the beggars,
who had roused at the sound of the hinges creaking, went back whining in
their disappointment.
Then one came and bade us follow him, and we were led into the abbey
hall and there waited for a little. There were a few monks about,
passing and repassing, but they paid no attention to us, and we, too,
were silent in that quiet place. Only a great fire crackled at one end
of the hall, else there would have been no noise at all. It was, I
thought, a strangely peaceful place into which to bring news of war and
tumult.
Then I thought of Ealhstan the Bishop, as he had seemed to me when he
judged me, and that seemed years ago, nor could I think of myself as the
same who had stood a prisoner before him. So I wondered if I should seem
the same to him.
Now it is strange that of Eanulf, the mighty ealdorman who had
pronounced my doom, I thought little at all, but as of one who was by
the bishop. All that day's doings seemed to have been as a dream,
wherein I and Wulfhere had living part with this bishop, while the rest,
Eanulf and Matelgar and the others, were but phantoms standing by.
Maybe this is not so wonderful, for the doom was the doom of the Moot,
and spoken by Eanulf as its mouthpiece, and that passed on my body only.
And Matelgar had found a new place in my thoughts, but Wulfhere was my
friend, and the bishop had spoken to my heart, so that his words and
looks abode there.
Then the servant cut short my thoughts, and led us to the bishop,
bidding me unhelm first.
He sat in a wide chamber, with another most venerable-looking man at the
same table. And all the walls were covered with books, and on the table,
too, lay one or two great ones, open, and bright with gold and crimson
borderings, and great litters on the pages. But those things I saw
presently, only the bishop first of all, sitting quietly and very
upright in his great chair, dressed in a long purple robe, and with a
golden cross hanging on his breast.
And for a moment as I looked at him, I remembered the day of the Moot,
and my heart rose up, and I was ready to hide my face for minding the
shame thereof.
But he looked at me curiously, and then all of a sudden smiled very
kindly and said:
"Heregar, my son, are you the messenger?"
And I knelt before him on one knee, and held out the ring for him to
take, and he did so, laying it on the table before him--for my errand
was in hand yet.
"Then," he said, "things are none so ill with you, my son," and he
smiled gravely; "but do your errand first, and afterwards we will speak
of that."
So I rose up, and standing before him, told him plainly all that had
befallen, though there was no need for me to say aught of myself in the
matter, except that, flying with the lady, Osric had chosen me to bear
the message of defeat and danger.
And the while I spoke the bishop's face grew very grave, but he said
nothing till I ended by saying that Wulfhere could tell him of the fight.
Then he bade Wulfhere speak, being anxious to know the worst, as it
seemed to me. But the old man with him was weeping, and his hands shook
sorely.
Now into what Wulfhere told, my name seemed to come often, for he began
with the first landing at Watchet, and my bearing the war arrow, and so
forward to the firing of the huts at Stert, to the rallying on
Cannington Hill, and our flight, and how Osric sent for me.
Then said the bishop, "Is that the worst?"
And Wulfhere was fain to answer that he feared not, telling of the smoke
clouds we had seen, and what he judged therefrom.
"Aye," said the bishop, as it were to himself and looking before him as
one who sees that which he is told of, "we saw the like after
Charnmouth, and let them have their way. Now must we wait, trembling,
for Osric's next messenger."
But as for me, though the old man was sorely terrified, as one might
see, I thought there was little trembling on the bishop's part, though
he spoke of it. Rather did he seem to speak in scorn of such as would so
wait.
"Tell me now," he went on presently, "how the men rallied, and with what
spirit, on the hill where Heregar stayed them?"
"Well and bravely," answered Wulfhere, "so that the Danes drew back,
forming up hastily lest there should be an attack on them; but none was
made."
Then the bishop's eyes flashed, and I thought to myself that I would he
had been there. Surely he would have swept the Danes back to their
ships, and I think that was in Wulfhere's mind also, for he said:
"We want a leader who can see these things. No blame to Osric therein,
for it was his first fight."
Then the bishop laughed softly in a strange way, though his eyes still
flashed, and he seemed to put the matter by.
"Truly," said he, "with you, Wulfhere, to advise, and myself to ask
questions, and Heregar to prevent our running away, I think we might do
great things. Well, there is Eanulf, who fought at Charnmouth."
So saying he rose up, and clapped his hands loudly. The old man had
fallen to telling his beads, and paid no attention to him or us any
longer, doubtless dreaming of the burning of his abbey over his head,
unless some stronger help was at hand than that of the three men before
him.
A lay brother came in to answer the bishop's summons.
"Take these thanes to the refectory," he said, "and care for them with
all honour. In two hours I will speak with them again, or sooner, if
Osric's messenger comes."
"I am no thane," said Wulfhere, not willing to be mistaken.
"I am Bishop of Sherborne," said he, smiling in an absent way, and
waving his hand for us to go.
So we went, and thereafter were splendidly treated as most honoured
guests, even to the replacing of the broad hat which Wulfhere had gotten
from the franklin by a plain steel helm, with other changes of garment,
for which we were most glad.
Now as we bathed and changed, I found that letter which Leofwine the
hermit priest had given me, and I prayed the brother to give it to the
bishop at some proper moment, and he took it away with him. I had
forgotten it in the greater business.
While we ate and drank, and talked of how to reach Eanulf the Ealdorman,
the brother came back and brought us a message, saying:
"The bishop bids you rest here in peace. He has sent messengers to
Eanulf, bidding him come here in all haste to speak with him and you."
So I asked where he was, and the brother said that he lay at Wells,
which pleased Wulfhere, who said that he would be here shortly, and that
we were in luck, seeing that he wanted another good night's rest; and
indeed so did I, sorely, though that I might yet stay near Alswythe was
better still.
Before the two hours the bishop had set, there was a clamour in the
great yard, and we thought the messenger from Osric had surely come. And
so it was, for almost directly the bishop sent for us, and we were taken
back to the same chamber. But he was alone now, and motioned us to seats
beside him to one side.
Then they brought in a thane whom I did not know, and he said he was a
messenger from Osric, laying a letter on the table at the same time. I
saw that his armour was battle stained, and that he looked sorely downcast.
Not so the bishop as he read, for that which was written he had already
expected, and he never changed his set look. Once he read the letter
through, and then again aloud for us to hear. Thus it ran after fit
greeting:
"Now what befell in the first fight you know or shall know shortly from
our trusty messenger Heregar, by whom the flight was stayed from that
field, on the Hill of Cannington. And this was well done. So, seeing
that the Danes had drawn off, I myself, foolishly deeming the matter at
an end, left three hundred men on that hill to watch the Danes back to
their ships, and returned to the town, there to muster again the men who
were sound, and, if it were possible, to lead them on the Danes as they
went on board again to depart. For the men, save those of Bridgwater,
would not bide on the hill, but came back, saving the Danes would surely
depart. And, indeed, I also thought so; but wrongly. For even as I
talked with Heregar of his own affairs, news came of a fresh attack,
whereon I sent him to you, fearing the worst, for the men on the hill
were few, and those in the town seeming of little spirit.
"Now when I came three parts of the way to Cannington, our men there
were sped and driven back on us. Whereupon I could no longer hold
together any force, and whither the men are scattered I know not.
Scarcely could I save the holy women and the monks, for even as they
fled under guard into the Quantock woods, and so to go beyond the hills,
the houses of Bridgwater next the Danes were burning.
"Now am I with two hundred men on Brent, and wait either for the Danes
to depart, or for orders from yourself or the Ealdorman Eanulf, to whom
I pray you let this letter be sent in haste after that you have read it."
So it ended with salutations, and when he had read it, the bishop folded
it slowly and looked at the thane, who shrugged his broad shoulders and
said:
"True words, Lord Bishop, and all told."
"It is what I expected," said Ealhstan, "these two thanes told me it was
like to be thus."
"Surely," answered the thane. "What else?"
The bishop looked at him and asked him his name.
"Wislac, the Thane of Gatehampton by the Thames, am I," he said. "A
stranger here, having come on my own affairs to Bridgwater, and so
joining in the fight. Also, Osric's thanes having trouble enough on
hand, I rode with this letter."
"Thanks therefor," said the bishop. "I see that you fought also in a
place where blows were thick."
"Aye, in the first fight," said Wislac. "As for the second, being with
Osric, I never saw that."
"Did you stay on the hill where men rallied?"
"That did I, as any man would when the saints came to stay us. Otherwise
I had surely halted at Bridgwater, or this side thereof," answered the
strange thane, with a smile that was bitter enough.
Now the bishop had not heard that tale of the saint on a white horse;
but he was quick enough, and glanced aside at me. Whereupon Wislac the
Thane looked also, and straightway his mouth opened, and he stared at
me. Then, being nowise afraid of the bishop, or, as it seemed, of
saints, he said aloud, seemingly to himself:
"Never saw I bishop before. Still, I knew that they were blessed with
visions; but that live saints should sit below their seat, I dreamt
not!" and so he went on staring at me.
So the bishop, for all his trouble, could but smile, and asked him if he
saw a vision.
"Surely," he said, "this is the saint who stayed us on yonder hill."
"Nay, that is Heregar the Thane, messenger of Osric."
"Then," said Wislac, "let me tell you, Heregar the Thane, that one of
the saints, and I think a valiant one, is mightily like you. Whereby you
are the more fortunate."
Now for all the mistake I could not find a word to say, and was fain to
thank him for the good word on my looks. Yet he went on looking at me
now and then in a puzzled sort of way. And the bishop seemed to enjoy
his wonderment, but was in no mind to enlighten him.
Presently the bishop bade Wislac sit down, and then he took up Osric's
ring that I had given him, and also another which lay beside it on the
table--silver also, with some device on it, like that I had worn.
"See, thanes," he said, "have you three a mind to stay with me for a
while and be my council in this matter? For I am here without a fighting
man of my own to speak with."
Now this was what I would most wish, and I said so, eagerly and with
thanks.
And Wislac said that he was surely in good company, and having nought to
call him home would gladly stay also.
Then said the bishop, "Stranger you are, friend Wislac, and therefore
wear this ring of Osric's, that men may pay heed to you as his friend
and mine; and do you, Heregar, wear this of mine that men may know you
for bishop's man, and so respect your word."
So was I put under the bishop's protection, and he would answer for my
presence in Wessex to all and any. That was good, and I felt a free man
again in truth, for here was no errand that would end, as Osric's was
ended, when I had seen Eanulf.
Now Wulfhere had not spoken, and the bishop asked him if he too would
not stay.
"Ay, lord," answered Wulfhere, "gladly; but you spoke of thanes only."
"When the Bishop of Sherborne names one as a thane," said Ealhstan,
smiling, "men are apt to hold him as such. But only to the worthy are
such words spoken. Now, friend Wulfhere, I have heard of you at
Charnmouth fight, and also there is more in Osric's letter than I have
read to you. So if you will be but a bishop's landless thane, surely you
shall be one"
Then Wulfhere grew red with pleasure, and rising up, did obeisance to
the bishop for the honour, and the bishop called us two others to
witness that the same was given.
"Now is my council set," he said, "I to ask questions, and you to advise."
So for a long two hours we sat and told him all we knew of those Danes,
I of the ships, and Wulfhere and Wislac of numbers, and Wulfhere of
their ways in raiding a country, for this he had seen before, in Dorset,
and also in Ireland, as he told us, in years gone by.
That night we were treated as most honoured guests of the bishop's own
following, and early in the morning the bishop sent for me, before mass.
Once again I found him alone in that room of his, and all he said to me
I cannot write down. But I found that Leofwine the hermit had told him
of how I had taken counsel of him and abided by it, even as Ealhstan
himself had bidden me; and, moreover, that Osric had written in his
letter of what I had been able to do against the Danes, and of
Matelgar's last words concerning me. And for that remembrance of me,
according to his promise, even when writing of far greater matters, I am
ever grateful to the good sheriff.
So, because of these things known, Ealhstan spoke to me as a most loving
father, praising me where it seemed that praise was due, and reproving
me for the many things of deed and thought that were evil. And I told
him freely and fully all that had passed from the time I left the hill
of Brent till when I had seen the signals of the vikings from above
Watchet, and bore the war arrow to Matelgar. The rest he knew in a way;
but I opened all my heart to him, he drawing all from me most gently,
till at last I came to my dream of Matelgar, and my wish that for me he
might rest in peace.
"It is not all forgiveness, Heregar, my son," he said presently. "There
is love for Alsywthe, and pride in yourself, and thought of Matelgar's
failure, which have at least brought you to a beginning of it. But true
forgiveness comes slowly, and many a long day shall it be before that
has truly come."
And I knew that maybe he was right, and asked his help; whereupon that
was freely given, and in such sort that all my life long I must mind the
words he said, and love him in the memory.
When all that was said he would have me hear mass with him, as though I
needed urging. And there, too, were Wulfhere and Wislac; and that mass
in the great abbey was the most wonderful I ever heard.
After that we three went out into the town, and Wislac and I marvelled
at everything. Then we went to the nunnery gates and asked how our
charges fared, and then saw to our steeds. There was the collier,
working as a groom with the other men, and he told me that he was
learning his new trade fast, but would fain walk ever, rather than ride,
having fallen many times from the abbess' mule, which he had bestridden
in anxiety to learn. Whether the mule was the better for this lesson I
doubt.
When we went back to the abbey Eanulf had come, and with him many
thanes. And I feared to meet these somewhat, for they might have been
among the Moot, and would know me. Yet Ealhstan had foreseen this, and
one was posted at the door to meet me, bidding me aside privately, since
the bishop needed me.
Wulfhere and Wislac went into the hall and left me, therefore, and I was
taken to a chamber where were six or seven lay brethren, who asked me
many things about the fight, and specially at last about the saint who
had appeared. And that was likely to be a troublesome question for me,
as I could not claim to have been the one so mistaken; but another
struck in, saying that there were many strange portents about, for that
a fiend had appeared bodily from the marsh and had devoured a child, in
Sedgemoor. Now it seems that fiends are rarer than saints among these
holy men, and they forgot the first wonder and ran on about the second,
not thinking that I could have told them of that also. And at last one
fetched a great book, as I thought in some secrecy, and made thereout
nothing more nor less than parts of the song of Beowulf itself, and all
about Grendel, which pleased us all well, and so we were quiet enough,
listening.
And it happened that while we were all intent on this reading (and I
never heard one read as brother Guthlac read to us) the sub-prior came
in to call me, and pulling back the hangings of the doorway, stood
listening, where I could see him.
First of all he looked pleased to find his people so employed. Then when
the crash of the fighting verses came to his ears he started a little,
and looked round. The good brothers were like to forget their frocks,
for their fists were clenched and their eyes sparkled, and their teeth
were set, and verily I believe each man of them thought himself one of
Beowulf's comrades, if not the hero himself.
Whereupon the sub-prior and I were presently grinning at one another.
"Ho!" said he, all of a sudden. "Now were I Swithun, where would you
heathens spend tonight? Surely in the cells!"
Then for a moment they thought Grendel had indeed come, such power has
verse like this in the mouth of a good reader, and they started up, one
and all.
And the reader saw who it was, and that there was no hiding the book
from him, so they stood agape and terrified, for by this time the good
man had managed to look mighty stern.
"Good Father," said I, seeing that someone must needs speak, "I am but a
fighting man, and the brothers were considering my weakness."
"H'm," said the sub-prior, seeming in great wrath. "Is there no fighting
to be read from Holy Writ that you must take these pagan vanities from
where you ought not? Go to! Yet, by reason of your care for the bishop's
thane, your penance shall be light now and not heavy hereafter. Brother
Guthlac shall read aloud in refectory today the story of David and
Goliath, and you brother," pointing to one, "that of Ahab at Ramoth, and
you, of Joshua at Jericho," and so he went on till each had a chapter of
war assigned him, and I thought it an easy penance.
"But," he added, "and until all these are read, your meals shall be
untasted before you."
Then the brothers looked at one another, for it was certain that all
this reading would last till the meal must be left for vespers.
Then the sub-prior bade the reader take back the book and go to his own
cell, and beckoning me, we passed out and left the brothers in much
dismay, not knowing what should befall them from the abbot when he heard.
So I ventured to tell the sub-prior how this came about, and he smiled,
saying that he should not tell Tatwine the Abbot, for the brothers were
seldom in much fault, and that maybe it was laudable to search even
pagan books for the manners of fiends, seeing that forewarned was
forearmed.
Then he said that surely he wished (but this I need tell none else) that
he had been there in my place to hear Guthlac read it. Also that he was
minded to make the old rhyme more Christian-like, if he could, writing
parts of it afresh. And this he has done since, so that any man may read
it; but it is not so good as the old one [ix].
Now we came to the bishop's chamber, and he went in, calling me after
him in a minute or so. I could hear Ealhstan's voice and that of another
as I waited outside.
The other was Eanulf the Ealdorman, and as I entered he rose up and
faced me.
"So, Heregar," he said, "you are bishop's man now, and out of my power.
I am glad of it," and so saying he reached me out his hand and wrung
mine, and looked very friendly as he did so.
"I have heard of your doings," he said, "and thank you for them. And I
will see this matter of yours looked into, for I think, as the bishop
believes, that there has been a plot against you for plain reasons
enough. However, that must stand over as yet. But come with me to the
hall and I will right you with the thanes there."
At that I thanked him, knowing that things were going right with me, and
the bishop smiled, as well pleased, but said nothing, as Eanulf took me
by the arm, and we went together to the great hall, where the thanes,
some twenty of them, were talking together. At once I saw several whose
faces had burnt themselves, as it were, into my mind at the Moot; but
none of Matelgar's friends among them.
They were quiet when their leader went in, and he wasted no time, but
spoke in his own direct way.
"See here, thanes; here is Heregar, whom we outlawed but the other day.
Take my word and Ealhstan's and Osric's for it that there was a mistake.
We know now that there is no truer man, for he has proved it, as some of
you know-he being the man who lit the huts at Stert in face of the
Danes, and being likewise the Saint of Cannington--"
"Aye, it is so," said several voices, and others laughed. Then, like
honest Saxons as they were, they came crowding and laughing to shake
hands with an outlawed saint, as one said; so that I was overdone almost
with their kindness, and knew not what to say or do.
But Eanulf pushed me forward among them, saying that I, being bishop's
man, was no more concern of his, outlaw or no outlaw, and that saints
were beyond him. So he too laughed, and went back to the bishop; and I
found Wulfhere and Wislac, and soon I was one of my own sort again, and
the bad past seemed very far away.
But Wislac looked at me and said: "You have spoilt a fine tale I had to
take home with me; but maybe I need not tell the ending. Howbeit, I
always did hold that there was none so much difference between a
fighting saint and one of ourselves."
And that seemed to satisfy him.