"Here, my son," said the old warrior, as he pointed out the blackened
ruins, "here stood our home, where now the screech owl haunts, and the
wolf has its den. There, where the broken shaft yet remains, was the
chamber in which thou first sawest the light, and wherein thy mother
died there, where snake and toad have their home, was the great hall.
Surely the moonbeams fall more peacefully on the spot now all has been
avenged, and the halls of the murderers have fallen in their turn. But
how didst thou escape?"
"The folk of Aescendune saved me, father."
"But how; from the burning pile?"
"Nay. I had spent the previous day with them, and returned home only
in time to find the place in flames. The enemy seized me, and would
have slain me, but Elfwyn and his brother, Father Cuthbert, delivered
me; and now thou hast slain their Bertric, and burnt both hall and
priory."
"Think not that I owe them gratitude for aught they have done. They
tampered with thy faith, I now apprehend, even before the night of St.
Brice, and perhaps drew from thee the knowledge which enabled them to
surprise so large a party in my house. But all this was to make thee
abandon the gods of thy fathers, and to inflict the worst injury they
could upon a warrior. I trust they have failed!"
"Father, I am a Christian!"
"Say not that again, boy, if thou would not have me kill thee."
"I can but say it, father. In all that touches not my faith and duty
as a Christian, I am bound to love, honour, and obey you. But our
religion forbids me to nourish revenge."
"Of what religion, pray, were they who would have slain thy father on
St. Brice's night?"
Alfgar hung his head.
"When Christians practise themselves what they teach, then we will
heed their pretensions, but not till then. Their religion is but a
cloak for their cowardice, and they put it aside as a man throws away
a useless garment when they have the chance of slaying their foes
without danger."
"There are good and bad Christians, father."
"Commend me to the bad ones then. Do not speak to me of a religion
which makes men cowards and slaves. These English were warriors once,
till the Pope and his bishops converted them, and now what are they?
cruel and treacherous as ever, only without the courage of men."
Alfgar felt the injustice of all this, and with the example of Bertric
in his mind, he cared nor for the accusation of cowardice.
"Here, then, my boy, on this spot where thou wert once cradled,
renounce all these Christian follies and superstitions, and thou shalt
go back with me to the camp of King Sweyn, where thou shalt be
received as the descendant of warrior kings, and shalt forget that
thou, the falcon, wert ever the inmate of the dovecote."
There was a time when this temptation would have been almost
irresistible, but that time was over, and after one earnest prayer for
strength from above, Alfgar replied.
"My father, if you claim my obedience, I must even go with you to your
people, but it will be to my death. I have said I am a Christian."
"And dost thou think I have found thee--thee, my only son--to part
with thee again so easily? nay, thou art and shalt be mine, and, if
not mine, then thou shalt be the grave's; for either thou shalt live
as thy ancestors have lived, a warrior and a hero, or the earth shall
cover thee and my disgrace together."
"Father, I can die."
"Thou dost not fear death then?"
"Thou hast left one behind thee--one who did not fear to die the
martyr's death."
"Dost thou mean Bertric of Aescendune?"
"I do; they slew him, cruelly, although neither he nor his have ever
dealt cruelly with thy people."
"Thy people, why not our people? art thou ashamed of thy kindred?"
"Of their cruelty and treachery."
Anlaf laughed aloud.
"Cruelty and treachery indeed! and canst thou say that here? who set
the example in this place?
"Come boy, come," he continued, "I will lead thee to those who shall
soon talk or drive all this Christian nonsense out of your young head;
meanwhile, do not disgrace yourself and me by attempting to escape."
Alfgar sighed, and accompanied his father, so inopportunely found,
back to the camp.
Arrived there, the word was given at once to mount, and the whole
party started on the return journey to the south. Alfgar cast a
longing glance behind at the spot where he knew all that was mortal of
poor Bertric was left, to be, so far as the Danes cared, the prey of
the wolf or the kite; but the young Dane knew well that, if any were
yet alive at Aescendune, the hallowed temple of the martyr would not
want its due honour.
All his heart was with his English friends; he felt that in going to
the Danish camp he was really going to his death, for although within
a few years the conversion of the Northmen took place, yet at this
period their hatred of Christianity was simply ferocious, and his
father belonged to the old heathen conservatives of his day, as did
all his kinsfolk.
"O Aescendune, once happy Aescendune!" was the thought, the bitter
thought, as each hour placed a larger barrier of space between Alfgar
and his late home; all its happy memories came freshly back upon him,
and particularly the thought of Ethelgiva, his betrothed, from whom he
was so ruthlessly torn, torn as if he left part of himself behind.
They reached the confines of the forest by daybreak. Before them
stretched an open country, where wild heaths alternated with
cornfields, and wooded hills were of frequent occurrence upon the
landscape.
All at once a signal of caution was given, and the whole party retired
again within the cover of the wood, where they could see, for they
were on an eminence, the whole district before them without being
seen.
A body of fifty English soldiers was passing on the road, which lay at
the distance of a few hundred yards only, travelling at a considerable
speed, as if they anticipated the emergency of Aescendune, and hurried
to the rescue. Alfgar knew them at once; they were Elfwyn and his
troops; oh, if they had but arrived earlier, thought he, and started
to see how completely English his sympathies were.
The Danes found it hard to repress their laughter at the thought of
the reception which awaited the travellers at home; they had no idea
of spoiling it by attacking them, although the numbers were about
equal; besides, they had got all the plunder and spoil, and a battle
would only endanger the success already obtained. So they lay in cover
until the last straggler had disappeared in the direction of
Aescendune, and then continued their course, with many a jest at the
expense of the English.
Anlaf watched his son; he knew what his feelings were, and his
thoughts were bitter as he felt that, could Alfgar have been
consulted, he would be in that English band.
That night they arrived on the banks of the Thames, near Reading, the
border of Mercia. Their passage had been quite unopposed; all the
fighting men were in Wessex; and those who had seen the Danish party
had fled with terror--they had not stopped long to plunder, but had
speared one or two unfortunate victims who fell in their way, a sight
which sickened Alfgar.
The following day they continued their march to the southeast,
sometimes hiding in woods, for the country was mainly occupied by
Ethelred's troops; sometimes pursued by larger bodies of horsemen, but
always successful in distancing them, until, at the approach of
eventide, they came in sight of the entrenched camp of the northern
host. The spot was on the northern borders of the ancient kingdom of
Sussex--the land of the Saxon Ella--a spot marvelously favoured by
nature, occupying the summit of a low hill, which commanded a wide
prospect on all sides, while itself almost impregnable when fortified,
as it was, by ditches and mounds, dug in the usual Danish fashion, for
the Danes owed much of their success to their skill in fortification.
Beautiful in time of peace was the country around, but its desolation
was sufficient to sicken the heart. Blackened ruins lay on every side
for miles; nay, they had disfigured the whole day's journey. Scarcely
a town or hall, unless strongly fortified, had they seen standing, and
this for nearly fifty miles.
Within this fortified enclosure the Northmen had collected abundance
of spoil, and there they detained many prisoners, whom they held to
ransom, putting them to death with the utmost cruelty if the money
were not forthcoming at the stipulated time.
When the party of Anlaf arrived at the northern gate, crossing the
summit of the ascent on that side, they found it open and almost
unguarded, so slight was the danger from the dispirited English--now
too accustomed to the idea of a foe in the heart of the land.
Entering, they beheld a strange scene: huts rudely constructed of the
branches of trees, intermingled sparingly with tents, were disposed at
regular intervals. In the centre, where the main streets crossed, was
the royal tent, with the raven banner floating therefrom; and there,
at that moment, was the savage tyrant Sweyn in person.
Sweyn was the son of Harold Bluetooth, who reigned in Denmark fifty
years, from A.D. 935-985, and who in his old age became a Christian
and strove to convert his subjects. But the ferocious warriors
rebelled against him, and were headed by his unnatural son, Sweyn,
who, although baptized, renounced Christianity, and fought to restore
the bloodstained worship so congenial to the heart of a sea king.
Defeated in battle, the unhappy father fled for his life, and fled in
vain, for he was either murdered or died of his wounds.
Sweyn then became king, restored idolatry, and gratified to the full
the fell instincts of his savage followers. His great object was now
not merely to plunder, but to conquer England, and all his campaigns
were so directed as to reduce province after province. Sussex and Kent
were now wholly powerless; East Anglia was little better; Wessex
trembled, for every inlet was a path for the robbers, and the turn of
Mercia drew near.
Sweyn stood at the door of his tent, leaning upon his ponderous
battle-axe; around him were two or three warriors, whose grey hairs
had not softened the look of ferocity so plainly stamped upon their
faces.
The king was not in armour, but wore a kind of close-fitting tunic,
descending to the knees, and leggings leaving the legs bare above the
knees. A rich mantle was thrown over the tunic, for it was cold.
By his side, similarly dressed, stood his son, the hopeful Canute, the
future King of England, then only in his twelfth year, but already
showing himself a true cub of the old tiger in fierceness and valour,
yet not devoid of nobler and gentler virtues, as he afterwards showed.
"Welcome, Anlaf," cried Sweyn, as he saw the party arrive; "welcome,
hast thou enjoyed thy holiday in Mercia?"
"Bravely, my king, the ravens have tasted flesh."
"No need to tell me that; thy revenge, then, is accomplished. Hast
thou found thy son?"
"He is with me, my lord, but their saints must have warned the English
of our approach. We burnt the place but the people were not in it.
Their cries would have been music in our ears."
"Perhaps St. Brice told them you were coming; the English have a
veneration for him," said Sweyn, bitterly.
They both laughed a bitter laugh, for both had suffered by the
massacre in the persons of kinsfolks.
"But is this young springal thy long-lost son? he is like thee, even
as a tame falcon is like, and yet unlike, the free wild bird."
"He is my son;" and Anlaf introduced Alfgar.
The youth made his salutations, not ungracefully, yet with an air of
reserve which the king noticed.
"I thought St. Brice had got him long ago, and feared thou wert on a
wild-goose chase."
"It is a long tale to tell now, my liege."
"Have they Christianised him?" said the king, with a sly look.
"He will soon lose that," replied Anlaf.
"Yes," said the king; "we know a way of curing the folly," when, even
as he spoke, a spasm, as of mental agony, passed over him, and he
shook like an aspen, but it was gone in a minute.
Was it the fate of his father which was thus avenged?
Every one looked aside and pretended not to notice the fact, and
Anlaf, having made his homage, retired, leading Alfgar.
"You see, my son," commenced the old warrior, as he led his recovered
boy to his own quarters, "how useless it would be for you to struggle
against the tide, such a tide as no swimmer could breast."
"If he could not swim, it would be easy to drown," said Alfgar, and
there was such a despairing utterance in his tone, that his father was
checked.
The quarters of Anlaf were in the northwestern angle of the camp; they
consisted of huts hastily constructed from the material which the
neighbouring woods supplied, and one or two tents, the best of which,
stolen property, appertained to the chieftain.
Over a wide extent of desolated land, beautiful in its general
outline, where the eye could not penetrate to details, looked the
prospect. The round gently-swelling Sussex downs rose on the southern
horizon, guarding the sea, while around them were once cultivated
fields which the foe had reaped, while quick streams wound in between
the gentle elevations, crowned with wood, and here and there the mere
spread its lake-like form. The sun was now sinking behind the huge
rounded forms of some chalk hills in the west, when the camp became
gradually illuminated by the light of numberless fires, whereat oxen
were roasted whole, and partridges and hares by the dozen, for the
Danes were voracious in their appetites.
In Anlaf's quarters one huge fire blazed for all. Alfgar seemed the
only silent member of the company; the warriors related their
successes, and boasted of their exploits, and the bards sang their
ferocious ditties, until all were tired, and the quiet moon looked
down upon the sleeping camp.
O the contrast--the calm passionless aspect of the heaven and the
human pandemonium beneath.