St. Matthew's Day, 1006.--
It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write the events of
the last few days. They have been so calamitous, so unexpected. We
have heard of such things afar off, we had prayed for our brethren in
Wessex, exposed to similar calamities, and now they have fallen upon
us personally. May God, who alone is sufficient for these things, give
us strength to bear all for His name's sake.
It was a fortnight ago, and our harvest was all gathered in. God had
blessed our increase, and our garners were full with all manner of
store; women and children had mainly been the reapers, but the Lady
Hilda herself had been present amongst them, and so had her daughter,
my niece, Ethelgiva, even sometimes labouring with their own hands.
Alfgar and Bertric had worked like common serfs, and did themselves
honour thereby, for true nobility lies not in being idle, save in the
field of battle, as the bloody Northmen vainly think.
Well, the work was over, and we had a mass of thanksgiving, after
which Bertric and Alfgar went hunting in the forest. In the evening
there was a harvest home; it was of course a strange one without the
men, who were afar off, fighting for their country, but we tried to be
thankful for mercies vouchsafed, and I and Father Adhelm were there to
bless the food.
We found a large party assembled--as many, indeed, as the hall would
contain. My sister, the Lady Hilda, was somewhat uneasy, because
Alfgar and Bertric were not yet back, but still not much alarmed, for
what harm could befall such lads in the woods? So I blessed the food
and the feast commenced.
Eating and drinking were over, and the old gleeman, striking his harp,
was beginning a song of harvest home, when in rushed the two young
theows who had gone out with Alfgar and Bertric, with the startling
intelligence that there was a band of Northmen lurking in the woods,
who had seized their young lords, and were, they thought, bent on
attacking the place.
Words of mine cannot paint the terror and dismay the tidings caused;
the scene of distress and fear is yet before my eyes as I write. One
woman rose superior to fear--the Lady Hilda; aided by her, I stilled
the tumult, and we took hasty counsel together.
Nothing could be done for the poor lads, and the preservation of the
lives of the whole population depended upon our promptitude. It was
wonderful to see how the mother stifled her agony in her own breast,
while she strove to remember that, in the absence of her lord, she was
in charge of the safety of all her people, and the mother of all. I
had already interrogated the two churls; their story was but too
evidently true; and I learned that they had discovered the footmarks
of the Northmen in crossing a ford that afterwards, while returning
hastily home, they stumbled upon them, and Alfgar and Bertric were
taken. The party were evidently awaiting the approach of night, and
were doubtless bent on attacking the castle and village.
Fifty men! and how could we resist them? The poor old gleemen
expressed their readiness to fight for the old hall, and so did even
the boys; but these accursed pagans are the very spawn of the evil
one, and fight like fiends, whom they equal in skill, so that I saw at
once there was no chance in resistance.
But there was safety in retreat and flight, and under our
circumstances no dishonour in so seeking it. So I saw the path clear
at once, and not a minute too soon.
In the depths of the forest, about ten miles from Aescendune, in the
opposite direction to that in which the enemy lay, is a solitary
valley, surrounded by such morasses and quagmires that only those who
know the paths could safely journey thither. But the valley is
fertile, and my father years ago built a substantial farm house with
outbuildings there, which has ever since been occupied by our chief
forester.
Thither I saw at once the whole party must retreat, alike from the
hall, the priory, and the village. In such a way only could they hope
to escape the wretches to whom bloodshed and cruelty are pastimes.
Yet I was deeply puzzled to understand what motive could have brought
a war party so far, and why they had passed so many flourishing homes
to come to poor secluded Aescendune. Surely, thought I, there is some
great mystery hidden in this, which time may perhaps show.
In a brief space of time, shorter, indeed, than under other
circumstances we should have conceived possible, everything was
prepared; horses were loaded with provisions and all things necessary
for immediate use. Old men and children were also mounted, who could
not otherwise travel, and we started. It was indeed painful to part
from home, and to leave all we had to the mercy of the Danes, but
"skin for skin, all that a man hath will he give for his life."
So soon as I saw the party safely away from the town, I left them
under the guidance of some ancient foresters, who knew every woodland
path, and hastened to my brethren, who had been duly forewarned, and
were awaiting my arrival. I found them prepared for immediate
departure. We had a large flat-bottomed boat on the river which washes
the monastery garden; they had placed all the sacred vessels and the
treasure of the priory therein, and had sent the novices and lay
brethren to seek their safety with the rest in the woods, only the
brethren, properly so called, remaining.
And now, ready for immediate flight, we went forth with calm
composure, which God sent us. Then, upon the brink of the stream, we
stopped and listened. No sound broke the dread silence of the night,
and we stood in perfect quiet for some minutes.
At last we heard the sound of muffled footsteps, as of those who sneak
about on the devil's work, approaching the priory, and we pushed the
boat into the stream. The moon had not yet arisen; it was quite dark.
It was the one boat near.
We knew well what they were doing--surrounding the priory to prevent
any chance of escape, supposing, of course, that their victims would
be within. This accomplished, they knocked loudly at the doors, and
receiving no answer, raised their fierce battle cry, and looked,
happily in vain, for the pallid faces they expected to see at windows
or loopholes. Then they proceeded to break the doors down with their
battle-axes. A similar din, beginning a moment before, told us that
the hall and the priory were simultaneously attacked.
We had heard enough. We let the boat drop down the stream till we
reached a small island, where we waited to see the end, praising the
Lord who had not delivered us over for a prey unto their teeth.
While we waited in suspense, we saw a fierce light flash forth from
the hall, and perceived that, having plundered it of all that was
portable, they had fired it in many places at once; and while we
looked, we saw our own once happy home share the same fate, and
emulate the hall in sending forth its volume of ruddy flame towards
the skies.
This we had waited for, and we held council, and decided that, having
no home, the brethren should depart with the sacred vessels and
treasure to the mother house at Abingdon, while I remained, as also
Father Adhelm, to minister to our afflicted flock in the woods as best
we might.
Alas for our poor priory! the foundation of Offa and Ella, once the
light of the neighbourhood! but now our candlestick is removed out of
its place.
Our minds being made up as to the course to be pursued, we rowed
quietly down the stream, fearing pursuit.
Down the stream about two hours' journey an old Roman road, leading
southward, crossed the river, where a bridge had once existed, long
since swept away by time, but there was a tolerable ford quite safe,
save in winter floods.
Hard by stood a hostelry, and thither we journeyed in our
heavily-laden bark.
The light of the conflagration grew dimmer as we rowed down the
stream, but it still lighted up the heavens with an angry glare. It
was yet deep night when we drew near the inn, and we lay awhile on our
oars, to listen for signs of pursuit; but there was nought to disturb
the dead silence of the night, so we proceeded.
All the household were buried in sleep when we knocked at the doors--a
proof that they had not observed the redness in the skies, or little
sleep, I trow, would they have taken.
We were so exhausted with the fatigues and excitement of the enemy,
that we hailed this lonely habitation as a little Zoar. It showed how
safe people were feeling in Mercia, that we could not wake the good
people for a long time, and we were getting impatient, for they seemed
like the seven holy sleepers of Ephesus, awaiting the cessation of
persecution. I wish we could all sleep like those Ephesians, and awake
in better days.
But their dogs were awake, and saluted us with a vociferous barking,
and would not allow us to land until they were driven away by the oars
which our theows used with much effect upon their hides.
At last a window was thrown open above.
"Who are you who travel at this time of night?" said a voice, which
tried to be firm.
"The poor brethren of St. Benedict from Aescendune."
"Now the saints help thy lying tongue," thus irreverently he spoke,
"do holy men travel like robbers in dead of night?"
"Look, my brother, over the tree tops, and you may learn the cause of
our wanderings; dost thou not even yet see the angry glare in the
heavens? It is from Aescendune; the Danes have burned it."
"Good lack, poor Aescendune! and the people?"
"Are all safe, we trust, in body."
"God be praised!" and the host hurried down and admitted us.
His wife hasted to light a good fire, and to prepare us a breakfast;
in short, we had fallen amongst the faithful, and we met great
hospitality, for which may God repay the worthy host, Goodman Wiglaf.
We were so fatigued in mind and body that we no sooner lay down than
we fell asleep, and slept until the sun was high in the heavens.
Wiglaf watched the river jealously to see that no foe pursued; but, as
we afterwards learned, they had other things to think of.
The road which ran across the river at this spot continued southward
into Wessex, and, so far as we could learn, was free from danger, so I
determined to send my brethren to Abingdon by easy stages along its
course, while I turned back with Father Adhelm, to share the
misfortunes of my kindred and lay brethren in the woods. So we
embraced each other and parted; and we two watched, with loving
hearts, until the glades of the forest hid our brethren, dear to us in
the Lord, from our sight, dimmed as were our eyes with tears. Then we
plucked up our courage, and turned our thoughts to those others, dear
and near to us, who had taken to the woods, where it was again our
duty to seek them.
Wiglaf rowed us back in a light skiff up the stream, not without much
protest, for he feared the Danes would surely catch us, and at every
bend of the stream he crept round, as if he expected to see a fleet of
boats sweep towards us, while he kept in the middle, as if dreading an
arrow from every bush. At length we reached the immediate
neighbourhood, over which the smoke still hung like a black pall. Here
Father Adhelm and I landed, and, giving Wiglaf our blessing, bade him
depart in peace, which the good soul flatly refused to do until
assured of our safety.
So, hiding the boat behind some bushes, we crept forward together,
till, getting through the underwood, we came to the edge of the
covert.
Before us lay the fated village, one mass of deformed and blackened
ruins, from which the dark smoke ceaselessly arose, and made the air
painful to breathe.
But there was no sign of life; no living thing seemed to breathe
there; the place seemed abandoned for ever. It was a dull day, dull as
the gloom which was upon our spirits; the very heavens seemed to have
put on funeral attire, and the chilly wind which swept over the scene
seemed quite at home.
We emerged cautiously from our cover, and soon stood where, a few days
before, the priory had risen, beautiful before God; it was but a huge
pile of blackened timber and stone; and even more conspicuous above
all other ruins, by the black smoke it still sent forth, was that
which had been the hall.
While we stood and pondered, Wiglaf suddenly started.
"I hear the tramp of men," he said.
Then I listened, and distinctly heard the footfall of men and horses.
We paused; it drew nearer. We were on the point of taking to the woods
again, when I thought I caught the sound of the word of command in the
English tongue, and the voice seemed familiar.
We advanced still cautiously amongst the ruins, until we saw fifty or
sixty horsemen cross the wooden bridge which the Danes had left
uninjured, and advance with horror-stricken faces.
They were my brother and his men.
I recognised Elfwyn amongst them. I rushed up to him, and our tears
mingled together.
"They are safe, are safe," I cried.
"Thank God!" broke from many an overcharged heart.
"But where are they? where are they?"
"Safe at the forest farm, protected by brake and morass; and now tell
me, how came you here?"
Tidings arrived at headquarters that a small party of Danes were
making an incursion into Mercia, riding as rapidly as they could, and
I obtained Edric Streorn's leave to pursue them, with great difficulty
I can tell you, and he would only allow me then to take fifty men.
"He affected to disbelieve the intelligence, and said sarcastically
that the safety of Wessex could not be neglected for Aescendune. The
Northmen would never hurt a place which had so distinguished itself on
St. Brice's day."
Here he sighed heavily.
"Elfwyn," I said, "my brother, we must not be ungrateful to God. Here
are ruins indeed, but they cover no dead bodies; all have escaped."
"No, Cuthbert, not all."
I was silent, for I thought of Bertric.
"We have buried him, Cuthbert, in God's peace, in the place he
hallowed by his blood."
I saw the tears stream down his manly cheeks. My voice grew so hoarse,
somehow, that I could not ask a question.
"I will tell you all we have seen by and by, not now. I could not bear
it;" and he covered his face with his hands.
"How did he die?" I stammered at last.
"Like St. Edmund."
I asked no more, but I hope the martyr will forgive me the tears I
shed. I know I ought to rejoice that he has gained his crown, but I
cannot yet. I shall be able some day.
"How could they find the path through the woods, Cuthbert?" asked my
brother; "how did they know the fords?"
The same question had occurred to me.
Then the words of the churl Beorn, who had been taken prisoner, as the
messenger had told us, came fresh to my mind.
"Elfwyn," said I, "do you remember Beorn?"
He looked earnestly at me.
"Did he not say that his captors asked particularly about Aescendune,
and that the name of Anlaf was mentioned, and inquiries made
concerning Alfgar?"
"He did."
"It is the curse of St. Brice's night."
"Fallen upon the innocent."
"Leave it to God," said I.
"I will try; let us go to my people."
And we arose and took the path through the woods, sorrowing for the
news we must carry, and still uncertain about the fate of Alfgar.