It was a low dungeon, built of that brick which we still recognise as
of Roman manufacture, in the foundations of what had been the eastern
tower of the ancient fortification. The old pile had been badly
preserved by the Saxon conquerors, but it had been built of that solid
architecture which seems almost to defy the assaults of time, and
which in some cases, after fifteen centuries, preserves all its
characteristics, and promises yet to preserve them, when our frailer
erections lie crumbled in the dust.
The roof was semicircular, and composed of minute bricks, seeming to
form one solid mass; the floor of tiling, arranged in patterns, which
could still be obscurely traced by the light of the lamp left by the
charity of Sidroc to the prisoner; for the dungeon was of bad
reputation; lights had been seen there at unearthly hours, when the
outer door was fast and no inmate existed.
There were two long narrow windows at the end, unbarred, for they were
too small for the human body to pass through them; they looked upon
the valley and, river beneath, for although the dungeon was below the
level of the courtyard, it was above that of the neighbourhood.
The prisoner strode up and down the limited area, wrestling with self,
bending the will by prayer to submit to ignominy and pain, for he knew
now that his father had abandoned him, and that he had to apprehend
the worst; still he did not regret the choice he had made, and he
felt, as he prayed, peace and confidence descend like heavenly dew
upon his soul. Mechanically he cast his eyes around the cell, and
tried to trace out the pattern of the flooring, when he saw that the
central figure, around which the circles and squares converged, was
justice, with the scales, and the motto, "Fiat justitia." He knew the
meaning of the words, for Father Cuthbert had taught him some Latin,
and the conviction flashed upon him that, sooner or later, all the
wrong and evil about him would be righted by the power of a judge as
omnipotent as unerring. And this thought made him the more reconciled
to the apparent injustice of which he was the victim, and he prayed
for his father, that God would enlighten him with the true light.
"Perhaps before he dies he may yet think of me without shame."
For the shame which he unwillingly brought upon a father who was
stern, yet not unkind or void of parental love, was the bitterest
ingredient in the cup.
And so the hours rolled on, which brought the dreaded morn nearer and
nearer; and the victim, comforted by prayer, but without hope in this
world, slept, and thought no longer of the torturer's knife, or felt
the cruel anticipations which would rack the waiting mind.
And while he slept he was wakened, yet but partly wakened, by a voice
which seemed to belong to the borderland 'twixt sleep and waking.
"Alfgar, son of Anlaf, sleepest thou?"
"Surely I dream," thought he, and strove to sleep again.
"Alfgar, son of Anlaf, sleepest thou?"
Now he sat up, and beheld, or thought he beheld, a figure of one
clothed in the attire of a minstrel, in the centre of the chamber.
"Art thou yet in the flesh like me?" he cried, repressing a shudder.
"Even so, a being of like mould, subject to pain and death."
"A prisoner, then; art doomed to die?"
"No prisoner, neither art thou, if thou willest to escape."
"Thou art the gleeman who insulted Sweyn."
"Nay, who told the brutal tyrant the truth."
"And what doest thou here?"
"I am come to deliver thee."
"But how?"
"Rise up, cast on your garments."
Hardly knowing what he did, Alfgar obeyed, and when he stood face to
face with the stranger, began to lose the uneasy impression that the
being who addressed him was otherwise than mortal; for he saw by the
light of the lamp that the gleeman bore all the attributes of a living
man.
"How came you here?"
"Because I know the secrets of the prison house--knew them before the
Danes had murdered the once happy dwellers in this garden of England,
which they have made a howling wilderness; hence I escaped the wrath
of the furious parricide, whom the saints destroy, with ease, and
laughed in security at their vain efforts to take me; but we must
waste no time; it yet wants five hours to daybreak; within those five
hours we must reach the opposite shore."
"But tell me, I cannot understand, why hast thou braved the wrath of
Sweyn? why hast thou cared for me?"
"All in good time, follow me now, I bid thee by the memory of
Aescendune."
"Aescendune! surely I dream."
"Yes, of Aescendune. I have heard that thou art thence. Now waste no
more time."
More and more mystified, for he had never to his knowledge seen the
speaker before, Alfgar gazed at the gleeman.
He appeared of noble air and mien, but was evidently but a young man;
he was somewhat above the average height, and looked as though he
could wield the sword as well as the harp. But how were they to
escape?
Alfgar was not left long in doubt. The stranger took up the lamp and
walked to the farthest recess of the dungeon, where, concealed amongst
the rude carvings with which the builders had ornamented the wall, was
a rose carved in stone. The gleeman pressed it sharply, and a hidden
door sprang open, revealing a winding staircase excavated in the solid
wall.
"Upwards it leads to the banqueting hall, and you can comprehend my
escape this evening," said he; "but our path is now downwards, unless
you would like to go up and see the drunken beasts of murderers
snoring off their debauch upon the floor as they fell; oh, that it
were lawful for a Christian man to cut their throats as they lie; many
innocent lives would be saved thereby, which those brutes will live to
destroy."
"Thou art, then, a Christian?"
The gleeman crossed himself piously.
"Why not?" said he.
"I heard you sing like a scald tonight."
"It was my part, and I acted it passing well, did I not? Sweyn would
own as much; but, pardon me, I am forgetting that my daring put you in
danger."
"How did you know that?"
"I heard every word; and perhaps I might even have risked more than
this to save you."
Meanwhile they had descended nearly a hundred steps, and the
atmosphere became singularly cold and charnel-like, when they entered
a large vault, which, by the light of their torches, appeared of great
extent. Its walls were covered with uncouth representations, and
inscriptions in Latin.
"What place is this?"
"It had some connection, I believe, with the old idolatry, and that is
all I know. This passage will guide us to daylight and liberty."
Following a short and narrow passage, they emerged upon a ruined
vault, whose roof had fallen in. Climbing out with some difficulty,
and disturbing in the process hundreds of bat-mice and not a few rats,
they found themselves in the midst of some old ruins at the foot of
the acclivity whereon the fortress was built, and below them the brook
ran rapidly to join the river.
"Thanks be to God for our preservation in that den of unclean lions!"
said the gleeman; "but had they known who was amongst them, he would
have had scant chance of escape."
"May I not know?"
"Not yet. Come, we must waste no more time."
They walked swiftly down the brook. No sentinels were posted in this
direction, nor was any lookout kept.
"The danger is yet to come," said the gleeman, in a low tone.
Shortly they reached the river, and then they found a boat hidden in
the rushes, which grew tall and strong. They embarked, and Alfgar
steered, by the other's direction, straight down the stream, while he
rowed for full an hour with remarkable strength and dexterity, so that
they drew near the coast, and the cold air from the sea blew in
Alfgar's face.
Here the gleeman ceased rowing, and spoke to him in a low tone.
"Do you see those dark figures ahead?"
"I do."
"Well, they are the Danish war ships, and our hour of peril draws
near. We must drop down with the tide, which is running out strongly,
and I must steer. You can row, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"Well, get the oars ready to pull for your life, if I give the word,
but not till then. Now silence."
In perfect silence they drifted down upon the ships. Happily for them
there was no moon, and although the stars were bright, there was
little danger that their dark-painted bark would be seen at any
distance.
One great mass after another seemed to float by them; but it was the
dead hour of the night, and no sounds were heard from the sleeping
crews. They kept lax watch, because they had no foe to dread. There
was, alas! no English fleet.
One after another, until they had drifted into the centre of the
fleet, where discovery must have been instant death. There above them
rose the "Great Dragon," in all her hideous beauty, the gilded serpent
reposing on the placid waves. Her people, even at that untimely hour,
were engaged in revelry, and as they passed by the fugitives heard the
words:
"Now the warrior's cup of joy was full,
When he drank the blood of his foe,
Where the slain lay thick on the gory hill,
And torrents of blood from every rill
reddened the river below,
For Odin's hall is the Northman's heaven--"
But they heard no more, for they had drifted beyond hearing.
They had now attained the last ship, when suddenly a watchman sprang
to the side.
"Boat ahoy! Whence and where?"
"From the 'Great Dragon'--a poor gleeman and his attendant to his home
on the shore."
"Come on board then, and wake us with a song. The watch is ours, and
we will make it merry."
There was no help for it; and commending courage with a significant
look to his companion, the gleeman and Alfgar ascended. It was yet
dark, and the language and appearance of each might pass tolerably
under ordinary circumstances for the characters they had assumed.
"Now a song, and we will keep it up till daylight."
Thus pressed, the gleeman took his harp and sang an old Scandinavian
song of the first sea king who invaded England, Ragnar Lodbrok.
He told how the fierce Ragnar sailed for England, how his fleet was
wrecked, but still how, with the relics of his forces, he assaulted
Northumbria, and was taken captive by Ella the king, who threw him
into a hole filled with vipers and toads.
"Sharp the adder's tooth, but sharper
Spake the sea king to his foes,
Spake while savage brows grew darker,
As he told the countless woes
Which the bear's fierce cubs should bring
To those who slew their father and their king."
Then he described the retribution, and the lingering death of Ella
under the agonies of the "rista oern" so vividly, that every Danish
heart was filled with emulation.
"Well sung!" shouted the Danes. "Thou dost sing a song worth hearing.
Hast not taught thy son to sing likewise?"
In turn Alfgar was forced to support his assumed character. Luckily
his tenacious memory retained the words of many an old song, and the
warriors were well pleased.
"Why must thou go to shore? We will feed and guerdon thee well if thou
wilt stay with us."
"We are aweary now, and would fain return to our comrades on the
shore, but we will return by and by."
"Do so, here is thy reward;" and one of the speakers threw a gold
chain round the gleeman's neck. Gold was plentiful with the robbers.
They were allowed to return to their boat; but as they did so, many a
keen eye was fixed upon them. The dawn was already beginning to appear
in the east, and every moment was of importance.
"Thou hast borne the test well," said the gleeman, "and hast not
flinched."
"I could not in your presence."
At this moment they heard the rapid splash of a boat, manned by many
rowers, behind, and a voice shouted aloud to the men on board the ship
they had left:
"Hast seen a boat with a gleeman and harp bearer?"
"They have just left the ship."
"Follow; they are English spies. Sweyn will give the weight of their
heads in red gold."
Instantly they heard the sound of hurried voices, the lowering of
boats, the splash of numerous oars, and all nearly close behind them.
They took an oar each, and pulled with all the energy of men who pull
for life or death.
The light was gradually growing stronger, and their chance of escape
seemed feeble, when Alfgar saw before them a dense cloud of mist
rolling round the eastern promontory, and uttered a cry of joy as it
enfolded them.
"The wind is east, keep it on your right cheek, and steer straight
forward. I will take both oars," said the gleeman.
It was wonderful with what energetic force and success the gleeman
pulled until they had cleared the mist, and saw that they were in the
red light of dawn, in the midst of the Solent.
One half-mile behind them a solitary boat pursued. There appeared to
be only five men, four rowing and one steering. Other boats there
were, but wide of the mark.
"Alfgar," said the gleeman, "you will find a quiver of arrows and a
long bow at the bottom of the boat behind you."
Alfgar handed them to him.
"The points are passing sharp, and the bow is in order; take your turn
to row."
Alfgar obeyed; he could not do otherwise, the gleeman's tone of
command was so powerful, but he feared they would loss time by the
change.
"You need not hurry yourself; let them approach. They are not likely
to have brought other weapons than their swords and axes."
The boat gained on them rapidly, until it was within a hundred and
fifty yards.
"Keep just this distance if you can," said the gleeman, and drew an
arrow suddenly to its head; it whistled through the air, and the
steersman, transfixed, rose, leapt in the boat, and fell in the sea a
corpse.
"Gone to seek oysters for King Sweyn's table, I suppose," said the
gleeman.
Another steersman promptly took the place, but some yards were lost by
the pursuers.
"Slacken, we are too far for accurate aim; and we English must not
disgrace ourselves in Danish eyes."
They slackened, another arrow sped, and the foremost rower fell.
Evidently the Danes had no means of reply.
"Slacken yet more;" and before the pursuers could recover their
confusion, a third fell, then a fourth, before the unerring shafts.
The fifth was at the fearful gleeman's mercy, but he restrained
himself, now danger had vanished.
But as he did so he cried aloud:
"Dane, we give thee thy life, blood sucker though thou art. Go, and
tell King Sweyn that Edmund {viii} the Etheling, son of Ethelred
of England, has been his gleeman, and hopes he enjoyed the song which
told the doom of parricides."