CHAPTER IV. THE DANES IN WESSEX.
Up to this period we have availed ourselves of extracts from the Diaryof Father Cuthbert; but the events of the following four years, asrecorded in that record, although full of interest for the antiquarianor the lover of monastic lore, would possess scant interest for thegeneral reader, and have also little connection with the course of ourtale; therefore we will convey the information they contain, whichproperly pertains to our subject, in few words, and those our own,returning occasionally to the Diary.
The melancholy history of the times may be compressed, from theAnglo-Saxon Chronicle and other sources, in a few paragraphs.
Burning with revenge--for his own sister had fallen in the massacre onSt. Brice's night--Sweyn returned to England the following year(1003). He landed in Devonshire, took Exeter by storm, and returned tohis ships laden with the spoil. Then he sailed eastward, landed againand ravaged Dorset and Wiltshire. Here the ealdorman Elfric met himwith a large English army; but when he saw the foe he fell sick, orfeigned to be so; and then the old proverb came true, "When thegeneral fails, the army quails." So the English looked on with fearand trembling, while Sweyn burnt Wilton and Salisbury, whence hereturned to the sea laden with wealth and stained with blood; yet wasnot his revenge satisfied.
The following year East Anglia suffered as Wessex had suffered theyear before. Ulfketyl, the ealdorman, gave them much money, hoping tobuy peace from the merciless pagans. The result was as he might haveexpected. They took the money, laughing at his simplicity, and threeweeks afterwards pillaged Thetford, and burnt it. Then Ulfketyl, whowas a brave man, got an East Anglian army together, and fought theDanes, giving them the uncommon chastisement of a defeat, so that theyescaped with difficulty to their ships.
The following year a famine so severe visited England, that even theDanes forebore to ravage so poor a land; but in 1006, the next year,they overspread Wessex like locusts. Here the action of our tale isresumed.
During this interval of four years in Aescendune there had been peace.Alfgar had been domesticated as one of the family, and was reportedwell of in all the neighbourhood. Diligent in the discharge of hisreligious duties, he was equally conspicuous in all warlike sports andexercises and in the chase, while he afforded much help to Elfwyn thethane in the management of the estate. In short, he had won his way tothe hearts of all the family; and perhaps the report that he was theaccepted suitor of the fair daughter of Aescendune, Ethelgiva, was notwithout foundation.
Ethelgiva was nearly his own age, and was a perfect type of thatbeauty which has ever distinguished the women of the Anglo-Saxon race.Her fair hair, untouched by artificial adornment, hung like a showerof gold around her shoulders, while her eyes were of that delicateblue which seemed to reflect the deep summer sky; but the sweetpensive expression of her face was that which attracted nearly all whoknew her, and made her the object of general regard.
Bertric was now about sixteen--a handsome, attractive boy, full oflife and fire, yet still possessing that devotion which FatherCuthbert had remarked in him as a boy of twelve. As the heir to thelands of Aescendune, and the only son, he would have been in muchdanger of being spoiled had he been less genuine and manly than hewas. He and Alfgar were inseparable; they seemed to revive again thetraditional love of Nisus and Euryalus, or Orestes and Pylades.
The famine, which had made Wessex too poor even to serve as a bait forthe Danes, had also afflicted Mercia, but not nearly so severely, andthe generosity of the family of Aescendune had been exerted to theutmost on behalf of the sufferers.
But the spring of the year 1006 bade fair to atone for the past. Itwas bright and balmy. May was just such a month as the poets love tosing, and June, rich in its promise of fruit, had passed when theevents we are about to relate occurred. At this time there was somehope amongst the people that God had at length heard the petitionbreathed so often in the penitential wail of the Litany--"From thecruelty of our pagan enemies, good Lord, deliver us"--and they forgotthat the massacre on St. Brice's night yet cried for vengeance.
It was a fine summer's evening towards the end of the month of July,and the sun was slowly setting behind the wood-crowned range of hillsin the west, where the forest terminated the pastures of Aescendune;the cattle were returning to their stalls; the last load of hay wasbeing transferred from the wain to the rick, and all things spoke ofthe calm and rest of a sweet night, fragrant with the breath ofhoneysuckle and wild brier, when nature herself seems to courtluxurious repose.
The priory bell was tolling for compline, and thither many of thepeople, released from their labour, were wending their way. The Thaneand his children, accompanied by Alfgar, paused on their homewardroad, and when the drowsy tinkling ceased, deep silence seemed to fallover the landscape, while the night darkened--if darkness it could becalled when the moonbeams succeeded to the fiercer light of theglowing orb of day.
The Lady Hilda was at the window of her bower, slightly indisposed;she had not gone down to the priory, but sat inhaling the richfragrance of the night as the gentle breeze wafted it from a thousandflowers. Star after star peeped out; one sweet-voiced nightingalebegan her song, trilling through the air; another enviously took upthe strain. Hilda thought the earth had never seemed so much likeheaven, and she imagined the tuneful birds sang their vesper song inunion with the monks, whose solemn and plaintive chant awoke theechoes of the priory church. Her heart was full of solemn yet not sadthoughts; peace, sweet peace, was the subject of her meditations, andshe thought with gratitude of Him who had hitherto preserved Merciafrom the foe, who had indeed for nearly two years ceased to molestEngland.
But as she gazed, her attention was attracted to a light on theopposite hills. It was a fire of some kind, and rose up more and morefiercely each moment. It was but a bonfire in appearance, yet itmarred both the landscape and the meditative rest of the gazer.
The party from the hall were returning home from the church.
"Father," said Bertric, "look at that light! Is it not singular? Inever saw one there before."
But even while they looked another fire appeared in an oppositedirection, and Bertric saw his father turn grave.
"It is the beacon fire," said he seriously.
"Yes it is, and see it is answered from the hills to the north," saidAlfgar.
Then they were silent, and Bertric felt his spirits sink with a vaguekind of apprehension. They said no more till they reached home, andthe whole family met, much later than usual, at the evening meal.
"You are late," said Hilda to her lord.
"We were returning home from the meadows on the water, whence the lastload of hay has been carried, and we tarried for the compline at thepriory. The bell sounded as we were passing."
"Did you see the bonfire on the hills? It must be a large one."
"I did; and it made me uneasy."
"Why so, my Elfwyn?"
"You forget that when the last invasion of our pagan foes was over, itwas agreed in the Witan that a set of beacons should be prepared, inreadiness to fire, on the tops of the hills, and that if the Danesappeared again, they should be fired everywhere, in which case Merciawas to hold herself in readiness to come to the aid of Wessex or EastAnglia, whichever the foe might be harrying."
"But then that was eighteen months agone."
"Still the beacon piles remain or did remain. I saw one at the summitof the hills which the trackway crosses between our county andOxfordshire, when I last returned form Beranbyrig {v}, and I thinkthat one gives the present alarm. It means the Danes are again in theland."
"Now, God forbid!" said Hilda, with clasped hands.
"Amen say we all; but I fear me such will be the case, unless somepoor fool has set the pile blazing for amusement. I fancied I saw itanswered away north and west. We will go and see anon."
Supper being ended, Elfwyn rose to go out, and his example wasfollowed by Alfgar and Bertric, and several of the serfs, who from thelower end of the ample board had heard with much alarm the previ
ousconversation.
Ascending the hill, they directed their steps towards the highestpoint, where an old watchtower had once been reared, composed oftimber, and overlooking the forest.
From the summit the party gazed over three or four counties lyingdimly beneath them in the still moonlight.
The mist, slowly rising from the river and forest, partially obscuredthe immediate view, and hid the valley beneath in smoke-like wreaths;but the distant hills rose above. There three large fires immediatelycaught the eye, and confirmed the apprehensions. One was on the summitof the range culminating on the spot now known as Edgehill, lyingabout ten miles south; but on the west Malvern Heights had caught theflame, and on the far north the Leicestershire hills sent forth theirreddening fire in more than one spot.
"The country has taken the alarm," said the Thane.
"What must we do, father?"
"Summon and arm all our vassals, and await the sheriff's orders; theking will communicate to us through him. We know not yet where thedanger is."
"Perhaps it is only a false alarm," said Bertric.
"God grant it; but I dare not hope as much."
Alfgar was very silent. Well he might be. The enemy dreaded was hisown kith and kin; and although all his sympathies were with hisEnglish friends, from whom he had received more kindness and love thanhe had ever known elsewhere, yet he seemed to feel compromised by thedeeds of his kindred, whose savage cruelty no Christianity had as yetsoftened.
While they yet remained on the hill, fire after fire took up the taleand reddened the horizon, until a score of those baleful bonfires werein sight. Sighing deeply, Elfwyn led the way down the hill.
"What have you seen?" was the inquiry of the Lady Hilda.
"The hills flame with beacons."
"Alas for poor Wessex!"
"Alas for England! I have a foreboding that we shall not always beexempt from the woes which affect our neighbours. Wessex scarcelytempts the plunderer now; neither does East Anglia. Northumbria ishalf Danish, and kites do not peck out kites' eyes. No; on Mercia,poor Mercia, the blow must sooner or later fall."
"And how to avert it?"
"There is but one way; we must fight the foe in Wessex. Now we mustrest, to rise early, and await the sheriff's summons."
It was silent, deep night; the whole house was buried in slumber, whenAlfgar dreamed a strange dream. He thought he stood amidst the ruinsof his home, the home of his father Anlaf, and that he heard stepsapproaching from the forest. Soon a solitary figure emerged, andsearched anxiously amongst the fallen and blackened walls, utteringone anxious ejaculation, "My son! I seek my son!" and Alfgar knew hisfather. Their eyes met, recognition took place, and he awoke with sucha keen impression of his father's presence that he could not shake itoff for a long time.
"Do the dead indeed revisit earth?" he said. "Nay, it was but adream."
He went to the narrow window of his chamber, and looked out. The dawnwas already breaking in the east, and even as he gazed upon thepurpling skies the birds began their matin songs of praise, and thevalley awoke. The priory bell, beneath, by the riverside, now tolledits summons to matins, and Alfgar arose and dressed.
Never did the household of Aescendune begin the day without religiousobservance, and the first thing that they did on this, as on everyday, was to repair to the priory church, where Father Cuthbert saidmass; after which he and his brother the Thane were closeted togetherfor a long time.
The rest of the party returned home to break their fast, and conversedabout the warnings of the preceding night.
While they were still at their meal, Bertric, who sat near a window,cried out, "I see a horseman coming from Warwick."
The panting steed was soon reined up in front of the drawbridge, whichwas down as usual; and, passing beneath the arched gate, the riderdismounted in the courtyard.
All the household were soon assembled to hear his news. He bore asealed missive addressed to the Thane; but he gave the secret of thenight's alarm in a few words.
"They are in Wessex, plundering, murdering, and burning. The forcesare all to meet at Dorchester as soon as man and horse can get there."
"Where did they land?"
"The great fleet came to Sandwich, and they are advancing westward asfast as they can come."
"Are they merciless as ever?"
"Worse."
"The fiends!" said Bertric bitterly; and then seeing Alfgar's saddenedface, said, "Oh, I beg pardon," which made matters worse.
"You are not a Dane, Alfgar; you are a Christian; no one thinks of youas one."
Shortly Elfwyn returned from the priory, and received the messenger.The sealed packet only contained a formal summons to the generalrendezvous of the forces, which was to take place at Dorchester, theepiscopal city of the great Midland diocese, and situated in a centralposition, where Wessex and Mercia could easily unite the flower oftheir youth.
All the necessary preparations for departure were shortly made--thetheows and ceorls were collected together, beasts of burden selectedto carry the necessary baggage, the wallets filled with provisions.
Before the third hour of the day all had been done which the simplehabits of the time required, and only the sorrowful leave takingsremained. Husbands had to bid the last goodbye--it might be the verylast--to their spouses, sons to their aged parents, fathers to theirchildren. And then there was hurrying to and fro, as of people onlyhalf conscious of what they did; while the warriors strove to smileand preserve their fortitude.
But alas! there were no traditions of victory to encourage them; onlygloomy remembrances of defeat; and, but for the stern call of dutywhich bade them, as men and Christians, go to the succour of theirbrethren, the majority would have preferred to remain at home andabide the worst, although they knew full well that submission utterlyfailed to mitigate the ferocious cruelty of their oppressors, who slewalike the innocent babe and the grey-haired grandsire.
Alfgar had volunteered to share the perils of his adopted lord, butwas kindly told that it would be inexpedient. Indeed, by many he wouldhave been suspected of treachery.
"Nay, Alfgar, remain at home; to you I commend the protection of myhome, of the Lady Hilda, and our children," said Elfwyn.
Neither were Bertric's prayers to be allowed to share his father'sperils any better received. He was bidden to remain where he was, andto be a good son to his mother--not that he had ever been otherwise.
And so the last sad words of adieu were spoken as bravely as might be,and the little troop, about fifty in number, departed from the hall.They crossed the rude wooden bridge, and took the southern road.
Their loved ones watched them until the last. They saw their warriorscast many a longing lingering look behind, and then the woodland hidthem from sight; and a dread quiet came down upon Aescendune, as whenthe air is still before the coming hurricane.
Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Page 5