CHAPTER XVI. THE FEAST OF CHRISTMAS.
Alfgar had completely lost the reckoning of times and days since hisimprisonment, but he felt that weeks must have passed away, and thatthe critical period foretold by Edmund must be near, so he listenedanxiously for any intelligence from the world without.
At last the weather became very cold, and being without a fire, hissufferings were great, until his ferocious gaoler, finding him quitestiffened, brought up a brazier of coals, which saved his prisoner'slife, while it filled the room with smoke, which could only escape bythe crevices in walls and roof, for to open a window would have beenas bad as to dispense with the fire, such was the state of the outerair.
It was what we call an old-fashioned Christmas, in all its glory andseverity--a thing easy enough to bear, nay to enjoy, when men havewarm fires and plenty of food, but hard enough to endure where theseare absent.
At last Alfgar could but conclude it was Christmastide, for Higbaldwas joined by two comrades, and they sang and rioted below in a waywhich showed that they had got plenty of intoxicating drink, and weremaking free with it.
In the evening of the day Higbald brought him up his supper,staggering as he did so, and with it he brought in a bowl of hot mead.
"Drink," he said, "and drown care. It is Yuletide, and drink thou mustand shalt."
Alfgar drank moderately, for sooth to say it was invigorating andwelcome that cold day, but Higbald finished the bowl then and there,and then staggering down, drew the outer bolt in such a way that itmissed the staple, which fact he was too drunk to perceive.
Alfgar watched the action with eager eyes. It was the first time therehad been even a chance of escape.
Meanwhile the evening sped by; and the noisy crew below quarrelled andsang, drank and shouted, while the bright moonlight--brighter as itwas reflected from the snow of that December night--stole over thescene.
Not till then did Alfgar pass silently through the open door, andlisten at the head of the staircase. Before him was the outer door,the key in the lock. The question was--Could he reach it unobserved bymen or mastiff?
Liberty was worth the attempt. He descended the stairs softly. At thebottom he looked around. The door was fastened which led into thelarge hall where the gaolers were drinking. He advanced to the outerportal, when he heard the growl of the dog from behind the inner door.
The moment was critical. Evidently his masters did not comprehend theaction of the too faithful brute, for they cursed and swore at it.Even then it growled, and the drunken fools--drunken they must havebeen indeed--threw some heavy missile at it, which caused it to yelpand cease its growling.
Just then something flashed in the ray of moonlight which stole inthrough an aperture over the door.
It was a sharp double-edged sword.
He grasped it with eagerness. It was now a case of liberty or death.He knew how to wield it full well.
Stealthily he turned the key and the door stood open. Still hiscaptors sang, and he caught the words:
"When we cannot get blood we can drink the red wine,The Sea King sang in his might;For it maddens the brain, it gives strength to the arm,And kindles the soul in the fight."
Now he was on the outer side of the door, and he shut it, and thenlocked it and tossed the key into the snow.
But which way was he to go? He could not make out the locality, but itwas evident that the hill rose above him, and he knew that from itssummit he could discern the bearings of places, so he resolved toascend.
It was now about nine at night, an hour when our ancestors generallyretired to rest. All Alfgar's desire and hope--O how joyful ahope!--was to see from the hill the bearings of Clifton, and todescend, with all the speed in his power, towards it. He might arrivebefore they had retired to rest. So he ran eagerly forward. The moonwas bright, and the snow reflected so much light that locomotion waseasy.
And now he became conscious that there was a strange gleam along thesnow on his left hand--a strange red gleam, which grew stronger andstronger as he advanced. It seemed above and below--to redden theskies, the frozen treetops with their glittering snow wreaths, and thesmooth surface beneath alike.
Redder and redder as he ascended, until he suddenly emerged upon theopen hill. Before him were earthworks, which had been thrown up inolden wars, before Englishman or Dane had trodden these coasts. Hescrambled into a deep hollow filled with snow, then out again, and upto the summit, when he saw the cause of the illumination.
Before him the whole country to the southeast seemed in flames.Village after village gave forth its baleful light; and even while hegazed the fiery flood burst forth in spots hitherto dark. He stood asone transfixed, until the wind brought with it a strange and fearfulcry, as if the exultation of fiends were mingled with the despairingcry of perishing human beings.
He knew whence it came by the red light slowly stealing beyond thenext hill, and the fiery tongues of flame which rose heavenward,although the houses were hidden by the ground.
It was from Wallingford, a town three miles below Dorchester. He knew,too, where he was himself; and the one impulse which rushed upon himwas to hasten to Clifton, where he trusted he might find Edmund, or,at least, hear of him in this dread emergency. He saw the villagelying beneath in the distance, and turned to rush downward, enteringthe wood in a different direction.
But what sound is that which makes him start and pause?
It is the bay of the mastiff. He is pursued. He clasps his sword withdesperate tenacity, in which a foe might read his doom, and rushes on,crushing through the brushwood.
Again the bay of the hound.
Onward, onward, he tramples through bush and bramble, until he seeshis progress suddenly arrested by the dark-flowing river.
He coasts along its banks, keeping up stream. The bay of the dog seemsclose at hand, and the trampling of human feet accompanies it.
All at once he comes upon a road descending to the brink, and sees aferry boat at the foot of the descent. He rushes towards it andenters. The pole is in the boat. He unlooses the chain, but withdifficulty, and precious moments are lost. He hears the panting of theferocious beast just as he pushes the boat, with vigorous thrust, outinto the stream.
The dog, followed closely by the men, is on the bank. The men curseand swear, but the dog plunges into the chilly stream, which, beingswollen, has too rapid a current to freeze. Alfgar sees the bruteswimming after the boat; he ceases to use the pole, but takes hissword, kneels on the stern of the boat, and waits for the mastiff. Itgains the boat, and tries to mount, when the keen steel is drivenbetween the forepaws to its very heart. One loud howl, and it floatsdown the stream, dyeing the waters with its life-blood.
"Cursed Dane!" shouts Higbald. "thou shalt pay with thy own lifeblood."
"When you catch me; and even then you must fight for it. Meanwhile, ifyou be an Englishman, warn the good people of Dorchester that theDanes are upon them. Your Edric has betrayed them."
Reaching the other shore, Alfgar finds smooth meadows all covered withsnow. He knows his way now. A little higher up he strikes the mainroad which leads to Clifton, and rushes on past field and grove, pasthedgerow and forest. Behind him the heavens are growing angry withlurid light, before him the earth lies in stillness and silence; themoonbeams slumbering on placid river, glittering on frozen pool, orsilvering happy homesteads--happy hitherto. He sees the lights in thehall of Herstan yet burning, and casting their reflection abroad. Heis at the foot of the ascent leading up to it. One minute more and--
. . . . . .
Christmas day was almost over when the population of Herstan's villageof Clifton obeyed the summons with alacrity to spend the evening inthe hall in feasting and merriment. They had all duly performed thereligious duties of the day, and had been greatly edified by thehomily of Father Cuthbert at mass; and now innocent mirth was to closethe hallowed day--mirth which they well believed was not alien to thebirthday of Him who once sanctified the marriage festivities at Canaby His first miracle.
/> So thither flocked the young and the old: the wood rangers and huntersfrom the forests of Newenham, where Herstan had right of wood cutting;the men who wove baskets and hurdles of osier work from the riverbanks; the theows who cultivated the home farm; the ceorls who renteda hide of land here and a hide there--all, the grandfather and thegrandson, accepted the invitation to feast. The rich and the poor mettogether, for God was the Maker of them all.
The huge Yule log burnt upon the hearth as it had done since it waslighted the night before; a profusion of torches turned night intoday; the tables groaned with the weight of the good cheer; in short,all was there which could express joy and thanksgiving.
The supper was over; the wild boar roasted whole, the huge joints ofmutton and beef, the made dishes, the various preparations of milk,had disappeared, the cheerful cup was handed round; after which thetables were removed, the gleemen sang their Christmas carols, and allwent merry as a "marriage bell."
Father Cuthbert, seated in a corner near the Yule log, with hisbrother-in-law and the Etheling, forgot all his apprehensions, andshared in the universal joy around him; if his thoughts were sometimeswith those who had once made Christmas bright to him--if he thoughtof the bright-haired Bertric, who had been the soul of last Yuletidefestivity at Aescendune, or of the desolated home there, he dismissedthe subject from his mind at once, and suffered no hint to drop whichcould dim the mirth of his fellow guests.
Meanwhile, one of those whom he strove in vain to forget for the timedrew nearer and nearer; a haggard figure, wan and worn by painfulimprisonment, the garments dishevelled, the hair matted, the wholefigure wild with excitement, he drew near the outer gate.
He heard the song of joy and peace within as he paused one momentbefore blowing the horn which hung at the outer gate.
Peace! Peace!The whole wide world rejoiceth now,Let war and discord cease;Christ reigneth from the manger,Away with strife and danger;Our God, before whom angels bow,Each taught this lesson by his birth,Good will to men, and peace on earth.Peace! Peace!Hark, through the silent airAngelic songs declareGod comes on earth to dwellO hear the heavenly chorus swell,Good will to men,And on earth, peace.
He could bear it no longer, the contrast was too painful, he mustbreak the sweet charm, the hallowed song, for the sky was reddeningyet more luridly behind him, and each moment he expected to seeDorchester burst forth into flames. O what a Christmas night!
He blew the horn, and had to blow it again and again before he washeard.
At length a solitary serf came to the gate:
"Who is there?"
"A messenger for the Etheling; is Prince Edmund with you? I would seehim."
"All are welcome tonight, but I fear you will find the Ethelingill-disposed to leave the feast."
"Let me in."
Astonished at the tone of the request, the porter reluctantlycomplied, first looking around.
"Why, thou art wild and breathless; is aught amiss?"
"Step out and look over the hills; what dost thou see?"
"Why, the heaven is in fire; is it the northern lights?"
"Southern, you mean; the Danes are upon us."
Staggered by the tidings, the man no longer opposed his entrance, andAlfgar staggered into the hall, forgetting that he was come amongstthem like one risen from the dead.
He entered the hall at first unnoticed, but the merry laughter andcheerful conversation withered before his presence, as of one who cameto blast it.
Father Cuthbert and Edmund, amongst others, turned round to see whatcaused the lull, and started from their seats as they beheld at theend of the room Alfgar, his face pale as one risen from the dead, hisblack locks hanging dishevelled around his neck, his garments torn,his whole person disordered. At first they really believed he hadreturned from the tomb.
They hesitated, but for one moment in speechless surprise, then rushedforward.
"Alfgar!" cried the Prince.
"My son!" cried Father Cuthbert, "whence hast thou come? dost thou yetlive?"
"Father; Prince; I live to warn you--the Danes, the Danes!" and hesank fainting into the arms of Herstan.
"Surely he raves," said they all.
The porter here ventured to speak.
"My lord, please go to the front of the house and look over thewater."
Father Cuthbert and Edmund at once left the hall, followed by severalothers.
The mansion was seated on a considerable elevation; below them rolledthe Isis; across the river a couple of miles of flat meadow land laybetween them and the Synodune hills, and beyond the lessening range ofthose hills, on the southeast, they looked, and behold the smoke ofthe country went up as the smoke of a furnace.
Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Page 17