CHAPTER XVII. FOR HEARTH AND HOME.
The inhabitants of Clifton stood on the terrace in front of the hall,gazing upon the fiery horizon, wrapped in emotions of surprise andalarm. Living as they did in an unsettled age, and far more preparedthan we should be for such a contingency, yet the sense of the rapidapproach of a cruel and remorseless foe struck terror into manyhearts.
But they had one amongst them to whom warfare and strife were a secondnature--one in whom the qualities which form the hero were very fullydeveloped. He gazed with sadness, but without fear, at the comingstorm, and to their late patient the inmates of the hall turned foradvice and aid in their dread emergency.
"What shall we do?" asked Herstan, gazing with indescribable feelingsat those who clung to him for support.
"The case is clear as the day," said the prince. "The storm I foretoldin vain has broken over the land, and the levies are not ready to meetit. Listen; you may hear the sounds of alarm from Dorchester evenhere. They see their danger."
The tolling of the alarm bells, the sound of distant shouts, theblowing of trumpets rolled in a confused flood of noise across theintervening space--a distance of between two and three miles--andmanifested the intense alarm of the city, so cruelly aroused fromdreams of peace.
"But what shall we do?"
"Defend the place if attacked; it is well adapted for defence. Youhave the river on one side, and a cliff no Dane could scale in theface of our battle-axes; on the other side, your earthworks andpalisades keep the foe at a distance from the main building. How manyable-bodied men are present now?"
"Happily we have all our force; the feast has brought them all here.There would be from sixty to seventy men, besides a score of boys."
"And how are you provided with weapons?"
"Each man has a battle-axe, and there are scores of spears in thearmoury."
"And arrows?"
"Whole sheaves of them; and as good yew bows as were ever bent."
"Come, we shall do; and now about provisions?"
"You see we have bounteous fare now, but it would not last many days."
"Many days we shall not want it--many days? Why, the levies must allbe out within twenty-four hours, and the Danes are not strong enoughto maintain themselves here. It is but a raid; but they might all havebeen taken or slain had my father but believed me. As it is, they haveshed much innocent blood by this time."
"You think, then, our buildings are capable of defence?"
"Assuredly; it would be madness to sacrifice such a position. If theDanes are about in the neighbourhood, it would be far more dangerousto expose your helpless ones without the fortifications. Have you allyour people here, or are there a few sick?"
"A few sick, only."
"Let them be sought at once; the heathen will be revelling like fiendsabout the country. For the present I think Dorchester and Abingdonsafe. Wallingford, if I may judge by the light over the hills, hasutterly fallen. They were probably taken unawares; and their defenceswere never good. Now we must at once to work."
"Prince, you have more experience of war than I; you will be ourcommander."
"I accept the post. To tell the truth, it will be a treat for me afterthe illness and confinement I have gone through; the thought of thestruggle makes me feel myself again."
And so this strangely constituted man went forth and spoke to theassembled multitude, who stood passively gazing at the distantconflagration.
"Now, Englishmen, a few words to you all. We shall have, I hope, tofight these Danes; and for the honour of our country must even quitourselves like men. Why should not the Englishman be a match for theDane? ay, more than a match for the cutthroat heathen? Here we standon a rock with our defence secure; and here we will live or die indefence of our women and children. What say you all?"
"We will live or die with you."
"Well said, men. Now, one good hearty cheer; no, stop, I should likethem to be caught in their own traps. I know their plan. If they findthe good people of Dorchester are awake, as the noise shows, they willswarm all over the neighbourhood like wasps after honey, to plunderthe isolated houses and farms, and carry off all they can; and thisplace is too conspicuous--too much of a city on a hill--to be hidden.Well, we will be ready for them. Now, first of all, we must set ouroutposts around to give us due warning of their approach; and thenevery man must arm himself as best he can, and let me see what figureyou can all make."
He was interrupted by a childish voice, and saw Herstan's little son,a boy of twelve years, touching his garment, and looking at him withunfeigned admiration.
"May I not fight the Danes, Prince?"
"No, you are too young; you must go and take care of your mother andsisters."
"I don't want to be shut up with the women. I have killed a wolf. Ishot him with my bow in Newenham wood."
"Well, we will see by and by, my brave boy. We shall have work forall; go and arm with the rest.
"Well, Alfgar?"
"Let my post be near you."
"You will fight in this quarrel, then?"
"Yes; to save Christian blood."
"Then I adopt you as an Englishman--Dane no longer. I know yourcourage and coolness, and will employ it where it is wanted. Now, youknow the place; come and place the outposts where they can retireeasily."
The small sally port, as it would have been called in later times, wasopened, and two men were in each case posted together all round thebuilding, under cover of trees, at convenient distances. The treesimmediately around the house had been cut down a few weeks earlier, byorder of Herstan, who saw they might afford cover to an enemy, in casethe prince's prophecies were fulfilled, as proved now to be the case.
The building was large and irregular, and had been added to at varioustimes, the hall, looking over the river, forming its most conspicuousportion; but it had not originally been built for purposes of defence,and could not have endured the Danish assault for a moment, but forexternal defences, utterly independent of the building, which had beenrecently added; a mound, surmounted by crossed palisades, skilfullystrengthened by osier bands, and a deep outer ditch, now full of snow,surrounded the building on three sides. The fourth was defended by theriver, which, being full owing to the late rains, rushed impetuouslyalong below.
"Alfgar," said Edmund, "ask Father Cuthbert to see that all thehelpless ones--women and children--are safely shut up in an innerapartment, where no Danish arrow can find them."
This was accomplished, and Father Cuthbert cheered them all with hiscalm placid manner; reassuring this one and cheering that, seemingquite insensible to fear himself: one moment all sympathy, then allbrightness, his presence was invaluable in the crisis.
"And now," said Edmund, "to the stables; the horses and cattle must beturned loose tonight, or the Danes will burn them in their barns andsheds."
The farm buildings lay some little distance without, and the Ethelingand Alfgar, with two or three farm servants, carried out the taskhastily but effectually. Duties were meanwhile assigned to all theable-bodied women and boys: some provided buckets and ladders, that,in case the Danes attempted to kindle a flame, they might attempt invain; others tore up lint and prepared bandages for the wounded, whileothers passed into the upper apartments to see that no lights remainedwhich could direct the aim of the foe.
The night had somewhat changed its character while all these thingswere going on; clouds obscured the moon, and light flakes of snowcommenced to fall. The wind began to moan, as if a storm were at hand.
Alfgar visited the outposts while Edmund assigned their severalstations to the men, who were now armed in readiness for the defence.When the former reached the post on the river's bank lower down, hesaw that the sentinel had thrown himself ear to the earth, and waslistening intently; he imitated his example.
A deep dull sound from the distance was heard, and Alfgar recognisedthe tread of an approaching host.
"Let us withdraw," he said.
They fell back quietly; Alfgar, passi
ng rapidly round, warned all theother sentinels, and when all had entered, the gates were closed; allwas done in profound silence.
Then Edmund caused the men to fit their arrows to the string, and tolie upon the inward slope of the earthworks, so as to be invisible; heplaced all the rest of the men at the windows and loopholes of thebuilding. Similarly prepared, Edmund, with Alfgar and young Hermann byhis side, waited at the window commanding the gateway, when the LadyBertha came up to them.
"Has not Father Cuthbert returned?"
"Returned?"
"Yes, he went to the church to bring in the sacred vessels andvestments."
Alfgar rose instantly.
"I will go and seek him," he cried.
"Then pass out by the postern gate, on the angle nearest the church; Ifear the danger is great, but he must be told that the foe is near, orhe may fall into their hands."
Alfgar left the hall and passed to an angle of the defences where alittle gate led out towards the church; the bridge had been removed,and he had absolutely to descend into the ditch amongst the deep snow.
Emerging, he crossed the burial yard, and found the good fatherreturning heavily laden with the precious vessels and other objects hehad been able to save.
"Father," he said; "the enemy is near."
"Indeed! so soon?"
"We must enter by the postern gate."
"I could hardly cross the snow burdened as I am; is it unsafe to trythe other gate? I hear no sound, see no symptom of danger."
They paused; all was so quiet that Alfgar yielded, and they passedround the mansion. The drawbridge was up, and no danger seemed near;the trees were in deep shadow, for the clouds, obscuring the moon,made the night very dark.
Alfgar gave the signal, and the drawbridge was lowered; but they hadscarcely set foot upon it when dark figures rushed from the shadowsbehind them. The bridge, which they both had passed, was actuallyrising, when the foremost Dane leapt upon it, but was rewarded by ablow from the battle-axe of Alfgar, which sent him tumbling into thesnow; two or three others leapt forward and clung to the edge of thebridge, but fell into the ditch like the first; the two fugitivesentered, and the gate was closed.
Then the awful war cry of the Danes arose from earth to heaven,chilling the very blood and, disdaining all further concealment, themurderous warriors rushed forward, doubtless expecting to find theplace almost undefended, and to carry the defences at a rush.
But they were soon fatally undeceived, for so perfect had beenEdmund's arrangements, that a storm of arrows burst from all parts ofthe building and embankment, laying nearly half the assailants dyingor wounded on the ground.
Still the survivors threw themselves into the ditch, and strove invain to pass the palisades, which projected over their heads, andwhich were vigorously defended by spear and battle-axe.
But in one place a gigantic warrior succeeded in hewing an aperturewith his axe, wielded by giant strength, and all might have been losthad not Edmund perceived it, and rushed to its defence, collecting byhis shout half-a-dozen followers. Several Danes strove to pass thebreach; one was already through, and Edmund attacked him; meanwhiletwo others had crept through, but were cut off from their fellows, forthe English rallied in front and presented an impenetrable barrierwith their spears, while from the windows above the arrows rained uponthe assailants.
Edmund's axe had found its victim; Herstan, who was by his side, hadengaged and wounded the second; and, meanwhile, Alfgar, who wasglaring about him for a foe, discovered the third, whose aspects andform were at once recognised by him.
"What! you, Higbald!" he cried.
"You shall escape no more," cried his late gaoler, and brought his axedown with a mighty rush. Alfgar leapt nimbly aside, and before hisbulky but clumsy antagonist could recover his guard, passed his keensword beneath the left arm, through the body, and the giant staggeredand fell, a bloody foam rising to his lips, as he quivered in theagonies of death.
All was again silent. The Danes, discomfited for the moment, havinglost half their number, had retired, probably waiting forreinforcements, and the victor addressed Edmund.
"Look," he cried; "this man is a servant of Edric Streorn."
"Is it true, fellow?" said Edmund sternly.
"What if it is? I am dying now, and it cannot matter to me."
The last words were interrupted by a convulsive struggle.
"Art thou an Englishman or a Dane?" said the Etheling, bending overthe dying ruffian in his anxiety to learn the whole truth.
"What is that to thee?"
"Much, if thou wouldst escape death."
"Escape death! I cannot. Neither wilt thou escape Edric Streorn, and Ishall not die unavenged. Ah! young springal, thou wilt not escapeagain. To think that thy puny hand should give Higbald his death blow!Ah, I am choked!"
Alfgar's sword had pierced his lungs, and a gush of blood rushing tothe mouth stopped the breath of Higbald for ever.
"I have brought the foe upon you. We are tracked," said Alfgar. "Edricand the Danes are in alliance."
"But they have not taken this place yet; neither shall they, by God'shelp! Ha! was that lightning? Nay, it is winter."
A sudden burst of fiery light illuminated the scene, and the defenderslooked forth, in spite of their danger, from their fortifications. Thelittle church of St. Michael burst forth into billowing eddies ofsmoke and flame.
"This is a grievous sight, to see the place we had dedicated to Goddestroyed by the bloody heathen. O that He would stretch forth Hishand as in the days of old!"
"Would I had but two hundred men; I would fall upon the villains inthe rear, and leave not one," said Edmund.
"Look--the farm buildings!" cried little Hermann.
"The poor horses and oxen!" cried the Lady Bertha.
"They are safe," said Edmund. "You may hear the trampling of hoofseven now. The fools of Danes are hunting them in all directions. I donot think they will catch many."
Lights appeared in two or three places, and soon it became evidentthat the ruthless foe had gained their object, as the barns andstables lit up in all directions, and the manor house was surroundedby the double conflagration, so that every object was as distinctlyvisible as in open daylight.
"To your buckets! Pour water upon the roof; and, archers, look out forthe enemy; keep him as far off as you can."
The boys and women were speedily on the roof pouring water in alldirections, in case the wind should deposit the burning brands uponthe structure. Meanwhile flights of arrows came from the distance, andsettled around them; but they were spent before arrival in most cases,for the defenders kept the ground clear for a large circle around bytheir well-sustained discharges. Not a few dead bodies lying in theglare of the fire testified to their deadly skill.
The flames passed from stable to barn, and barn to shed. Thetriumphant cries of the Danes added to the horror of the scene, heardas they were amidst the continuous roaring of the flames. Crash,crash, went roof after roof, the fall of the little church on theopposite side first leading the awful chorus. Life seemed the penaltyof either Englishman or Dane who dared to trust his person within thecircle of light.
The Lady Bertha was comforting her two little girls, Ostryth andAlfreda, where they sat, cowering and terrified, in their own littlebedchamber, the window so barricaded that no arrow could enter, butyet not sufficiently to keep out the glare of the flames.
"Mother, how light it is!" said the little Ostryth; "how dreadfullybright!"
"It will soon be darker again."
"But is it fire? Are they burning the house?"
"No, dearest. They have set the farm on fire. It cannot hurt us."
"But the horses, and my poor little pony?"
"Are safe, dearest one. The Etheling went and let them all loose."
"Oh! how good of him. I am so glad."
"Mother, let Hermann come and sit with us!"
"Nay, he will out to the fight. He is a boy, and must learn to be asoldier."
"Oh, b
ut he will get hurt, perhaps killed."
"Courage, dear child; remember how often I have told you how God helpsthose who trust in Him. Say your prayers, your Pater and Credo, andask God to take care of dear father and Hermann."
"Mother!" said a voice. She locked up and saw Hermann, his foreheadcovered with blood.
"It is nothing, mother," said the spirited lad, as he wiped the bloodaway; "at least only the scratch of an arrow while I was on the roof.Father wishes you to send all the women who are strong enough to helpto carry water from the river. The well is dry, and the men cannot bespared from the embankment. We expect another attack, and there aregreat patches of blazing straw flying about in the wind."
She spoke a few words to the women, and all but two or three, who weretoo weak or ill, went forth to the work. One kiss she imprintedeagerly on his brow, and dismissed him back to his perilous taskwithout allowing herself one sigh.
"Now, dear ones," she said to the little girls, "keep quiet tillmother comes back. I must go."
"O mother, do not leave us!"
But she could not listen to the earnest pleadings, for she felt thatwhere other women exposed themselves, she too must go, and cheer byher example.
A long line, reaching to the brink of the river, was soon formed, andbuckets were being passed from hand to hand. A loud cry, and a boy inthe line fell from an arrow, which retained just sufficient strengthto pierce his heart. Herstan and Father Cuthbert carried the corpsereverently within, the father remembering that but that morning he hadfed with the Bread of Life, at the altar of St. Michael, this poorlad, so soon to be called to meet the Judge who had entertained him asa guest at His holy Table that Christmas morn. Two or three otherswere soon wounded, but not seriously, and when a supply of water readyfor all emergencies had been collected on the roof, the dangerous dutywas over.
Pale and collected, the Lady Bertha was returning to her children,when she passed the corpse. One moment, and the thought struck herthat it was Hermann, and the mother's heart gave a great leap.Tremblingly she put aside the cloth with which they had veiled it, andwas undeceived. Repressing her feelings, she was again by the side ofher little girls, when the fearful cries of the assailants once morerang through the air.
"Stand to your post! Quit yourselves like men! Be firm!" shouted thestentorian voice of Edmund.
Onward came the Danes, in three parties, to attack the three sides ofthe building. The arrows diminished their numbers, but stayed themnot. They left a struggling dark line upon the ground, but the woundedhad to care for themselves. Edmund rushed to command the defence atthe gate, leaving Alfgar to superintend that upon the right hand, andHerstan on the left. They had but one moment, and they were in thethick of the conflict.
Shouts mingled with shrieks. Sword, battle-axe, and spear did theirdeadly work through and above the palisade; arrows rained down fromthe roof and windows on the assailants, women and boys doing theirpart in that manner, while the men did theirs with battle-axe andsword on the bulwarks. In one or two places the palisade threatened togive way, and at last three or four stakes were dragged out in onespot, blow after blow of the axe was spent upon the yielding fabric,and a breach was effected.
The Etheling perceived it, and rushed to the scene just as two orthree of the English, less used to arms, were yielding before theponderous weapons of the Danes. Throwing himself into the breach, hispractised arm made a desert around him. Of immense muscular strength,his blows came down like the fabled hammer of Thor, crushing helmetand breastplate alike before the well-tempered steel of his favouriteweapon. The foe were driven back, and for one moment he stood in thebreach alone.
Then and then only was he recognised.
"The gleeman! the false gleeman the Etheling Edmund!" in variousenergetic cries, attested his fame, and the hatred of his foes.
"Yes, dogs, ye know me, and the prize ye have to win. Back, drunkardsand cannibals, back to your royal parricide with the gleeman'sgreetings, and tell him Hela is waiting for him and his friend theaccursed Edric."
A shower of arrows was the only answer, but they missed the joints,and rattled harmlessly from the well-tempered armour which Edmundwore. Still the position was critical, and Alfgar, with gentleviolence, persuaded him to descend from his perilous position.
Here the attack was foiled, and foiled so decidedly, that the ditchwas actually half filled with corpses. Cries of distress arose fromthe opposite side, but Edmund's arm restored the balance there, sogreat was the influence of one man, and so great the power of physicalforce in the desperate conflicts of that day.
Foiled at every point, the invaders were driven from the embankment.It was evident that they had miscalculated the forces of thedefenders, and that they had advanced beyond their main body ininsufficient strength to take the place by assault. Could they havesupplied the place of the fallen by fresh men, until they had weariedthe defenders out, they would have succeeded, but they were evidentlynot in strength to do this so they slowly yielded, until the deadlystruggle ceased, and silence resumed her empire, while the besiegedrepaired the damage the defences had sustained.
"They have retired," said Herstan, wiping the sweat from his brow andthe blood from his axe.
"Ay," said Edmund, "they will not now take the place by assault--theyare not more than two to one, considering the losses they havesustained. They have lost twice as many as we. If we were a littlestronger I would head a sally.
"Ah! what was that?"
A globe of fire traversing the arc of a circle, rose from beyond theembers of the barns, and, sailing through the air, fell upon the roof,which, owing to the intense heat from the conflagration which hadraged around, was in a very dry and inflammable state. Another, thenanother followed, and Edmund cried aloud:
"Pass up the water to the roof, to the roof. We shall need all ourhands now!"
He rushed up himself, but charged Herstan to remain below, and seethat, whatever happened, the defences were not forsaken for onemoment.
The defenders on the roof were prompt with their remedy; and no soonerdid a flaming brand arrive than it was extinguished, provided it fellin a spot easy of access. But at length some of the deadly missilesfell where they could not be immediately reached, and one of theseeluded the observation of the besieged until they saw a sheet of flamecurl over the eaves beneath the roof, and play upon the surface of thehuge beams above, until they suddenly started into flame. Water wasdashed upon it, but only partially extinguished the destroyingelement, which broke out in fresh places until the defenders becamedesperate. And now flight after flight of arrows fell amongst them,and many wounds were received, while the smoke and flame seemed tofind fresh fuel each moment, and to need all the energies of theEnglish.
It was at this inauspicious moment that the Danes charged thepalisades again with deadly fury, while the attention of all was drawnto the flames; so fierce was the attack, that it was necessary oncemore to concentrate all the strength of the besieged to repel them;and the fire gained in strength, roared and hissed in its fury,seizing for its prey the whole roof of the eastern wing of thebuilding.
And now the Danish archers, drawing nearer, sent fresh flights ofarrows on those who were labouring on the house top, and, killingseveral, drove the others away. The condition of the English wasrapidly getting desperate.
Edmund threw himself into the strife, and drove the foe back from thebreach they had previously made, but even his valour could not restoreconfidence.
"All is lost! all is lost!" cried some panic-stricken trembler, as hesaw the flames spread.
"To the river, to the river, to the boats!" cried others.
"Nay, nay," shouted Edmund, "we are not conquered yet; we can defendourselves till daylight, or we can depart in order. Alfgar, bid thewomen and children prepare to leave the hall as the fire spreads; andyou, Herstan, see that if the worst comes to the worst, the retreat tothe river is made in order. We will defend the place if necessary tillthe last man, and cover your retreat; but all is not lost yet. Take
adozen stout men, mount the roof, the fire is not lower down; let themdestroy the burning portion with their axes; let the women standbehind with the water.
"Archers, keep the Danes back. See those brutes there aiming at yourwives on the roof; bring them down; make them keep their distance.Guard well the palisades."
But, although his orders were obeyed, the Danes grew bolder; the mencould not work on the roof in the midst of the arrows. The women andchildren, emerging terror-struck from the hall, made every father'sheart sink within him.
Edmund cried aloud:
"To the gate, to the gate! the villains have got the drawbridge down."
He rushed to the spot himself, and found that some adventurous Danehad severed the chains and lowered the bridge in the momentaryconfusion of its defenders, and the gate was yielding before theirstrokes.
He arrived; and that moment the gate fell. He stood in the breachhimself; one man against a dozen. He did all a hero could; but he wasalready bleeding. Alfgar, ever faithful, fought like a lion by hisside. Herstan and his bravest warriors brought their aid, but allseemed lost.
"Tell them to retreat to the river.
"Herstan, conduct the retreat; Alfgar and I can keep them out for fiveminutes more."
"All is lost! all is lost!" the cry arose within.
"No; saved! saved!" cried Father Cuthbert from the roof. "What!Englishmen, to the rescue! to the rescue!"
The Danes suddenly wavered, then turned in surprise and despair; forfrom the darkness behind emerged the forms of hundreds of Englishmen,who fell upon the Danes. The levies were out, and only just in time.
"One charge!" said Edmund; and, rushing forward, led the way into theheart of the foe.
. . . . . .
The Danes who had attacked the house of Herstan were so far in advanceof their countrymen that they were forced to retreat instantly beforethe superior force which came to the rescue of the besieged; and theyfell back, at first in some order, but shortly, owing to the darknessand the pressure of their foes, in utter confusion.
But Edmund could pursue them no longer. His strength, having been solately an invalid, was utterly gone. He fell from sheer exhaustion,and was borne back by Alfgar to the hall.
But there was no longer need for his protection. He had saved themansion and all its inmates, as they most readily owned. And now hereceived all the loving care and attention he deserved.
Meanwhile the English continued the pursuit until a small remnant ofDanes repassed the river; only a small remnant of the party which, asit will be easily guessed, instigated by Edric, had sallied forth tobesiege the place where Edmund had found refuge, who had so recentlyprovoked the bitter hostility of Sweyn.
The following day the whole army of the Danes retreated from the ruinsof Wallingford towards the south; and the next day encamped in thevillage of Cholsey, which, with its priory, they utterly destroyed.Then they continued their retreat along the slope of the downs, byAston, until they reached Cuckamsley hill, where they abode as adaring boast; for it had been said that if they ever reached that spotthey should never see the sea again. Alas! the prediction wasunfulfilled {xii}.
Alfgar the Dane or the Second Chronicle of Aescendune Page 18