The G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  There was again a consultation between the leaders, for a murmur of approbation had run round the ranks of the spectators, who it was evident were impressed in favour of the young Saxon, and considered that the jarl’s words were just and reasonable. Eric spoke for a minute with Sweyn.

  “I feel,” he said in a loud voice, “that what Jarl Siegbert says is reasonable, that no augury can be drawn from the fight, and that, since Edmund is no longer a captive, and a friend of Siegbert’s, he cannot be forced into fighting in order that we may have an augury. But the Saxon, though so young, has won a reputation even among us, the enemies of his race; and my friend Sweyn, who has shown himself one of the bravest of our young men, considers that he has cause of quarrel with him, and challenges him to fight—not necessarily to the death, or till one is slain, but till the jarls here assembled do pronounce one or the other to be the victor. This is a fair challenge—first, there is a private quarrel; next, there is emulation between these young men, who may fairly claim to be the champions of the youth of the two races. Such a challenge the Saxon will hardly refuse.”

  In accordance with the customs of the day it would have been impossible for Edmund to have refused such a challenge without disgrace, and he did not for a moment think of doing so.

  “I am ready to fight Sweyn,” he said. “I have no great cause of quarrel with him; but if he conceives that he has grounds of quarrel with me, that is enough. As to championship of the Saxons, we have no champions; we fight not for personal honour or glory, but for our homes, our countries, and our religion, each doing his best according to the strength God has given him, and without thought of pride on the one hand or envy on the other because the strength or courage of one may be somewhat greater than that of another. Still, as a Saxon standing here as the only representative of my nation in an assembly of Northmen, I cannot refuse such a challenge, for to do so would be to infer that we Saxons are less brave than you. Therefore I am ready for the combat.”

  The Northmen clashed their weapons against their shields in token of their approval of the young Saxon’s words, and the young champions prepared for the combat. They were naked to the waist save for shield and helmet; below the waist each wore a short and tightly-fitting garment covered with plates of brass; the legs were naked, and each wore a pair of light sandals; their weapons were long straight swords. The weapon Edmund had chosen was considerably lighter than that of his opponent, but was of toughest steel, on which were engraved in rough characters, “Prayers to Woden for victory.”

  The difference in height between the combatants was considerable. Edmund stood five feet ten, but looked shorter from the squareness and width of his shoulders. Sweyn was nearly four inches taller, and he too was very strongly built. His muscles indeed stood out in stronger development than did those of Edmund, and if pure strength was to win the day few of those who looked on doubted that the Dane would be the victor.

  The combat was a long one. For some time Edmund contented himself with standing upon the defensive and guarding the tremendous blows which Sweyn rained upon him. In spite of the efforts of the Northman, he could neither beat down the Saxon’s guard nor force him to fall back a single step.

  Again and again the rattle of the spectators’ arms clashed an approval of Edmund’s steady resistance to his opponent’s assaults. The Norsemen delighted beyond all things in a well-fought encounter. Each man, himself a warrior, was able to appreciate the value of the strokes and parries. The betting at the commencement had run high upon Sweyn, and horses, armour, arms, and slaves had been freely wagered upon his success; but as the fight went on the odds veered round, and the demeanour of the combatants had as much to do with this as the skill and strength shown by Edmund in his defence. The Dane was flushed and furious; his temper gave way under the failure of his assaults. The Saxon, on the contrary, fought as calmly and coolly as if practicing with blunted weapons; his eyes never left those of his adversary, a half smile played on his lips, and although drops of perspiration from his forehead showed how great were his exertions, his breathing hardly quickened.

  Twice Sweyn drew back for breath, and Edmund each time, instead of pressing him, dropped the point of his sword and waited for him to renew the combat. At present he had scarce struck a blow, and while his own shield was riven in several places and his helmet dinted, those of Sweyn were unmarked.

  At the third assault Sweyn came up determined to end the conflict, and renewed the attack with greater fury than before. Three times his sword descended with tremendous force, but each time it met the blade of the Saxon; the fourth time his arm was raised, then there was a flash and a sudden shout from the crowd.

  With a mighty blow Edmund had smitten full on his opponent’s uplifted arm, and, striking it just above the elbow, the sword clove through flesh and bone, and the severed limb, still grasping the sword, fell to the ground.

  A loud shout of approval burst from the Danes. Although the conqueror was their enemy they appreciated so highly the virtues of coolness and courage that their applause was no less hearty than if the victor had been a countryman. Sweyn had fallen almost the instant the blow had been struck. The ring was at once broken up, and his friends ran to him. The Norsemen were adepts at the treatment of wounds, and everything had been prepared in case of emergencies.

  A bandage was instantly tied tightly round the upper part of the arm to stop the rush of blood, and the stump was then dipped into boiling pitch, and Sweyn, who had become almost instantly insensible from the loss of blood, was carried to his father’s tent. According to custom handsome presents of swords and armour were made to Edmund by those who had won by his success.

  It would have been considered churlish to refuse them, and Edmund had no thought of doing so, for he needed money, and these things in those days were equivalent to wealth.

  “You have done well and gallantly indeed, my young friend,” Siegbert said as, followed by several slaves bearing Edmund’s presents, they returned to the tent. “I am glad you did not slay him, for I think not that he will die. Such a blow given in battle would assuredly have been fatal, but here the means of stanching the blood were at hand, and I trust for Bijorn’s sake that he will recover; but whether or no he brought it on himself.”

  On reaching the tent Freda ran out radiant.

  “I hear that you have conquered,” she said, “and I am glad indeed; it serves him right, for all say that he forced the fight upon you.”

  “I did not know that your sympathies were so strongly against Sweyn,” Siegbert said in a somewhat reproachful tone. “He has always been your devoted follower.”

  “He has always been my tyrant, father, for he has always insisted on my doing his pleasure; but if he had been ten times my follower, and had been a valiant warrior instead of a youth, and I a maiden of twenty instead of a girl of fifteen, I should still be glad that he was conquered, because without any reason for quarrel he has sought to slay this Saxon youth who did us such great service, and to whom as he knew we were so indebted.”

  Siegbert smiled. “Hitherto I have wondered, daughter mine, at the reason which induced Sweyn to challenge Edmund, but now methinks I understand it. Sweyn has, as his father has told me, youth as he is, set his heart on winning your hand when you shall reach the age of womanhood, and it is just because Edmund has done you and me service that he hates him. You are young, child, for your bright eyes to have caused bloodshed; if you go on like this there will be no end to the trouble I shall have on your account before I get you fairly wedded.”

  Freda coloured hotly.

  “That is nonsense, father; another five years will be soon enough to begin to think of such things. At any rate,” she said with a laugh, “I am rid of Sweyn, for he can hardly expect me ever to love a one-armed man.”

  “There have been brave warriors,” Seigbert said, “with but one arm.”

  “It makes no difference,” Freda laughed; “if he had fifty arms I should never love him.”

  Edmund now
entreated Siegbert to repay himself from the presents he had received for the goods he had the evening before given to Bijorn as the price of his liberty, but this the jarl would not hear of. Edmund then begged him to buy with them, of Bijorn, the four Saxon slaves with whom he had agreed to attempt an escape, and to expend the rest of the presents in freeing as many other Saxon prisoners as he could.

  This Siegbert did, and by the evening Edmund had the satisfaction of finding around him twelve Saxons whose freedom he had purchased. He remained as the guest of Siegbert until the expedition sailed in the last week of March. Then with the twelve Saxons he embarked in Siegbert’s ship, which, instead of keeping with the others, sailed for the mouth of the Thames. The wind was favourable and the passage quick, and three days after sailing Edmund and his companions were disembarked on the coast of Kent. His adieus with Siegbert were hearty and earnest.

  “I would you had been a Northman,” the jarl said, “for I love you as a son, and methinks that when the time comes, had you been so inclined, you might have really stood in that relation to me, for I guess that my little Freda would not have said no had you asked her hand; but now our paths are to part. I shall never war again with the Saxons, for indeed there is but scant booty to be gained there, while you are not likely again to be cast upon our shores; but should the fates ever throw us together again, remember that you have a friend for life in Jarl Siegbert.”

  Freda, who had accompanied her father as usual, wept bitterly at the parting, which, however, she did not deem to be as final as it appeared to her father; for the evening before, as she was standing on the poop with Edmund, he had said to her, “You will not forget me, Freda; we are both very young yet; but some day, when the wars are over, and England no longer requires my sword, I will seek you again.”

  “Is that a promise, Edmund?”

  “Yes, Freda, a solemn promise.”

  “I will wait for you,” she said simply, “if it were till the end of my life.”

  The youth and girl ratified the promise by a kiss, and Freda, as through her tears she watched the boat which conveyed Edmund and his companions to shore, felt sure that some day she should see her Saxon hero again.

  On landing, Edmund soon learned that the Danes were everywhere masters, and that since the autumn nothing had been heard of the king, who was supposed to be somewhere in hiding.

  In every village through which they passed they found evidence of the mastership of the Danes. Many of the houses were burnt or destroyed, the people were all dressed in the poorest garb, and their sad faces and listless mien told of the despair which everywhere prevailed. In every church the altars had been thrown down, the holy emblems and images destroyed, the monks and priests had fled across the sea or had been slain.

  The Danish gods, Thor and Woden, had become the divinities of the land, and the Saxons, in whom Christianity had but recently supplanted the superstitions of paganism, were fast returning to the worship of the pagan gods. Edmund and his companions were shocked at the change. On reaching home they found that the ravages of the Danes had here been particularly severe, doubtless in revenge for the heavy loss which had been sustained by them in their attack upon Edmund’s fortification. His own abode had been completely levelled to the ground, and the villages and farm-houses for the most part wholly destroyed. His people were lying in rude shelters which they had raised, but their condition was very much better than that of the people in general.

  The news of Edmund’s return spread like wildfire, and excited the most extreme joy among his people, who had long given him up for lost. He found to his delight that the Dragon had returned safely, and that she was laid up in her old hiding-place. The great amount of spoil with which she was loaded had enabled her crew largely to assist their friends, and it was this which had already raised the condition of the people above that of their neighbours. Houses were being gradually rebuilt, animals had been brought from districts which had been less ravaged by the Danes, and something approaching comfort was being rapidly restored.

  Upon the day after Edmund’s return Egbert arrived. Feeling sure of Edmund’s death he had taken no steps towards rebuilding the house, but was living a wild life in the woods, when the news reached him that Edmund had reappeared. His own large share of the booty with that of Edmund he had buried, with the portion set aside for the king, in the wood near the spot where the Dragon was laid up.

  They had passed up the Parrot at night unobserved by the Danes, and after taking the masts out of the Dragon, and dismantling her, they had laid her up in the hole near the river where she was built. There was little fear of her discovery there, for the Danes were for the most part gathered in winter quarters at the great camp near Chippenham.

  Egbert’s delight at the reappearance of Edmund was unbounded, for he loved him as a son, and it was a long time before their joy at the meeting was sufficiently calmed down to enable them to tell each other the events which had happened since they parted three months before. Egbert’s narrative was indeed brief. He had remained two or three days off the coast of Norway in the lingering hope that Edmund might in some way have escaped death, and might yet come off and join him. At the end of a week this hope had faded, and he sailed for England. Being winter, but few Danish galleys were at sea, and he had encountered none from the time he set sail until he arrived off the coast at the mouth of the Parrot.

  He had entered the river at night so as to be unseen by any in the village at its mouth, and had, after the Dragon was laid up, passed his time in the forest. Edmund’s narration was much more lengthy, and Egbert was surprised indeed to find that his kinsman owed his freedom to the jarl whose vessel they had captured at the mouth of the Humber.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE ISLE OF ATHELNEY

  Edmund spent a month on his lands, moving about among his vassals and dwelling in their abodes. He inspired them by his words with fresh spirit and confidence, telling them that this state of things could not last, and that he was going to join the king, who doubtless would soon call them to take part in a fresh effort to drive out their cruel oppressors. Edmund found that although none knew with certainty the hiding-place of King Alfred, it was generally reported that he had taken refuge in the low lands of Somersetshire, and Athelney was specially named as the place which he had made his abode.

  “It is a good omen,” Edmund said, “for Athelney lies close to the Parrot, where my good ship the Dragon is laid away.”

  After visiting all the villages in his earldom Edmund started with Egbert and four young men, whom he might use as messengers, for the reported hiding-place of the king. First they visited the Dragon, and found her lying undisturbed; then they followed the river down till they reached the great swamps which extended for a considerable distance near its mouth. After much wandering they came upon the hut of a fisherman. The man on hearing the footsteps came to his door with a bent bow. When he saw that the new-comers were Saxons he lowered the arrow which was already fitted to the string.

  “Can you tell us,” Edmund said, “which is the way to Athelney? We know that it is an island amidst these morasses, but we are strangers to the locality and cannot find it.”

  “And you might search for weeks,” the man said, “without finding it, so thickly is it surrounded by deep swamps and woods. But what want ye there?”

  “Men say,” Edmund replied, “that King Alfred is hidden there. We are faithful followers of his. I am Ealdorman Edmund of Sherborne, and have good news for the king.”

  “If ye are indeed the Ealdorman of Sherborne, of whose bravery I have heard much, I will right willingly lead you to Athelney if you will, but no king will you find there. There are a few fugitives from the Danes scattered here and there in these marshes, but none, so far as I know, of any rank or station. However, I will lead you thither should you still wish to go.”

  Edmund expressed his desire to visit the island even if the king were not there. The man at once drew out a small boat from a hiding-place near his hut
. It would hold four at most. Edmund and Egbert stepped in with one of their followers, charging the others to remain at the hut until they received further instructions. The fisherman with a long pole took his place in the bow of the boat and pushed off. For some hours they made their way through the labyrinth of sluggish and narrow channels of the morass. It was a gloomy journey. The leafless trees frequently met overhead; the long rushes in the wetter parts of the swamp rustled as the cold breezes swept across them, and a slight coating of snow which had fallen the previous night added to the dreary aspect of the scene. At last they came upon sharply rising ground.

  “This is Athelney,” the fisherman said, “a good hiding-place truly; for, as you see, it rises high over the surrounding country, which is always swampy from the waters of the Parrot and Theme, and at high tides the salt water of the sea fills all these waterways, and the trees rise from a broad sheet of sea. No Dane has ever yet set foot among these marshes; and were there but provisions to keep them alive, a safe refuge might be found on this island for hundreds of fugitives. Will you be returning to-night?”

  “That I cannot tell you,” Edmund replied; “but at any rate I will hire you and your boat to remain at my service for a week, and will pay you a far higher price than you can obtain by your fishing.”

  The fisherman readily agreed, and Edmund and his companions made their way into the heart of the island. It was of some extent, and rose above the tree-tops of the surrounding country. Presently they came to a cottage. A man came out.

  “What do you seek?” he asked.

  “You have fugitives in refuge here,” Edmund said. “Know you if among them is our good King Alfred?” The man looked astonished.