by John Bowling
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A GRIM TEMPLE, A GRIM PRIEST, AND A SAD HEART.
"When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone?"
Moore.
Ethel, deeply muffled and disguised, passed through the littlepostern-gate of the fortress. A word in the ear of the sentinel whopaced to and fro before it on guard, secured instant obedience. Ethel'sposition in the fortress was thoroughly understood by all. Herself-denial, her patience, and her burning patriotism, were well knownin this camp of Saxon outlaws. The readiness with which she undertookpositions involving fatigue and privation, for the cause, was a constantinspiration to the common people. They watched her come and go withveneration--almost with awe and superstition. They whispered one toanother of her strange journeyings by night and day; and many regardedthis young chieftainess as a special favourite of the gods. As sheglided through the gate in the early morning hours, the sentinel thrusthis head forth and watched her swiftly descend the slope, like a ghostin the darkness. When her form was no longer visible, he closed thedoor, and secured it with bolt and bar.
"Whatever can she be after so early in the morning, and before the daydawns? There's something very uncanny about her, tramping over hill anddale by night and day like any wolfshead, or wicca-hag.[3] I saw thefiery lights in the heavens two hours ago. I wonder what it all means. Ialmost wish I was safely out in the Bruneswald, where I could hop aboutlike a bird from tree to tree, and where never a Norman could cornerone. This being cooped up like a rabbit in a hole I don't relish. I likeroom to ply my heels. Howsomever, I'll stick, and stand my chance, forthe women can't be whisked through the air; and the children, too, theymust have a nest." So the sentinel continued his watch, and ruminated onthese things.
[Footnote 3: Witch.]
Meanwhile, Ethel sped with quick step over the rugged limestone hills,flying before the fastly pursuing dawn like a fugitive who dreaded hisrevealing power. Ever and anon she turned to measure with her eye thedistance she had traversed. The shadowy outlines of the fortress sheleft behind began to take shape in the distance, and she quickened herpace. "I shall soon be beyond the reach of vision," she muttered toherself. "I would not have Oswald know my errand to-day for worlds. Mymind is dark, I know not what I do; but my hope dies, and my heartbreaks. Perhaps the Norseman's gods may help me, for the Christian's Godfails me. 'Tis a dread alternative; but I would know, if I could, whatFate has decreed for me."
For three weary hours she sped over dreary moors and scraggy,precipitous valleys, which were often little better than ravines.Presently she turned into a declivity running between two banked-up,precipitous sides. A little ahead, the two sides curved inwards and cametogether, and to all appearance this strange gorge came to an end. Ethelmarched forward with unfaltering step, evidently straight at the bluntface of the joined limestone rock. But when she reached the extremity,there became visible, what at a very short distance could not be seen,an obscure opening behind a jagged projection of rock. It might be, toall appearance, merely an entrance to a fox's or wolf's den. Into thisopening, however, Ethel crept, without halt or questionings of any kind.Presently the narrow entrance became larger, and she stood upright, butcontinued to descend a rough and precipitous path, until she reached alevel piece of ground. Looking up--the place was simply a stupendousslit in the limestone rock, broadening downwards into a considerablearea. The trees and shrubs growing at the top interlocked from side toside, and the light came streaming through a network of branches.Desolate and awe-inspiring was the place. At the farther end were twomounds of earth, or tumuli, where the grim priests of Thor and Wodenwere sleeping the long sleep of death--lives which had been literallyburnt out by the fierce fires of fanaticism, and savage asceticism.Ethel paused to look around, but everything was still as death; sheshuddered and drew her cloak tighter about her.
"The last time I came to this spot my father brought me. I feel hisuntamed Norseman blood stir within me. The fierce gods of war andrevenge and death his Viking ancestors and he worshipped, I dare toconsult to-day. 'Tis a cruel necessity, and jars my woman's instincts--Ifeel it petrifies my heart with unlovely savagery; but the followers ofthis Christ have slain my people with a wicked and unsparing slaughter.They differ in no way in their wanton cruelty to Norseman and Dane.Their women, too, with their fair faces, dainty fingers, and courtlymanners, have stolen the heart of Oswald, and I am slighted anddisdained; nothing in my beauty--and suitors of noble lineage havesought me ere now for my beauty; nothing in my rank--and it is butyesterday that I might have stood amongst the proudest of the land. No;I am a withered leaf, battered, bruised, and trampled upon. My love isunrequited! My misfortunes are compassionated, but that soothes not mywounded spirit, and is but a hateful substitute for the love I crave.Alas! nothing avails me, for I am only a heathen woman and an outcast.So, hard driven by my misfortunes and my wounded love, I will consultthe gods of my father. The Norseman's gods may help me perhaps. Yet,"said she, pausing for a moment, whilst her breast heaved with strangeand powerful emotions which struggled for the mastery within her, "mymother was Christian and Saxon. She was a follower of this Christ. Shewas gentle, and taught me to pray to Him. I remember it well, though Iwas but a child. 'Our Father which art in heaven.' Ah, that iswonderfully soothing to me, and not like the prayers I was taught tooffer to Thor and Odin. But my mother could not have known this Jesus;for if He was merciful and gentle, why do His blood-thirsty followersdelight in treachery and bloodshed. 'Twas a part of my cruel fate thatshe should die in my infancy, for had she lived I might have learned ofher more perfectly. O ye gods!" said she, wringing her hands in agonyabove her head, and looking up to the vaulted roof with tear-blindedeyes and with agonised entreaty,--"have pity on me in myfriendlessness!"
Then she sped on with a quick, determined tread. Down each side of thisweird retreat there were standing out, like grim, ghostly sentinels inthe uncertain light, a long line of runic stones, on which were carvedmany strange devices; rude figures of uncouth and unearthly animals andreptiles. She had been taught that these strange hieroglyphics and signshad marvellous potency for good or ill. They could cause passionatelove, or undying hatred, in the breasts of those over whom their spellwas thrown. Indeed, the power of life and death was wielded by them.Strange supernatural agencies and powers were their messengers, and didtheir bidding. Starting from the rock, or planted here and there, weremany of the ominous rowan trees, or witch-wood. The hemlock and thenightshade clustered together, and the nodding cypress dropped sombrelyover the runic stones beneath them. Ethel glanced nervously round, butnot a living thing was visible; not a sound broke the death-like silenceof the place. Quickly gliding beneath the drooping branches of one ofthe cypress trees, she fell on her knees before the frowning pillar ofstone. She had knelt there before by the side of her father, who hadremained heathen to the last. But to kneel alone, in this very vestibuleof the Place of Darkness, and to pour out her passionate entreaties topowers which she knew were the Powers of Darkness, strange to mercy, andwhich had but the attributes of fiends; the ordeal was terrible indeed.With feelings tumultuous and frenzied, she apostrophised the weird andforbidding emblem before her.
"O ye gods of my fathers, whether ye be Powers of Light or of Darkness Iknow not. Pity my ignorance, and my apostasy, for I have turned to thisJesus whom the Christians worship, and He has failed me, and turned myjoy into mourning. My father and my brother have been slain by thefollowers of this Jesus. My home is made desolate, and I flee for lifeand honour from these Christian fiends. There is one also who might havebeen my lover, who is bravest amongst the brave, and most chivalrousamongst the chivalrous; who is gentle as a sunbeam, and tender as my ownlost mother, yet strong as any tower in the storm. He is lost to methrough the subtle arts of their women. My life has become to me but aliving torment. Can ye turn again the heart of Oswald to me? 'Tis saidye can turn even hatred into love. I know it is unmaidenly to plead fora love I cannot inspire, but
I can bear this burden no longer alone, andI would ye could give me favour in his eyes, or give me a long home inone of these sepulchral mounds."
She started to her feet with a shriek, as a deep voice saluted her frombehind,--
"Waes hael, Viking's daughter!"
She hastily turned, and behold there stood before her Olaf, the agedpriest of this Vikings' temple, to whom for a couple of generations theheathenism and savagery of the countryside had repaired for ghostlyconsolation, and into whose ears had been poured the secrets of fierceloves and fiercer hatreds of these descendants of the Norsemen. He hadbeen the grim dispenser of dark and mystic rites and potent spells toweirdly savage and credulous votaries. A strange being surely to claim aplace in times so advanced as these! He was a living embodiment andpersonification of a bygone era, and so totally destitute of allhumanising instincts that he might have slid down the ages,glacier-like, from prehistoric times--when men dwelt in caves, andgnawed the flesh from the bones of their prey like wild beasts--withoutever having come in contact with the outermost fringe of civilisation; aViking of the Vikings in savagery and blood. His head was uncovered, andhis long and matted grey hair fell over his shoulders. His form wasshrunken and racked with rheumatic pains, from his long exposure andunlovely life. Long, deep furrows ploughed his face, and the long,powerful, and uncleanly teeth stood away from the shrunken cheeks,whilst his sunken eyes gleamed like the eyes of some savage beast ofprey. He was a visible and concentrated embodiment of the _war spirit_in its unrelieved and unredeemed essentials. No touch of pen or pencil,however graphic, could depict, in all his hideous grimness, thisstranded relic of a bygone age of savage lawlessness and force, whoseemed to be but half a dozen removes from the tooth-and-claw methods ofwild beasts.
"Ha! ye are come at last, are ye?" he hoarsely croaked. "Ye are comenow, when ye find that this strange God, this Christ of whom theChristians speak, has proved to be no God, and cannot save ye! But thegods of your fathers have given ye over to desolation because ye haveforsaken them. Ha, ha, ha! I could laugh at ye now! Ye despised the oldpriest, did ye not? ha, ha, ha!"
As the harsh, grating voice of the priest fell upon her ears, Ethelalmost cowered in terror before him. At sight of her terror, the oldpriest somewhat relented his fierceness.
"Hist to me," said he. "Ye are a Viking's daughter, after all, and comeof a stock whose deeds our Sagas tell of, though the Christian taint hasmixed too freely with your father's blood. It does my old tired bonesgood, nevertheless, to see ye come back again to me once more. I havebeen very lonely and forsaken, for my fellow priests are all lyingbeneath these mounds. I buried the last myself not a month agone. See!the mound is newly heaped. I shall soon be gone also, and there will benever a priest at hand to give me back into the arms of mother earth, toreveal to ye the dark mysteries of Valhalla, or to call from the land ofthe dead the Sein-loeca,[4] to speak with you. Viking's daughter, areye now aweary of following this strange God of the Christians?"
[Footnote 4: Apparition.]
"Alas! I know not what to do, priest! I am as desolate and forsaken asye are. I would have the heart of Oswald, the Saxon chieftain, turnedtowards me. If ye have any charm that will give me favour in his eyes, Icovet it, priest."
"Ah, but this Oswald is Christian; ye do not well in seeking thus tofurther dilute the Viking blood that flows in your veins. Is there nohardy Norseman ye can mate with? and I can help ye."
"None, father! I gave my heart to this valiant Saxon long ago; but alas!a Norman woman has won his love, and when he comes into my presence now,I see that there is always a far-away look in his eye, and I know he islooking in imagination upon the dark-haired Norman he loves more thanme. He shuns his couch to keep nightly tryst with her. I have dogged hissteps, and watched them in the starlight nights, pacing the battlementsof the castle in loving converse, and in loving embrace. He is kind andgentle to me, but there is none of the subtle tones of love so dear tous women when once our heart is won. Men say I am fair; but have ye anycharm to make me fair to _him_? It matters not what men may say, or whatthe multitude may say. There is but _one_ man in all the world, and if Iam not fair to _him_, why then the sun goes down on all my hopes, andleaves naught behind but the long black shadows of despair! Ah! I fearme, priest, it is in my spirit! There is no charm for him in the passionand frenzy, the fire and restlessness, of my Viking spirit. Thisvoluptuous southern maiden, with her courtly manners and her gentlespeech, has touched a chord in his heart which never responds to theSaxon maiden!"
"Girl, ye are no Saxon maiden! ye are a Viking's daughter! I claim yefor the old race that has swept every sea, and made the Viking name aterror to all lands. I will not have ye despise the fierce spirit ofyour race that lives in ye! Listen. I know a Viking of the old stock, atrue descendant of our heroes whose mighty deeds our Sagas tell. He hatha passion for ye deep and fierce, and pure as a Viking's love should be.'Tis Sigurd of Lakesland, who was here but yestere'en. Let me plightyour troth with him, and there shall spring a progeny like unto ourforefathers, who will sweep the infamous Norman brood into the sea, andmake the cowardly Saxon cower at the feet of the Norseman, as in thedays gone by."
"Ye speak, priest, as though a maiden's heart were like a willow bush,to veer about as any idle wind may blow, or so gross a thing that it maybe huckstered for a consideration, or be cast as a mere makeweight intothe scale of policy. Never dream, priest, that this is a possibleremedy; for I have nothing to offer Sigurd or any other. If ye cannottell me that I shall be Oswald's bride, then I will be wedded to mypeople, and I will serve my country till death comes to free me."
"A curse on the evil times I have lived to see, girl!" said the priestsavagely. "This simpering sentiment is not like the love of a Vikingmaiden at all! The sturdiest and fiercest warrior was wont to be thechoice of our maidens in the old days. What charm would ye have? Thereis but one charm will serve the Viking cause in love or war. It neverfailed them, in the past, and will not fail them now if 'tis wieldedfearlessly."
"What is this spell--this charm ye speak of? Tell it me at once!" saidEthel eagerly.
The priest slowly withdrew from his bosom a bright-bladed dagger, atsight of which Ethel shuddered and drew back.
The priest scowled, and said angrily, "If ye shrink at this ye are notfit to be a Viking's daughter. This will serve you if ye are resolute,for 'tis easy to get an audience of this Norman that hath bewitchedOswald, and then it were easy to plunge this dagger into her heart; andwhat then were thy hated rival? Take the blade in thy hand, nor shrinkfrom it; the touch of steel will fire thy heart, and purge away theaccursed leaven of effeminacy which is creeping over our Viking race.There is a magic in the touch of cold steel; my fingers tingle as I feelit. It has served the Viking's cause as nothing else could do for athousand years."
As he spoke he pressed the fearsome weapon into her unwilling hand.
"But how then, priest, when I have taken the life of this innocent lady?Will that bring back the heart of Oswald? Nay, he will loathe me then,and I shall be as a 'daughter of perdition' unto him."
"Idle scruples, daughter!" said the priest, testy and irritable. "Whoshall tell him it was your hand did this deed? Be resolute, and fearnot; the Vikings' gods will help ye if ye be bold."
"But after I have done this deed, priest, and if Oswald should neverknow it was I that did this foul, this desperate deed, I can never ridme of the loathsome memory, nor the clinging horror, ofblood-guiltiness. What after that? when self-respect, womanhood--nay,when the last shred of my _humanity_ is gone--what would remain thatwere worth the having? What should I be, and how could I look to matewith his upright and chivalrous nature? What daily horror would be mine!for each look of his unsuspecting eye would damn me! Nay, priest, takeback this dagger, for such means as these can never help me. Myinnocence is my heaven, and I will keep it while I may; for when this islost, then all is lost. I thought ye might have gentler means."
At this the old priest fairly roared with impotent rage.
&nb
sp; "Avast!" he cried. "'Tis this Christ hath done it all! Why do ye come tothe Vikings' gods until ye have renounced Him? How can I summon spiritsfrom Valhalla to your help, or send the wicca-hag skirling on the windto ply her sorceries on Oswald, that his heart may be turned to ye, ifye are Christian?"
Then, dropping into a gentler and more persuasive tone, as he saw Ethelfairly cowering in terror before him, he said,--
"Go, Viking's daughter. Ye know my heart is sore for ye and for my race;but it must be either Odin or Jesus. Go renounce this Christ, and then Ican help ye. Nay, nay! keep the dagger, for it hath wondrous virtue init. It was with this dagger that Thore Hund slew the Christian renegadeOlaf Haraldssen on the bloody field of Sticklarstad, and Odin provedhimself a mightier than this Christ. It shall be so again, for theViking race shall be a terror to all lands. Why should ye be fearful andafraid? Why should ye hesitate and shrink at this act of revenge? Surelyye have suffered enough at the hands of this accursed race. How can yebe so scrupulous, when ye think of the vengeance ye owe these Normantyrants and usurpers for a father and brother slaughtered, for yoursadness, and your homelessness? Think of the love this Norman woman hathstolen from ye. Nurse these thoughts, and be courageous, Viking'sdaughter."
Ethel slowly climbed from the weird retreat, where for generations thesesavage priests of Thor and Odin had exercised a dread and mystic swayover the descendants of the Norsemen conquerors, who in past times hadswooped down on Northumbria, peopling it with rough and hardy warriors;and still the barbarous rites and crude beliefs held extensive sway, inspite of the leavening influences of the Saxons' Christ. Ethel hadentered this nature's temple with dim hopes that by some exercise ofsupernatural powers the heart of Oswald might be influenced so as toturn to her; and if not this, that she might know the worst. Alas! thesad heart and the wounded love had met with no amelioration of itssadness and despair; but the dormant passion and frenzy which ran in herViking blood had been stirred in its lethargy into a madness of revenge,the extent and power of which she had never felt before.
"What is to be the end of this?" she said to herself, as she sped overthe wild hills. "Either I must conquer or be crushed. There is no middlecourse; either it is hell or heaven. I cannot cast off or change mylove; that is given unreservedly and beyond recall. This Viking, Sigurd,is a warrior true as steel, and his love is as sincere and true. Butwhat of that? To wed him were a suggestion most gross, and impossible asgross. How could I crouch beside the ingle of an untamed Viking husband,and in all unloveliness mother a rude progeny, and blur out, in thegrossness and savagery of it, the vision of better things, and of thenobler love I have seen? Question. Shall I tamely submit to theusurpation of a love that might have been mine, but of which I have beendespoiled by a Norman woman? Or shall I fling to the winds my Christiantrammels and scruples, and, Viking-like, take the Viking's remedy?" andshe drew forth from her bosom the unlovely and murderous weapon thepriest had given her. "The priest said this was my only remedy. 'Tis agrim alternative. But why should I suffer this for a love too readilygiven? I never told my heart to dote on Oswald. 'Twas a wild freak ofaffection I could not bridle; and I cannot undo it now, so that changeis impossible. It was without effort of mine, also, that he has filledmy eye so fully that I cannot see another. Shall I tamely suffer thiseclipse at the hands of this southern woman? This priest tells me what aViking woman would do, and surely, if foul wrongs call for fiercerevenge, then I should not timidly shrink from this avenging act.Madness and despair nerve my arm and steel my heart, and I will act as aViking woman would act!"
But just at that moment, as the fierce spirit of revenge assumed themastery, there flitted before her mental vision a scene of long ago,when, as a child, she knelt at her mother's knee, and heard the wondrousstory of the Redeemer's mercifulness and love for his enemies. Therevulsion of feeling was instant and overpowering. Stretching herclenched hands heavenwards, she shrieked, in an agony of prayer, "Jesu,_God of mercy_, help!"
Overwrought nature could bear no more, and she sank in insensibility tothe ground, her fair countenance convulsed with agony. Speedily,however, the shadows of despair gave place to a placid smile of sweetcontent. Again she was a child, and her mother's form was bending overher, but wondrously ennobled and beautified; and she spoke words ofcomfort and of hope. "Daughter, be of good courage, and remember thewords of the Master that I taught you: 'Come unto Me all ye that labourand are heavy laden, and I will give you rest'; 'Lo, I am with youalways, even unto the end of the world.'" Then, with a smile angelic inits sweetness, the heavenly vision faded away.
Slowly Ethel staggered to her feet, for her physical strength wasexhausted; but the look of blank despair had passed away, and hercountenance was transfigured until it shone like the countenance of asaint of God. And drawing the dagger from her bosom she hurled it over aprecipice, shuddering as she did so. Then she slowly turned herfootsteps towards the fortress on the hill.