by A. D. Crake
the chapter broke up, andwithin an hour the monks were leaving as rapidly as boys leave schoolwhen breaking-up day comes, but not quite so joyously. They strove toattract as little attention as possible, and, in most cases, travelledin the ordinary dress of the country.
Father Cuthbert and the Benedictines who were to accompany him on hisreturn---so much more speedy than had been anticipated--were alreadyprepared to start, when, to their surprise, Alfred could not be found.
Alfred was at that moment in the cell of Dunstan, with whom he hadobtained, not without great trouble, another brief interview.
"God bless you, my son," said Dunstan, "and render unto you according toall you have done for His glory this day, and restore you your brothersafe in body and soul!"
But it was not merely for a blessing that Alfred had sought the abbot.
"Father," he said, "if I have happily been of service to you, I ask butone favour in return; one brother has sought your life, let the otherremain with you as a bodyguard."
"But your father?"
"I am satisfied that I am but speaking as he would have me speak."
"But you will become an exile."
"Gladly, if I can but serve you, father."
"But, my child, I have no means of support for you abroad; as monks weshall find hospitality in every Benedictine house, but you are only alayman."
"Then, father, I but ask you to allow me to accompany you to the coast."
"I grant it, my son, for I believe God inspires the wish. Be it as youdesire, but one of your serfs must accompany you; it would not be safeto travel home alone."
So Father Cuthbert and the Benedictines started back to Aescendunewithout Alfred, bearing Dunstan's explanation of the matter to thehalf-bereaved father whose faith, they feared, would be sorely tried,and leaving Oswy to be his companion.
It was now drawing near nightfall, and the abbey was almost deserted;all the pilgrims had left with the monks, although many of them wouldwillingly have put their trust in the arm of flesh and remained to fightfor Dunstan against his temporal foes, even as he--so they piouslybelieved--routed their spiritual enemies. In that vast abbey therewere now but six persons--Dunstan, Guthlac, Alfred, the lay brotherOsgood, Oswy, and a guide who knew all the bypaths of the country.
Desolate and solitary indeed seemed the huge pile of untenantedbuildings as the evening breeze swept through them. The last stragglerhad gone; Dunstan was still in his cell arranging or destroying certainpapers, the guide and lay brothers held six strong and serviceablehorses in the courtyard below, near the open gate, impatient to start,and blaming secretly the dilatoriness of their great chieftain. Theywatched the sun as he sank lower and lower in the western sky, andthought of the woods and forests they must traverse, frequented bywolves, and sometimes by outlaws whom they dreaded far more. StillDunstan did not appear.
Alfred and Guthlac, on a watchtower above, gazed on the plain stretchedbefore them. Mile after mile it extended towards that forest where theenemy was now known to lurk, and they watched each road, nay, each copseand field, with jealous eye, lest it should conceal an enemy. Ofttimesthe shadow of some passing cloud, as it swept over moor or mere, wastaken for an armed host; ofttimes the wind, as it sighed amongst thetrees and blew the dried leaves hither and thither, seemed to carry thewarning "An enemy is near."
At length danger seemed to show itself plainly: just as the sun set, adark shadow moved from a distant angle of the forest on the plainbeneath, and the words "The enemy!" escaped simultaneously from Alfredand Guthlac as the setting sun seemed reflected upon spear and sword,flashing in a hundred points as they caught the reflection of thedeparting luminary.
Alfred, at the prior's desire, hurried to the chamber of Dunstan.
"Father," he said, "the enemy are near. They have left the forest."
"That is four miles in distance: there will be time for me to finishthis letter to my brother of Abingdon."
"But, father, their horses may be fleeter than ours."
"We are under God's protection: I am sure we shall not be overtaken: beat peace, my son."
Poor Alfred felt as if his faith were very sorely tried indeed, but hestrove to acquiesce.
It was now quite dark, and the ears of the would-be fugitives werestrained to catch the sounds which should warn them of approaching danger.
At length they fancied they heard sounds arise from the plain beforethem: suppressed noises, such as must unavoidably be made by a force onits passage; and Alfred again sought the cell of Dunstan, yet dared notenter, urgent though the emergency seemed.
At this moment he was startled by a demoniacal burst of laughter, whichseemed to fill the corridor in which he waited with exultant joy.
What could it be? he felt as if he had never heard such laughter before--so terrible, yet so boisterous.
A moment of dread silence, and then it began again, and filled eachcorridor and chamber.
At that moment Dunstan came forth, and saw the pale face of Alfred.
"It is only the devil," he said "we are not ignorant of his devices.
"O Satan! thou that wert once an angel in heaven, art thou reduced tobray like a jackass?" [xxii]
Again the exultant peal resounded.
"Be at peace," said the abbot; "thou rejoicest at my departure; I shallsoon return to defy thee and thy allies."
And the laughter ceased.
"We must lose no time," he said; "the moment is at hand."
Locking each door behind him, he reached the party in the courtyard, andeach person mounted in a moment; then they passed under the greatarchway. Oswy had remained behind one moment to lock the great gates,and then they all rode forth boldly into the darkness.
They passed rapidly in a direction at right angles to that in whichtheir pursuers were approaching, and at the distance of a mile theyhalted for one moment to ascertain the cause of a great uproar whichsuddenly arose. It was not difficult to divine its cause: it was theheating of axes and hammers on the great outer door of the monastery.
"It will occupy them nearly an hour," said Dunstan, "and we shall be farfar away before they have succeeded in effecting an entrance."
So they rode on rapidly into the night. Before them lay the Foss Way,the road was good and well known to them, the moon was shining brightly,and their spirits rose with the excitement and the exertion. Onward! Onward!
CHAPTER XII. AT HIS WORST.
The unhappy Elfric had indeed fallen from his former self before hereached the depth at which our readers have just seen him, joining withRedwald in the unhallowed enterprise so happily frustrated, if indeed itwere yet frustrated, by his own brother.
But when his father had returned to Aescendune alone, Elfric felt thathome ties were shattered, and that he had nothing but the royal favourto depend upon, so he yielded to the wishes of King Edwy in all points.
Immediately after his coronation, the reckless and ill-advised Edwy hadmarried Elgiva, [xxiii] in defiance of the ban of the Church, and thenhad abandoned himself to the riotous society and foolish counsels ofyoung nobles vainer than those who cost Rehoboam so large a portion ofhis kingdom. Amongst these Elfric was soon conspicuous and soon aleader. His spirit and physical courage far beyond his years excitedtheir admiration, and in return they taught him all the mysteries ofevil which were yet unknown to him.
Under such influences both the king and his favourite threw off alloutward semblance even of religion, and only sought the means ofenjoyment. Redwald ministered without reserve or restraint to all theirpleasures, and under his evil influence Edwy even found occasion to roband plunder his own grandmother, a venerable Saxon princess, in orderthat he might waste the ill-gotten substance in riotous living.
Yet there was a refinement in his vice: he did not care for coarsesensual indulgence to any great extent; his wickedness was that of asensitive cultivated intellect, of a highly-wrought nervous temperament.Unscrupulous--careless of truth--contemptuous of religion--yet hehad all that attraction in his person which first end
eared him toElfric, whom he really loved. Alas! his love was deadly as the breath ofthe upas tree to his friend and victim. When the first measures ofvengeance were taken against Dunstan, with the concurrence of wicked butable ministers of state, Redwald was selected as the agent who shouldbribe the thanes, and begin the course of conduct which shouldeventually lead to the destruction of the enemy of the king. He had onlywaited till the temper of the times seemed turned against Dunstan (hejudged it wrongly); and the king seemed secure against every foe ere heplanned the expedition we have introduced to our readers.
We will now resume the thread of our narrative.
When the band of soldiers, headed by Redwald, had gained the gates ofthe monastery, they found them, as we have seen, firmly locked and barred.
"Blow your horns; rouse up these sleepy monks to some purpose," saidRedwald. "Why, they have not a light about the