by A. D. Crake
begged them to come forth with him, andsaid something had happened to his father. They went forth.
"We must carry something to bear him home," he said, and they took aframework of wood upon which they threw some bearskins.
Alfred did not speak during the whole way, save that in answer to theanxious inquiries of his companions he replied, "You will see!" and theycould but infer the worst from his manner, without giving him the painof telling the fatal truth.
At length they reached the glade where the dead body lay. The moon wasbright, and in her light they saw the fatal truth at once.
"Alas, my master! alas, my dear lord! Who has done this? Who could havedone it?" was their cry. "Was there one who did not love and revere him?"
More demonstrative than Alfred had been were they in their lamentations,for the deepest grief is often the most silent.
At length they raised the body, the temple of so pure and holy a spirit,which had now returned to the God Who gave it, reverently as men wouldhave handled the relics of some martyr saint, and placed it on the bierwhich they had prepared. Then they began their homeward route, and ere along time had passed they stood before the great gate of the castle withtheir burden.
It now became a necessity for Alfred to announce the sad news to hiswidowed mother; and here the power of language fails us--the shock wasso sudden, so unexpected. The half of her life was so suddenly torn fromthe bereaved one, that the pang was well-nigh insupportable. But Godtempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and has promised that the strengthof His beloved ones shall be even as their day. So He strengthened thesensitive frame to bear a shock which otherwise might have slain it.
The sounds of lamentation and woe were heard all over the castle as theyslowly bore the body to the domestic chapel, while some drew near,impelled by an irresistible desire to gaze upon it, and then cried aloudin excess of woe. Amongst the others, Redwald approached, and gazedfixedly upon the corpse; and Eric the steward often declared, in laterdays, that he saw the wound bleed afresh under the glance of theruthless warrior, but perhaps this was an afterthought.
Father Cuthbert, who had now been elected prior of the monastic housebelow, on the banks of the river, soon heard the sad news, and hastenedup to tender the sweet consolations of religion--the only solace atsuch a time, for it is in seasons of suffering that we best comprehendthe Cross.
When he entered he saw the corpse in the chapel, where they had placedit before the altar, and he could only say, "Alas, my lord! alas, mydear friend!" until he knelt down to pray, and rose up somewhat calmed.
Then he sought the chamber where the lady Edith hid her woe, and therehe showed her that God was love, hard though it was sometimes for thefrail flesh to see it; and he bade her look to the Divine Sufferer ofWhom it is said, "In all their afflictions He was afflicted;" and so byhis gentle ministrations he brought calm to the troubled breast, and itseemed as if one had said to the waves of grief, "Peace, be still."
And then he gathered the household to prayer, and while they prayed manya "_Requiescat_" for the faithful soul, as they said the dirgecommending to the Fathers Hands a sheep of His fold, so they also prayedfor strength to see the love which was hidden behind all this sad, sadvisitation, and to know the meaning of the words "Though He slay me, yetwill I trust in Him."
And then he bade them rest--those, at least, who were able to do so--while he watched by the body, as was then the custom, all through thedeep night.
And so the stars which had looked down from heaven so peacefully uponthe house of Aescendune the night before, of which we wrote, now lookeddown as coldly bright as if no change had occurred, shining alike uponweal or woe, upon crime or holy deed of saint. Yet as the kneeling friarsaw them through the chapel window, he thought they were but the goldenlights which lay about the confines of that happy region where thefaithful live in unspeakable felicity for ever with their Lord, and hefound consolation in the thought of the Eternal and the Infinite.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE BATTLE.
The early morn, as we have already seen, broke upon the adverse hosts ofEdwy and Edgar as the trumpet sounded to arouse them from theirslumbers, in many instances from the last slumber they should ever enjoy.
Every soldier was on his legs in a moment, and, in the first place,preparations were made for breakfast: for it was a recognised factamongst our ancestors that if you wanted a man to fight or do anythingelse well, you must feed him well first. So the care of the body wasnever neglected, however pressing the danger.
Accordingly, Edwy called Elfric to sit by his side at the substantialmeal which commenced the day, and saw, with much pleasure, that thecloud had partly passed from his friend's brow for the hope of immediateaction, of the excitement of battle, had done much to drive lowness anddepression from the young warrior. So he strove to chat and laugh withthe loudest, and when the moment came to marshal the host, and to putthem in array, his spirits were as high as in old times.
The cavalry, which was their strongest arm, was under the command ofEdwy himself, although a sturdy warrior, who had fought in many abattle, rode on his right hand to supply his lack of experience.
The main body of the infantry was under the command of Earl Cynewulf,while the reserve was under the command of Redwald's immediatesubordinate, and consisted almost exclusively of the household guard.
The plan of attack, for it was quite decided that they should take theinitiative, was simple, and in accordance with the ordinary tactics ofthe times. The heavy-armed foot were bidden first to advance upon theentrenchments which crowned the opposite hill, and to break the infantryof the enemy, which was drawn up before them in formidable array; thisdone, the horse were immediately to avail themselves of the opening thusmade, and the entrenchments to be assaulted by both cavalry and infantry.
Armed with huge axes, clad in mail, and bearing large shields, the footadvanced to the attack. They were a gallant company; and as the sunshone upon their glittering armour, or was reflected back from thebright steel of their axes, they might well inspire faint hearts withterror; but faint hearts were not amongst those opposed to them. Thechosen men of the northwest, some of half-British blood, crowned theopposite hill, drawn up in front of their entrenchments, as if theyscorned any other defence than that supplied by their living valour.They had borrowed their tactics from the Danes: deep and strong on allsides, they seemed to oppose an impenetrable wall to the foe; they hadtheir shields to oppose to darts or arrows, their axes for the footmen,their spears to form a hedge of steel no horse could surmount.
Even should they yield to the pressure, still all would not be lost;their retreat was secured into the entrenchments, and there they mightwell hope to detain the enemy until the whole population should riseagainst the men of Wessex and their leader, and his cause become hopeless.
Steadily up the hill came the brave troops of Edwy, and from withintheir ranks, as they ascended the slope, a shower of arrows wasdischarged by the archers who accompanied them, under their protection;but no return was yet made by the foe, until they were close at hand,when a loud war cry burst from the hostile ranks, and a perfect showerof darts and arrows rained upon the invaders.
Still they persevered, although they left a living, struggling line onthe bloody grass behind them--persevered, like men longing for theclose hand-to-hand encounter, longing to grasp their foes in deadlygrip. The shock arrived; and axe and sword were busy in reaping theharvest of death. So great was the physical strength of the combatantsthat arms and legs were mown off by a stroke, and men were cloven intwo, from the crown downwards, by the sweeping blows of the deadly steel.
It was a fearful struggle, but it was a short one; the line was unshakenin its strength; in vain Edwy's archers behind shot their arrows so asto curve over the heads of their brethren and fall amongst the foe; themen of Wessex recoiled and gave way.
Edwy seized what he thought the auspicious moment when the ranks of thefoe, although unbroken, were yet weary and breathless, and ordered hiscavalry to charge. The Mercia
ns beheld the coming storm at a distance;down on their knees went the first line, their spears resting on theground; behind them the second bent over to strike with their axes;while a third rank, the archers, drew their bows, and prepared towelcome the rushing enemy with a discharge of deadly arrows.
Every heart beat quickly as the fatal moment came near; onward, with asound like thunder, galloped the horse of Edwy. He himself rode at theirhead, clad in light armour, and by his side Elfric. All trace of fearwas gone now in the mad excitement of the charge; before them they sawthe wail of spear points; nearer and nearer their coursers bounded,until they seemed to fly. Every rider leant forward, that his swordmight smite as far as possible; and, daring the points, trusting perhapsto the breastplates of their horses and their own ready blades, theyrushed madly upon the foe.
In cold blood no one could, perhaps, have ridden fearlessly against suchan obstacle; but in the excitement of the moment the warriors of Edwyseemed