by A. D. Crake
looked from its windows; the party of Redwald haddisappeared behind the trees.
He came down and gave the signal. The sad procession started; theydescended the steps to the courtyard. Redwald had left some forty orfifty men behind--men who had grown old in arms, and who, if they hadpleased, might perhaps have stopped the exit, but they were notsufficiently in the confidence of their leader to take the initiative;and the only man who was in his confidence, and whom he had charged tosee that no one departed, was fortunately at that moment in another partof the building. The sentinel at the drawbridge was one of Redwald'stroop. He menaced opposition, and refused to let the drawbridge bepeaceably lowered.
"Art thou a Christian?" said Father Cuthbert, coming forward in hispriestly attire, "and dost thou presume to interfere with a servant ofthe Lord and to delay a funeral?"
"I must obey my orders."
"Then I will excommunicate thee, and deliver thy soul to Satan."
And he began to utter some awful Latin imprecation, which so aroused thesuperstition of the sentinel that he made no further opposition, whichperhaps saved his life, for the retainers of Aescendune were meditatinginstant violence, indignant at the delay and the outrage to their lady.
They themselves let the drawbridge down and guarded the sad cortege overthe plain. Their numbers increased every moment, and before they reachedthe neighbourhood of the priory they had little cause to fear anyattack, should Redwald have arrived and have been rash enough to attemptone.
The old parsonage house, which had served for the residence of eachsuccessive parish prior or mass-thane, was a large and commodiousbuilding, containing all such accommodation as the family absolutelyrequired in the emergency, while furniture, provision and comforts ofall kinds were sent over from the priory, for the good fathers did notforget at this hour of need that they owed their own home to theliberality of Ella and his father.
So when they had deposited the loved remains before the altar of thechurch, and had knelt a brief season in prayer, the exiled family tookpossession of their temporary home. It was hard--very hard--to giveup their loved dwelling at such a season of affliction, but the dreadwhich Redwald had somehow inspired made it a great relief to be removedfrom his immediate presence.
Yet they could give no reason for the feeling they all shared. FatherCuthbert evidently suspected, or knew, things which he as yet concealedfrom them.
"Who could have slain the husband and father?"
This was the unanswered question. Their suspicions could only turn toRedwald or some of his crew: no marauders were known to lurk in theforest; there was, they felt assured, not one of his own people whowould not have died in his defence. Again, it was not the lust of goldwhich had suggested the deed, for they had found the gold chain he woreuntouched. What then could have been the motive of the murderer?
Father Cuthbert had found a solution, which was based upon sadexperience of the traditional feuds so frequently handed down fromfather to son. Still he would not suggest further cause of disquietude,and added no further words.
The utter uncertainty about Elfric was another cause of uneasiness.Whether he had gone southward with the king, or had fallen on thebattlefield, they knew not; or whether he had surrendered with theprisoners taken in the entrenched camp, and who had been all admitted tomercy.
In the course of the morning they saw Redwald return, laden with thespoils of the Grange farm--oxen and sheep, waggons containing corn,driven before him. What passed within on his entrance they could nottell; how narrow their escape they knew not--were not even certain ithad been an escape at all.
It was now determined that the interment should take place on themorrow, and the intelligence was communicated rapidly to all the tenantry.
Hourly they expected the forces of Mercia to appear, and exact a heavyaccount from Redwald for his offences. He was supposed to be theinstigator of the expedition which had failed so utterly; it was notlikely that he would be allowed to retain Aescendune a long time. Theonly surprise people felt was that he should have dared to remain at thepost when all hope of successful resistance had ceased. He had his ownreasons, which they knew not.
Under these circumstances it seemed desirable to hurry forward theinterment, lest it should be interfered with from without, in theconfusion of hostile operations against the hall.
The priory church was a noble but irregular structure, of great size forthose days. The cunning architect from the Continent, who had designedit, had far surpassed the builders of ordinary churches in the grandeurof his conception. The lofty roof, the long choir beyond the transept,gave the idea of magnitude most forcibly, and added dignity to thedesign. In the south transept was a chapel dedicated especially to St.Cuthbert, where the aged Offa reposed, and the mother of Ella. Therethey had removed the body to await the last solemn rites. Six large waxtapers burned around it, and watchers were there day and night--mourners who had loved him well, and felt that in him they had lost adear friend.
The wife, the son, or the daughter, were ever there, but seldom alone.For when the monks in the choir were not saying the canonical hours, orthe low mass was not being said at one of the side altars, still thevoice of intercession arose, with its burden:
"Eternal rest give unto him, O Lord,And let perpetual light shine upon him."
At length the morning came, the second only after death. Theneighbouring thanes whom the troubled times did not detain at home, thechurls of the estate, the thralls, crowded the precincts of the minster,as the solemn bell tolled the deep funeral knell. At length the monkspoured into the church, while the solemn "_Domino refugium_" arose fromtheir lips--the same grand words which for these thousand years pasthave told of the eternity of God and the destiny of the creature;speaking as deeply to the heart then as in these days of civilisation.
The mourners entered, Alfred supporting his widowed mother, who hadsummoned all her fortitude to render the last sad offices to her dearlord; her daughter, a few distant relations--there were none nearer ofkin. The bier, with its precious burden, was placed in the centre beforethe high altar. Six monks, bearing torches, knelt around it. A pall,beautifully embroidered, covered the coffin, a wreath of flowerssurmounting a cross was placed upon it.
The solemn requiem mass commenced, and the great Sacrifice once offeredupon Calvary was pleaded for the soul of the deceased thane. When thelast prayer had been said, the coffin was sprinkled with hallowed water,and perfumed with sweet incense, after which it was removed to its lastresting place. The grave was already prepared. Again the earthly cavernwas sprinkled with the hallowed water, emblematical of the blood ofsprinkling which speaketh better things than that of Abel, and the body--the sacred dust for which Christ had died, in which God had dwelt asin a temple--was lowered, to be sown in corruption, that hereafter itmight be raised in incorruption and joy unspeakable.
All crowded to take the last sad look. Alfred felt his dear mother's armtremble as she leant on him, yet gazed firmly into that last restingplace, while the solemn strain arose:
"Ego sum resurrectio et vita. Qui credit in Me, etiam si mortuus fueritvivet; et omnis qui vivit, et credit in Me, non morietur in aeternum."[xxx]
CHAPTER XX. "AND THE DOOR WAS SHUT."
The reader is, we trust, somewhat impatient to learn what had reallybeen the fate of the unhappy Elfric of Aescendune--whether he hadindeed been cut off with the work of repentance incomplete, or whetherhe yet survived to realise the calamity which had fallen upon his household.
He lived. When the blow of his adversary, as we have seen, crushed himto the earth, and he lay there with his head on the ground, prostrate,amidst kicking and plunging hoofs, and the roar and confusion of deadlystrife, Providence, without which not one sparrow falleth to the ground,watched over him, and averted the iron hoofs from his forehead. Couldone have concentrated his gaze upon that little spot of earth and haveseen the furious hoofs graze, without injuring, that tender forehead,could he have beheld the gallop of the retreating steeds over and aroundthat senseless
form, for it now lay senseless, he would have realisedthat there is One Whose Eye is observant of each minute detail whichconcerns the life of His beloved ones--nay, Who knows the movements ofthe tiniest insect, while His Hand directs the rolling spheres. And hiscare preserved Elfric for His Own wise ends, until the fight receded,leaving its traces behind it, as when the tide of ocean recedes after astorm and the beach is strewn with wreck--bodies of men, of horses,mutilated, dismembered, dead or dying, disabled or desperately wounded.
Hours had passed, during which the sounds of the combat still maintainedat the entrenched camp came freshly on the ear, and then died away,until the solemn night fell upon the scene, and the only sound whichsmote the ear were faint, faint moans--cries of "Water! water!"incessantly repeated from hundreds of feeble lips.
It was then that Elfric awoke from the insensibility which had resultedfrom exhaustion and the stunning blow he had received in his fall. Everylimb seemed in pain, for