by A. D. Crake
CHAPTER I. THE ANGLO-SAXON HALL.
It was the evening of Thursday, the fifth of October, in year ofgrace one thousand and sixty and six.
The setting sun was slowly sinking towards a dense bank of clouds,but as yet he gladdened the woods and hills around the old hall ofAescendune with his departing light.
The watchman on the tower gazed upon a fair scene outspread beforehim; at his feet rolled the river, broad and deep, spanned by arude wooden bridge; behind him rose the hills, crowned with forest;on his right hand lay the lowly habitations of the tenantry, thefarmhouses of the churls, the yet humbler dwellings of the thrallsor tillers of the soil; the barns and stables were filled with theproduce of a goodly harvest; the meadows full of sheep and oxen--ascene of rich pastoral beauty.
On his left hand a road led to the northeast, following at firstthe upward course of the river, until it left the stream andpenetrated into the thick woodland.
Just as the orb of day was descending into the dense bank of cloudafore mentioned, the watchman marked the sheen of spear and lance,gilded by the departing rays, where the road left the forest.Immediately he blew the huge curved horn which he carried at hisbelt; and at the blast the inhabitants of the castle and villagepoured forth; loud shouts of joy rent the air--the deeperexclamations of the aged, the glad huzzas of children--and allhastened along the road to greet the coming warriors.
For well they knew that a glorious victory had gladdened the armsof old England; that at Stamford Bridge the proud Danes andNorwegians had sustained a crushing defeat, and been driven to seekrefuge in their ships, and that these warriors, now approaching,were their own sons, husbands, or fathers, who had gone forth withEdmund, Thane of Aescendune, to fight under the royal banner ofHarold, the hero king.
Who shall describe the meeting, the glad embraces, thehalf-delirious joy with which those home-bred soldiers werewelcomed? No hirelings they, who fought for mere glory, or lust ofgold, but husbands, fathers of families--men who had left theploughshare and pruning hook to fight for hearth and altar.
"Home again"--home, saved from the fire and sword of the Northman,of whom tradition told so many dread stories--stories well known atAescendune, where a young son of the then thane fifty years agonehad died a martyr's death, pierced through and through by arrows,shot slowly to death because he would not save himself by denyinghis Lord {v}.
At that dismal period the whole district had been devastated withfire and sword, and there were old men amongst the crowd who wellremembered the destruction of the former hall and village by theferocious Danes. And now God had heard their litanies: "From thefury of the Northmen, good Lord deliver us," and had averted thescourge through the stout battle-axes and valiant swords of thesewarrior peasants and their noble leaders, such as Edmund, son ofAlfgar.
Amidst all this joy the Lady Winifred of Aescendune stood upon thesteps of the great hall to receive her lord, fair as the lily, atrue Englishwoman, a loving wife and tender mother.
And by her, one on each side, stood her two children, Wilfred andEdith. He was an English boy of the primitive type, with his brownhair, his sunburnt yet handsome features, the fruit of country airand woodland exercise; she, the daughter, a timid, retiring girl,her best type the lily, the image of her mother.
And now the noble rider, the thane and father, descended from hiswar steed, and threw himself into the arms of the faithful partnerof his joys and sorrows, who awaited his embrace; there was amoment of almost reverential silence as he pressed her to his manlybreast, and then arose a cry which made the welkin ring:
"Long life to Edmund and Winifred of Aescendune!"
The bonfires blazed and illuminated the night; the bells (therewere three at S. Wilfred's priory hard by) rang with somewhatdissonant clamour; strains of music, which would seem very roughnow, greeted the ears; but none the less hearty was the joy.
"The comet--what do you say of the comet now?" said one.
"That it boded ill to the Northmen," was the reply of hisneighbour.
They referred to that baleful visitor, the comet of 1066, which hadturned night into day with its lurid and ghastly light, so that thevery waves of the sea seemed molten in its beams, while the beastsof the field howled as if they scented the coming banquet of fleshafar off. Well might they stand aghast who gazed upon this awfulportent, which had seemed to set the southern heavens on fire.
The banquet was spread in the great hall, and the returned warriorssupped with their lord ere they retired to gladden their ownfamilies. Little was said till the desire for eating and drinkingwas appeased. But the minstrels sang many a song of the glories ofthe English race, particularly of the thanes of Aescendune, and ofthe best and noblest warrior amongst them--Alfgar, the companion ofthe Ironside, the father of the present earl, who had been borne tohis grave full of years and honour amidst the tears of his people,in the very last year of the Confessor.
But when the boards were removed, the thanks rendered to the Godwho had given all, the huge fire replenished, the wine and meadhanded round, then Edmund the Thane rose amidst the expectantsilence of his retainers.
"The health of Harold, our noble king, elected to that post by thesuffrages of all true Englishmen! Nobler title no king on earth mayclaim."
It was drunk with acclamation.
"The memory of our brethren who went forth with us from Aescendune,and have left their bones at Stamford Bridge. Weep not for them,they have fallen in no unjust war, but for hearth and altar, fortheir country and their God; and this I swear, that while I rule atAescendune, their souls shall never lack a mass at St. Wilfred'saltar, nor their widows and orphans food and shelter."
This toast was drunk in solemn silence, and Edmund continued:
"Our toils are not yet over; we have one more battle to fight, andthat may serve to free us from further need of fighting for therest of our lives. William the Norman landed with sixty thousandmen in Sussex, as many of you already know, while we were inNorthumbria, or I trow he had never landed at all. The day aftertomorrow we don our harness again to meet this new foe, but it willbe child's play compared with that which is past. Shall we, whohave conquered the awful Harold Hardrada, the victor of a hundredfights, fear these puny Frenchmen? They have come in a large fleet;a fishing boat will be too roomy to take them back; their boneswill whiten and enrich the fields of Sussex for generations."
"The day after tomorrow!--start again the day after tomorrow, oh,my lord!" said a gentle, pleading voice.
"It must be so, my love; but why doubt that the God who has alreadygiven us such an earnest of victory will protect us still, andpreserve us to each other?"
All the charm of the banquet was gone to the devoted wife, butyoung Wilfred pressed to his father's side.
"Thou wilt take me this time, father."
"Why, my boy, thou art barely fifteen, not old enough or strongenough yet to cope with men."
"But these Normans are hardly men."
"I fear me too much for thy tender age."
"Oh, father, let me go."
"Nay, thy mother needs thy care."
"But I must begin some day, and what day better than this? I canfight by thy side."
"There is really little danger, my wife," he said, in reply to thepleading looks of the mother; "I would not take him to meet theDanes, but there is less danger in these dainty Frenchmen. Thegrandson of Alfgar should be encouraged, not restrained, when heseeks to play the man, even as we repress not, but stimulate thefirst feeble attempts of the young falcon to strike its prey."
The Lady Winifred said no more at the time, for the duties of ahost demanded her lord's care. The moon was high in the heavens erethe last song was sung, the last tale told, and the guestsdismissed with these parting words:
"And now, my merry men all, your own homes claim your presence. Oneday ye may safely give to rest; the day after tomorrow we marchagain; for Harold will complete his levies on the 10th, and we mustnot be behind. Goodnight! Saints and angels guard your well-deservedrest."<
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The brief period of rest passed rapidly away, and the last nightcame--the last before departure for the fatal field of Senlac. Oh,how little did the Englishmen who left their homes with suchconfidence dream of the fatal collapse of their fame and glorywhich awaited them! They fell into the fatal error of underestimatingtheir foe. Had it been otherwise, a host had assembled which had crushedthe foreign invader; whereas there were few thanes in the midlands, andscarce any in the northern shires, who thought it worth while to followHarold to Sussex.
So there were many who cried, "We have defended the northern shoresand beaten the Danes; let the men of Sussex take their turn withthese puny Frenchmen; we will turn out fast enough if they bebeaten."
Alas! it was too late to "turn out" when the only Englishman whosegenius equalled that of William lay dead on the fatal field, andthere was no king in Israel.
Amidst the general confidence begotten of the victory at StamfordBridge there were some upon whom the dread shadow of the future hadfallen, and who realised the crisis; foremost amongst these was thepatriot king himself. He knew the foe, and was perhaps the only manin the country who did; he knew that civilisation had onlysharpened the genius of the descendants of Rollo, without abatingone jot of their prowess; that they were more terrible now thanwhen they ravaged Normandy, two centuries earlier.
Yet he flinched not from the struggle.
And amidst all the confidence of her dependants, some such shadowseemed to have fallen on the Lady Winifred. An unaccountablepresentiment of evil weighed upon her spirits. She could not leaveher husband one moment while he was yet spared to her; ever andanon she was surprised into tender words of endearment, foreign tothe general tenor of her daily life, which partook of the reserveof an unemotional age.
She begged hard that Wilfred might remain at home, but onlyprevailed so far as to obtain a promise that he should not actuallyenter the battle, and with this she was forced to rest content, tothe great delight of the boy.
That last night--how brief it seemed! How frequent the repetitionof the same loving words! How fervent the aspiration for the day oftheir happy reunion, the danger over!--how chilling theunexpressed, unspoken doubt, whether it would ever take place! Yetit seemed folly to doubt, after Stamford Bridge.
The supper, ordinarily, in those times, the social meal of the day,was comparatively a silent one. The very tones of the harp seemedmodulated in a minor key, contrasting strongly with the jubilantnotes of the previous night; and at an early hour, the husband andwife retired to their bower, to sit long in the narrow embrasure ofthe window, looking out on the familiar moonlit scene, her head onhis breast, ere they retired to rest.
"Dear heart, thou seemest dull tonight, and yet thou wert not sowhen we parted for the last fight. Thou didst thy best then tocheer thy lord."
"I know not why it is, but a chill foreboding seems to distress myspirits now, my Edmund; it must be mere weakness, but I feel as ifI should never sit by thy dear side again."
"We are in God's hands, my dear one, and must trust all to Him. Igo forth at the call of duty, and thou couldst not bid me to stayat home that men may call me 'niddering.'"
"Nay, nay, my lord, forgive thy wife's weakness; but why takeWilfred too?"
"He will be in no danger; he shall tarry with old Guthlac by thestuff. There will be many present like him, and whatever may chanceto me or others, there can be no danger to them, for victory mustfollow our Harold. Hadst thou seen him at the Bridge thou couldstnot doubt; he is the Ironside alive again, and as great as ageneral as a warrior.
"And now, dearest, a faint heart is faithlessness to God; let uscommit ourselves in prayer to Him, and sleep together in peace."
The eastern sky was aglow with the coming dawn when they arose.Soon all was bustle in the precincts, the neighing of horses, theclatter of arms; then came the hasty meal, the long lingeringfarewell; and the husband and father rode away with his faithfulretainers; his boy, full of spirits, by his side, waving his plumedcap to mother and sister as they watched the retiring band untillost in the distance.
They retired, the Lady Winifred and her daughter Edith, to thesummit of the solitary tower, which arose over the entrance gate ofthe hall; there, with eyes fast filling with tears, they watchedthe departing band as it entered into the forest, then gorgeouswith all the tints of autumn, the golden tints of the ash and elm,the reddish-brown of the beech--all combining to make a picture,exceeding even the tender hues of spring in beauty.
But all this loveliness was the beauty of decay, the prelude to thefall of the leaf; the forests were but arrayed in their richestgarb for the coming death of winter.
Into these forests, prophetic in their hues of decay, glided thebrilliant train of Edmund, the last English lord of Aescendune.
Farewell, noble hearts! Happier far ye who go forth to die for yourcountry than they who shall live to witness her captivity.